applesaucedream | This is My Island in the Sun [Open to All]

Current Music: Evening of September 6th/Morning of September 7th, 2013

This is My Island in the Sun [Open to All]

The Rift wouldn't say it's sorry for the fit it threw the other day, because the Rift never needs to apologize. It is (mostly) perfect, and all of its decisions are well reasoned and just. Obviously. But perhaps it has fallen into a bit of a post-tantrum sulk, because this dream is milder than one might expect. In fact, it's downright nice.

The dreamers will find themselves in an archipelago of small islands - most only a few acres in size - connected by narrow strips of sand or pebbles. The surrounding waters are calm. Little waves lap against the shorelines, and no rising tide will cut the islands off from one another. The islands themselves seem to have been lifted from every climate zone on Earth and several from beyond. Some are tropical, some colder and home to hardy conifers, some mossy and boulder-strewn, some covered in multicolored sand and odd, coral-like trees.

Most of the islands boast some kind of manmade or otherwise non-native structure, be it as small as a bench or as large as a pavilion, though there are no houses or shops to be seen. It's more like parkland, just civilized enough for a nice picnic. Some of the islands even have little grills, and a sufficiently motivated dreamer might be able to rustle up some hot dog or burger fixings if they poke around a bit.

And they'll have an extra pair of eyes to help with their searching, because their beloved dæmons have returned… again. Or perhaps they're being introduced for the first time. Regardless, it's the bi-annual dæmon dream party!

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The TARDIS is wary when she finds this dream, aching and exhausted from the rift's recent instability, and therefore all the more drawn to it when she senses calm and companionship in it. She manifests on a small strip of a beach, sand a rosy orange and strewn with boulders the color of the ocean. Not far off are trees whose leaves glint silver and white in the sunlight. This isn't a Terran scenery for once, and that is pleasant too. The island also seems larger than most, the long swooping shoreline cradling a few smaller isles in the distance.

While she takes in the view and the salty air and the cool breeze, she notices the familiar Unicorn close by, the sea gently lapping at its front hooves. Once again there is no discernible reason for its presence, and again it has no distinct mental presence to interact with. She frowns at it for a moment, but it's enjoying the water and that is actually not a bad idea. So she steps forward, dismissing her shoes to join the large creature's side in the muddy sand, delighted by the soft rhythmic sensations. The Unicorn turns its head to look at her and finally offers, "Here I am," in Gallifreyan, syllables and tenses linking in circles to say that this point in time is, and there would be no sense in questioning it. "Perhaps someone else is, too," the TARDIS points out and so they begin to wander along the shore towards the nearest pebbly path between islands, the TARDIS resting a hand against the broad shimmering flank of her own mind.

Sand crumbles easily beneath his bare feet as he advances, cautious and apprehensive, but the cat winding her way about his feet leaves no mark or pawprint against the smoothness of the beach. The peacefulness that has settled its grasp over this dream is one he finds wholly unnerving; ROMAC has significantly altered his typical responsive subroutine to the entire dream scenario outset, and while he has made significant efforts avoid sleep in the past he has never outright feared it.

He does not fear it now. He does not fear it now. Trepidation equates to vigilance, and vigilance is not atypical for him, and nor is it ill-advised. It is a reasonable response to an unfamiliar environment. It is a reasonable response. It is utterly reasonable.

The soft clack of pebbles beneath his toes unsettles him for reasons he has no means to examine or explain at any great length. Yet any discomfort expressed in response to the harsh staccato of stone clicking against stone dissolves into a complicated, confused swirl of alarm at the sight of the hoofed creature, horned and unmistakably equine.

The reaction is little compared to swell of mingled emotional output that accompanies his identification of the smaller shape that treads beside it.

It comes to Rush's attention that he has stilled and Arista has stilled, and neither are moving but for the syncopation of breath and heartbeat.

With the complex string of events that he unwittingly initiated and that resulted in a level of distance between them that he found and still finds lamentable, he can think of nothing to say.

