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

[applesaucemod]

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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[antitimelord]

On a relatively plain island, with buff sand, starkly huge, smooth rocks, and shockingly bright water, is one monster in two parts. One part, sitting neatly on one of these rocks with its serpent-tail coiled around a forearm, looking as shockingly bright and hyper-real as the water, is watching the other with idle interest as he scratches busily in the sand with a stick. "Alright, I admit chess might be a bridge too far, considering the circumstances, but you can't argue with Hangman. Never have seen the point in tic-tac-toe." Alecto sighs. "You're still in sphinx territory. I hunt heroes, I don't play games." She's lying, of course. They both love games.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny reflects that he might be the only animal that is instinctively drawn toward its natural predator, time and again. Blood in the water just circles the shark and he finds it on his own.

He doesn't try to run because it's too late, one of that thing's heads will spot him, or hear him, or something, he's always pinned as soon as he gets within view, every time. He stands at the threshold between jungle and beach, rabbit cradled in his arms. She's gone stiff, head raised in alert, but she is not interested in running either. They both have some kind of business here, they both know it. Or rather they, together, singularly, know it.

So he doesn't run or approach. Not quite drawn enough for a willing and immediate surrender. There's some itch at the back of his head that might be scratched here, and he doesn't like that impression, but it's not ignorable either. Like the itch for a cigarette, or any other drug. His shoulders ache.

[antitimelord]

Of course it's too late. And liminal spaces are dangerous places, nobody like Johnny has any business lingering on a threshold, either a literal border or the line between engaging and fleeing. The chimaera signals its awareness of Johnny's arrival with a luxurious stretch; it could easily fetch him, would even enjoy it, but why? It's unlikely to be necessary.

"Johnny!" Zagreus hails him with mania disguised as predatoriness further disguised as friendliness. "D'you like hangman?" There are only wrong answers to that question, but one is less wrong than the rest.

[johnny_truant]

Easily hooked, or perhaps 'roped' would be the cleverer turn for this exact moment, Johnny finds himself answering the call, stepping closer, unusually measured. He stops not too far from the monster, not within arm's length (and certainly not within serpent's/paw's/hoof's), but not at a good length for escape either. No such length exists.

He has to answer. That's the rule. He doesn't want to answer, but more alarming than knowing he will is not knowing what he's going to say until he says it.

"I don't think I want to play," is what it ends up being. He looks dully at the sand.

[antitimelord]

There's a lot to be said for recognising futility and responding to it maturely, though maybe Johnny doesn't get all the credit for being wise beyond his scant human years. "Why not?" He sounds, he actually sounds, disappointed.

The chimaera is less invested in coyness, and takes it as a foregone conclusion that Johnny will play. "We could always make it interesting. Name your stakes for playing." Its melodious voice is indulgent and entirely without worry.

[johnny_truant]

His eyes drift, just as dull and devoid of feeling, to the chimaera. Nova squirms and he lowers himself down a little, letting her out onto the ground, apparently tired of being carried.

She's not immune to it either, the urge to put herself in the immediate way of danger.

He stays in his deferring little crouch like a fucking dog. "What kind of stakes." He can't be fucked to inflect the question.

[antitimelord]

The chimaera watches the rabbit lazily, stretching out on its rock and dangling one huge forepaw closer to the little animal like an afterthought. "I don't know, you tell me," Zagreus says with poorly concealed irritation an imminent dream crackle in his throat. "Anything you like. That's the point," he tries again for amiability and mostly succeeds. The chimaera has better advice. "What would you like to win? What makes playing worthwhile."

[johnny_truant]

But he won't win, he'd never win, that's not how this works. No point in saying that, no point in being churlish. Those altercations end with him in the water. He considers the paradox of requesting that he'd like to win at all, but of course there must be regulations against that kind of thing, a 'you can't wish for more wishes' kind of deal. Well, all right, Truant. What do you want.

I want my money's worth.

"I want you to leave me alone," he says, tiredly, like stop me if you know this one. "I want you out of my head."

Worth a shot. And if his words get twisted, well, he hasn't agreed to anything yet, has he?

[antitimelord]

There are always rules, naturally, but that does go both ways; Zagreus won't cheat, can only twist words within reason and where inspiration or narrative strikes. "That's two separate things, technically," he chides, like Johnny should know better, but he'll let it slide just this once, in recognition of his efforts.

"But what if we win?" asks the chimaera, now half off its rock, like it's trying to balance on the technicality of keeping its hindquarters on its perch. What could Johnny possibly have to offer, of equal worth to getting Zagreus to leave him alone? Not like he's ever really done that, so the novelty alone makes it a very valuable term of condition. Experimentally, the thing cages the rabbit in one huge paw, digging its claws into the surrounding sand like bars, with a comfortable wriggle. I'm not touching you. Unless of course the thing decides to actually stand up.