For the TARDIS, there are no mingled feelings when she notices Rush further down the shore, only delight at getting to check on one of her strays. When her and the Unicorn approach, it becomes clear that it's an almost literal epithet, as the feline manifestation by his feet definitely has the rough, disenfranchised air of a stray.

And he himself seems tenser than usual, his psychic presence drawn and anxious. It makes her warm smile take on a worried edge as she greets, "How are you, Nicholas?" The Unicorn by her side takes another step forward to gently nose at the cat, answering her own question with no concern for etiquette or linearity. "The little pilot is unwell," it breathes between the cat's ears with affection.

His eyes slide closed as he breathes out a quietly relieved noise, harsh and choppy, and one hand swipes wearily through his hair. Arista regards the shape now certainly definable as a unicorn with mingled awe and alarm. Despite the perplexing nature of it, he finds that the shape of the TARDIS's self suits her; it would never be something so mundane or typical as any sort of standard species.

He tears himself from the tempting distraction of that vein of thought with difficulty and forces himself to meet her eyes.

"I realize it has been," he whispers, "some time. And for that I - owe you an explanation."

He does not wish to unearth those buried memories with their too-recent blaze against the fabric of a dream that he would ordinarily categorize as peaceful.

He will have to regardless.

Now she frowns in earnest, confused but regrettably certain that she must have once again failed to offer him protection against something disastrous. "You don't owe me anything," she replies emphatically, yet just as softly. "But I would be grateful to know."

The Unicorn, meanwhile, continues its careful examination of Arista and mutters, "The passage of time does not concern us." Then a few cat hairs tickle its nostrils and it snorts indelicately.

Arista's ears flick against the spurt of hot air, eliciting a short sneeze. She says nothing but glances sidelong at her counterpart, eyes dark and unsettled. It appears she would be equally reluctant to engage in the the summation of their most recent experience.

"ROMAC," he says listlessly, as if that in and of itself could encapsulate the manifold complexities of the more recent days. He holds up a hand, baring the thin, ragged scar encircling the circumference of his wrist, present even in the construct of a dream. "They kept me as their guest for some time."

The cat at his feet makes a low, rising sound akin to a growl, and her tail lashes once.

"Even after leaving their custody, I couldn't afford to draw attention to you or - your pilot." He drops the hand back to his side, the sentiment hesitant but not begrudging. "They were still looking for me."

He might as well have left it at the name; it tells her all she needs to know about the source of his strain and even his injury, cut deep enough to leave a mark on his mind. She may not be very skilled at deciphering human euphemisms, but if there was any doubt about the nature of his stay with Romac, the cat's subtle contribution, half aggression, half fear, makes it abundantly clear. She knows all too well what they're capable of inflicting, even to beings far more powerful than small, fragile humans. Her frown turns cold and hard with anger, and the Unicorn shakes its head like it's looking for someone to impale.

"You should have come to me," she says, voice tight, because it's one thing to have lacked the foreknowledge necessary to protect him, but another to hear he'd endangered himself for her sake afterwards. "I am hidden. I am impenetrable." He can't know how much it has galled her, how much it has vexed and frustrated her to be potentially vulnerable to a bunch of scheming cruel humans. "I am safety, I am freedom," the Unicorn reiterated softly, melodiously, to the cat, nudging her side tenderly as though checking for injuries.

The TARDIS's fury is immediate and undeniable, and Arista's ears flatten. She looks at the unicorn in reluctant apology as Rush shakes his head, a short lateral jerk, jaw locked.

"They were building cages to contain angels," the cat says quietly, regret heavy in the calculated emphasis. "They were planning something - city-wide containment, maybe. We couldn't have taken that risk."

Not on their own behalf. Not for their sake.

"None of it matters now." Rush folds his arms in a fluid, taut reraveling. The dissolution of all ROMAC had built had been satisfaction enough, repayment for the application of pressure they'd seen fit to exert upon him, inelegantly and unsuccessfully. "They're gone. All of them." He does not suppress the edge of satisfaction to the words, their hard, unrepentant glint. Fring had exacted the level of struggle to be expected from a dying man who knew he was dying, and Rush had completed his objective.

At the mention of angel cages, the TARDIS bristles visibly and her gaze darts to the cat, disgusted with what she's hearing. She knows too well how effective those are, has suffered their power herself, has seen the terror in Gabriel even after he'd been freed. Although something quite different would be needed to contain her, it likely would not have been a great leap for them. She's been trapped and even damaged by human technology before. The Unicorn expels a hot angry burst of air, just barely missing the cat.

But he's quite right, that threat seems to have passed for now. The Doctor has settled in enough to be aware of all the convoluted politics and little upheavals the humans have been causing themselves here, though he wasn't directly involved in this one for once. Rather regrettably, the TARDIS thinks; overthrowing a corrupt organization or two would have done him good.

"Yes," she agrees with forced calm, hoping that Rush will at least come to her the next time he is in danger. But there is something in his tone of voice and his air of personal satisfaction that gives her pause, and she raises her eyes to meet his again. "Did you have a hand in it?"

One side of his mouth twists, viciously pleased for a moment. "It was a multi-pronged effort. To my knowledge, several individuals were involved."

He studies the pale cicatrical line running over both wrists, unable or unwilling to meet the TARDIS's eyes fully due to some instinct he cannot put a name to. It had been reasonable to explain. Reasonable, and he owed her that. That much had been obvious.

"Asadi and I may have been among them," he concludes, refusing to fall into the atypical sensation of guilt whose origins are quite beyond him. "We may have caused - significant damage to the organization at large." They may have headbutted the proverbial snake, severing the head by strangling the neck, driving the rest of the writhing, squirming thing into the dirt. After what was done to him at the snake's metaphorical hands, he had been equipped to generate the fallout and had seen no reason not to do so.

That is not as clear of an answer as she would have liked, and she frowns even though he isn't looking at her. "Commendable," she says pensively, "I'm sure your actions saved many lives and prevented future ills." She has no doubt that his and Iman's intelligence were effective tools in the endeavor, and after his capture he'd certainly felt justified to cause all this damage both for personal reasons as well as the general welfare of others. Not unlike Gabriel and his rampage. The comparison is both unwelcome and bitter, and perhaps, regrettably, not entirely unwarranted. Still, her voice is even and quiet when she asks, "So why do you speak as though you have something to hide?"

He looks away. Arista stares at him in helpless silence, offering nothing. There is an unspoken trepidation, both in her tone and in the silence that follows, that halts the certainty of his demeanor regarding decisions previous. Fring's death had not been optional, it had been bright and clearly defined and a fixed point in their respective futures, and this had been obvious to him from the moment Asadi dragged him from the lower levels against his will.

It had not occurred to him what the TARDIS may consider necessary or optional in this context. He has walled himself in, unable to seize a rational exit to the question and unwilling to seize an irrational one, and he is left with few choices but to answer.

He searches himself for guilt or regret but finds he can unearth none.

Though he regrets, perhaps, the omission of certain events in his impromptu summary.

"I'm not hiding anything," he says evenly, unable to prevent the creep of the defensive note to his tone, which unfortunately leaves him with a clear logical progression he does not want to progress toward. "I took the actions I deemed necessary."

She takes a breath at his reply, even and quiet, and its exhalation carries the heaviness of a sigh. Surely he knows that his tone and wording betrayed him even while he voiced them. "I have heard that sentiment more times than even I can count," she says, though there's no reprimand in her voice, only weariness. It wasn't too long ago that Topher reminded her what violence and savagery any human might stoop to, even those in her high regards, so she doesn't have the heart to be surprised this time.

"Very well then," she settles on, clasping her hands behind her back and not seeking his gaze any longer. "Keep it to yourself. I must simply assume you did something regrettably human." She could look, of course, see it in his mind, but what would be the point, and does she really want to know? Not even pilots are without fault, and human ones even less so. The Unicorn merely stares down at Arista out of dark old eyes, unfathomable.

Regrettably. A muscle in his jaw twitches briefly and he looks away because he must. He did what he considered necessary for a purpose, a purpose he has acted upon in the past and would do so quite willingly again because it was, as he saw it and still sees it, completely and wholly necessary, and he is just as disappointingly, frustratingly, conventionally susceptible to the flaws of his species as anyone would be.

"The man who tortured me," he says, the defensive bite rising despite the uncertain tightening of his shoulders. He looks at her with building momentum, a silent challenge, an absurd defiance to whatever judgement she may pass on his actions' behalf. "I killed him."

Immediately the justifications present themselves, multifaceted and manifold. "It was necessary. He was going to kill Ms. Asadi as well as myself, and I acted - "

He did not act in self-defense.

He acted recklessly, and drove the other man into the ground with the ruthless tightening of fingers around his throat before Fring could initiate any sort of offense, exerting pressure until the man's struggles faded into choking then silence.

"It was necessary," he concludes, the ferocity of his defense dimming for reasons he cannot map or track or delineate. "For all involved."

His defiant explanation doesn't come as a surprise and her gaze returns to him, an eyebrow raised in perhaps more judgement than she is intending. "Not for the man you killed," she points out when he stops, the only time her voice takes on a sharp edge. "Not for the future he would have contributed to. And perhaps it wasn't just him, perhaps there were guards or scientists whose lives were easier ended than redirected?" That's what Gabriel had done during his attack on Romac. Not that she holds Rush to the same standards, and she shakes her head softly.

"I don't care to judge whether it was necessary. But in my universe I see the infinite number of potential paths anyone might take, and I know there is always another option." She meets the challenge in his eyes with a calm, searching look. "And so do you, I think." Someone who genuinely believes in a fact generally doesn't feel the need to restate it quite as often as he has done.

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lottawork - 2015-05-25 20:55 (UTC) - Expand

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lottawork - 2015-05-25 22:41 (UTC) - Expand

Someone else unquestionably is, one or two someones, exact count dependent on some rather tricky metaphysicalities as it currently is. Zagreus, uncomfortable with the expanse of ocean and beach and sky, the feel of sand just untrustworthy enough as footing goes to make him look put out, is at least as out of place as his abhorrent soul. The appalling conglomeration of varying creatures by his side looks more at home, though the sand it belongs on was never this colorful and the mirage-y heat shimmer over its back doesn't belong to this temperate sun. Zagreus trudges a few steps behind and beside the chimaera, where its blind spot would be if it weren't so uniquely equipped for field of vision; old habits etc, and at least it's something to do. Neither creature seems very inclined to get their feet wet. The two round a rock formation and freeze in place, like some very appropriate classical reference or other.

Zagreus, for a change of pace, doesn't look especially pleased to have turned up under foot; perhaps he had been enjoying the rare opportunity to exchange words with something that didn't have to be hounded and worried into it. Alecto just looks alarmed, assortment of heads bent low and staring up at the unicorn sulkily, crouched with one forepaw barely on the sand. "Oh dear, I think we're spoiling what would otherwise be a very lovely paint-by-number scene, sincerest apologies," Zagreus says, hurriedly catching the creature up with a petty shove to its haunch. Tangible and outside of wherever it normally resides is suddenly feeling like an untenable position for a soul. But that's no excuse for it to mulishly balk in the path, or make so many faces all at once. He grabs the beast by the horns and hauls at it rudely, wrenching at least one head out of its guarded pose. Alecto, for her part, quickly recovers her haughtiest air, not unlike a cat having fallen off a dresser. "Ugly, one-horned mule," she huffs like at least two of her constituent species, "What good is a knife on a horse's head? Should have been wings. You ruin all the best metaphors."

The Unicorn whips its head up in alarm one fraction of a moment before the TARDIS senses the bitter rot of Zagreus' presence, and so they stand ready and resentful when the monsters approach. So much for a peaceable dream.

The TARDIS almost doesn't feel like deigning his mocking greeting with a reply, but his conduct with his manifestation is of interest. Even she can read the unease and wariness in its stance, and his forced dismissal of it. Before she gets a chance to make use of that, though, the Unicorn apparently takes offense enough for both of them and snorts, "I am real," in Gallifreyan, meaning order and purpose and certainty. Somehow this startles the TARDIS; it seems far too intimate and wrong to address them in the dead language of her architects, the language of her pilot, and her hand tightens in the Unicorn's fur. "Metaphors are for things that don't exist, Sickness", it adds in English.

"It seems your manifestation has more sense than you," she says, trying not to let her moment of disquiet show. "You ought to take its advice." In agreement, the Unicorn lowers its head somewhat to point its wrought horn in the direction of the nearest disgusting head, the taut muscles of its front legs twitching like it's bothered by insects, itching to kick or flee.

Well if it's worth anything, Zagreus doesn't seem to care for it much either. "Stop that," he scolds the unicorn, like it's a housepet run slightly amok, like he's in any position to reprimand a large and angry equine that seems hell bent on squaring off with an equally offended monster. "Don't make me think in that language, I've earned better than that sort of torture. And I most certainly exist, same as you, even if I don't always put in the effort that I should. You're thinking of similes."

The chimaera, taking its cue from Zagreus' obvious disapproval of any metaphysical manifestation standoffs, takes a pointedly unconcerned seat. Every ostentatious set of eyes refuses to acknowledge the unicorn, though the serpent tale still watches surreptitiously; no dramatic posturing is worth getting skewered or trampled. Alecto addresses the TARDIS with resignation, something like real woe, "He knows he ought to. I can't really fault him for not, though."

At his impudent scolding, the Unicorn jerks its head towards Zagreus and scrapes one massive front hoof across the sand, but remains silent and still otherwise. The TARDIS doesn't need any mental contact to know that it finds this encounter just as unsettling as she does, and not for the usual reasons. There is far too much appalling familiarity and... agreement occurring here, from him on the matter of her language and from the creature on her warning. She eyes it with mingled disgust and consideration, trying to decide whether to make the probably futile attempt at going on her way, or if this thing is actually likely to reveal something useful about him.

"Why not?," she settles on, addressing the head that spoke last with some contempt. "Is he incapable of listening even to his own corrupt reason?" Or whatever passes for reason in the repulsive chaos of his mind. The Unicorn mutters, "Paradox," as though it was judging the sticky mud beneath its hooves.

Zagreus eyes the unicorn warily at this development, but decides no evasion is necessary. He makes a tetchy sound in his throat at the beast's laconic judgment. Sure, be that way. It's not really wrong.

"We act along the lines we were made. You should know all about that," the thing offers in a lecturing tone. "Do you ever watch yourself do something, from the outside, and know exactly the mistake you're making even as you make it? And then do you ever do the opposite with just as much conviction?" And are you ever gifted with an externalised version of your interiormost self, just so you can tell it to shut up. "We aren't meant for strategy. Or for languishment. And yet. This universe abides." The speaking mouth changes with each choppy sentence, in frustration. It isn't like Zagreus doesn't have choices. Who cares if none of them meet his exacting specifications? Narrative requires what it requires. Zagreus looks like he's considering giving the animal a kick, if the showboat pony won't do it.

Of course she is more than familiar with the requirements and limitations one's nature represents, but in her mind that's as much explanation as it is excuse. She of all creatures knows about overcoming the limits of one's purpose. He just doesn't want to try, he'd rather be destroyed. And the second half of the thing's lecture is utterly meaningless to her, more than that; it reeks of unreason and, as the Unicorn aptly noted, paradox. Her lip curls as though the stench was physical. If this is the sort of insight into Zagreus' psyche she's going to be given, she has no interest or use for it.

It's no surprise to hear he has been bored and directionless; she could tell as much from the sheer amount of trite drivel he's been sending her, but there is an urgency to the monster's frustration that makes her wonder. "He really has done nothing but languish, this entire time?" she asks, mostly to see if there isn't some new atrocity that requires her attention, or his punishment. She spares him only a brief glance, wary and unnerved by the fact that he hasn't tried to object to his creature's honesty so far, though he looks perfectly displeased.

The Unicorn chooses this moment to expel a heavy, hot breath of air and declares, "This universe quells," echoing the other manifestation's fierce frustration. With a disturbingly knowing tint to its neutral voice, it adds, "The Sickness lacks a pilot." And while the TARDIS knows that it's using narrow human words which equate to so much broader concepts in their shared mind, a pilot being direction and purpose and kinship, she still bristles violently at the too familiar term. He is nothing like a ship, nothing like her, and she turns an appalled look on the Unicorn, though no objection readily presents itself.

"He has set himself as a ruler of complete unreality. Not even that, a thug with a staked out corner," the chimaera laments. And truth be told, he patrols it only half heartedly and haphazardly, but the thing has at least enough sense to keep its complaints barebones. The only atrocities for her interest are old, ongoing bones to pick and gnaw.

"Now hold on a minute. You're mixing your metaphors," Zagreus contests the unicorn's appraisal hotly. "Just because you're a ship. To you, every hammer is a nail," that's not right, but it's close enough for a dream, where the metaphors are a bit harder to pin down. "Anyway, who asked you. I didn't come here to be interrogated by weaponised transportation. And stop talking to my chimaera," he hisses at the TARDIS. This is absurd. This isn't how it's meant to go.

The Unicorn responds to Zagreus' protests by moodily snapping its impressive teeth his way, a gesture that could almost be mocking, sarcastic, if it wasn't just this side of sincerely threatening. Though it makes no move to actually step into his range.

Also, his vexation is enough to make this encounter worth the TARDIS' while, despite her manifestation's occasionally rather off-putting choice of words. She scornfully quirks an eyebrow at him to point out, "It doesn't seem to mind." So take it up with yourself. Or better yet, leave. Now there would be a novelty. The thing is probably glad someone is listening at all, she realizes; one of his weaknesses she has gotten a taste for exploiting lately.

Not that its reply made any immediate sense, what 'unreality' is it speaking of? It takes her a moment to parse, but if not linear reality, the only other plane here is the telepathic current. Which is a perfectly legitimate part of reality, in her opinion, though it doesn't adhere to most of the same rules, and he has hardly been ruling it. She turns her scorn to the more forthcoming monster. "I'm quite sure I would have noticed if he had achieved any sort of power over this plane. Is that all he has to show?" She's perfectly aware that his affinities would let him easily influence the structure of this plane in localized ways, and she doesn't doubt there have been unfortunates who've run afoul of that, but that is a far cry from being actually noticeable.

What an unusually salty unicorn. Zagreus looks scandalised, then mildly offended, makes a shooing gesture its way. Weaponised transportation is proving his point. All that power and it's still just a beast of burden, what a waste, though there are markets where that horn would fetch a pretty penny.

And who does the TARDIS think she is in all this. She's outright interrogating his chimaera now, like...like she has any right. And her overarching air of unimpressedness isn't helpful either. "Well I'm open to suggestions. Not that either of you has anything worthwhile to offer. And what about you? Aren't you in the same boat?" he asks pointedly. "Do I have to lead the horse to water as well as make it drink? It doesn't mind because it's probably the most reasonable creature present. A role I'm sure we're both sick of playing for you." What a long and pointless game he's selflessly playing.

If his snide remarks are meant to rile, they're not doing a terribly good job of it, his presumption far too ridiculous to be taken seriously. "Don't talk to me about reason," she chides, sparing him another unimpressed look. "The universe in which you would be considered reasonable has yet to be discovered." Once again the Unicorn seems to be rather more offended, is less able or willing to school its aggravation and tension and stomps a front hoof, training its horn at his chest. The TARDIS glances at its overtly ruffled behavior but doesn't intervene, knowing it would not charge without being attacked first.

Besides, she's not done determining the extent of Zagreus' ineffectiveness. He tried to accuse her of the same, and as evidenced by the Unicorn it smarts on some level, but she's been useful enough and at least she has attempted to leave this universe. His manifestation's complaints make her wonder if he's done even that. "Have you not at least tried to escape?" she asks, mildly incredulous. And if he has, maybe some interesting details of his failure would be forthcoming.

Edited 2015-05-25 17:09 (UTC)

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