[starlightcalliope]

After some time spent wandering the red dunes, Calliope came across some curiously shallow water and eventually wound up on another shore, unfamiliar but bright and therefore inviting. She's not had to walk for long before she spots two figures engaged in... something. A conversation? The one scribbling in the sand seems oddly familiar even at this distance, but her attention is quickly consumed by the other, much more impressive creature. It's quite large and unlike anything she's ever seen before, clearly powerful and mystical... could it be a kind of denizen? It certainly looks like it ought to be dispensing riddles and choices, perched atop its rock with its many watchful heads. In her awe, she doesn't realize she's come to a halt to stare unreservedly from under her hood, her robe now a sunny yellow and trimmed with elegant white swirls around the seams. Ophion is rather well hidden in the folds of her robes and the curling patterns, but he is staring as well, though more cautious than enamored.

[antitimelord]

When Alecto calls his attention to the bright robed figure watching them, Zagreus stares, all guarded curiosity, unsure of the implications. But the gods of wordgames don't discriminate; he is here for a higher purpose. He beckons animatedly to his next opponent. Come one, come all, see the mythical chimaera and get whooped at Hangman too, what a deal. Maybe it's a mystical creature that grants wishes if he wins. Or maybe he's about to be issued some sort of citation for not having a gaming license. Hard to say what the Dreaming will proffer if he stays in one spot long enough, even a spot brighter and more disarming to his usual infestations. "You there! Want to play a game?"

[starlightcalliope]

Upon being discovered Calliope startles and quickly readjusts her hood, but is no less intrigued. A game? Does she ever! So she steps forward cautiously, picking up courage as she closes the distance. Once in front of the two, she turns a courteous little bow towards the majestic monster, because it seems the thing to do. She'd love to get a good look at the man too, wonders how it is she might know him, but at this distance she can't look up without risking being seen. So she settles for a peek at his indecipherable scribbles and lines in the sand and then asks politely, "What sort of a game?". Though it is just about a foregone conclusion that she wants to play.

[antitimelord]

The chimaera returns the bow in a catlike stretch, as amused as a monster can be at the deference; what a polite hooded figure. Zagreus reassess, in the face of her manner and childlike voice; this is no robed judge, she seems too unsure for that. And too short. Has she got an animal manifestation with her? If she does, it's either powerfully invisible or shy and hidden. Probably not a threat. "A word game. Hangman. Do you know how it's played?" He doesn't doubt for a moment his mysterious opponent will agree to the game. Hangman is the purpose of this beach, after all. Is she something that has Hangman? Well, anyone can learn it, though some creatures can't learn the appreciation of it. "It's the most strategic game there is. Besides chess." That's the inarguable truth of the matter.

[starlightcalliope]

A game as thrilling and challenging as chess, and she hasn't heard of it before? Preposterous. Now she simply has got to play it, there's no two ways about it. "I'm quite adept at chess, if I may say so myself," she replies enthusiastically, sensing that here may be someone who appreciates that sort of talent. "But I am not familiar with this game yet! I'd love to learn, though. Would you mind explaining the rules?" It's bound to be exciting, she's sure. Any game is, to her.

[antitimelord]

Zagreus leans on the chimaera's rock, both of them watching this strange little robed creature. "It's very simple," he explains obligingly, "One player picks a word and draws the gallows. The other player guesses a letter at a time. Correct guesses get filled in, but incorrect guesses add a piece to the hanged man. If the hanging is complete before you have enough letters filled in to guess," he cheerfully concludes this by miming the wrong sort of execution in context, dragging a finger across his throat. "But if you guess the word in time, the execution is staid, the stick figure pardoned. And then it's your turn to be the executioner." This is absolutely the best and most graphic way to explain Hangman. "The strategy comes in being able to guess in as few letters as possible, and knowing how words are made...and along what lines your opponent is likely to choose their word." The chimaera takes this opportunity to chime in, "Standard rules are no abbreviations or proper names, and you get six wrong guesses. Usually only one word is played, but that is up to the players. Jargon is a technical possibility, but not sporting." Perhaps the chimaera is more capable of learning than its owner.

[starlightcalliope]

Calliope listens keenly, nodding along and clasping her claws in front of her robe. She appreciates how straightforward and well laid out the rules of this game are, and there's even a little narrative to it - one is either just judge of the guilty, or cunning savior of the innocent. It is perhaps a bit grim, but then, losing always is. Pieces are slaughtered left and right in chess, especially when one's bloody immature opponent eats them afterwards. She can but hope this stranger and his marvelous beast are less sore losers.

She considers the rules for a moment, raising her left hand to her mouth and thoughtfully tapping a claw against a canine tooth, too absorbed in the game to realize she's producing a soft clicking sound. "What about place names?" she asks, needing the rules to allow for no confusion. "And is it limited to only one language? I suppose it must be, to one which both players speak equally fluently."

[antitimelord]

"That's right, just one language," he confirms. He notes the studious tapping; she seems quite dedicated. "And no proper place names. It would be too easy, here. The rift steals people from all over," he throws out. See what she makes of that. She's obviously displaced from somewhere, with those claws. "I am Zagreus, and this," he tangles a hand in the chimaera's mane, "Is Alecto. She doesn't exist in the waking world. Do you know you're dreaming? I suppose a chimaera should be a dead giveaway, if the beach isn't," he comments idly, watching for a reaction. He doubts the name will mean anything to her, unless she's kept very specific company in the waking world. That's just as well, she probably doesn't know anything useful anyway. He's a little surprised she wasn't more hesitant to approach the frightful thing, she'd seemed more startled by his greeting than anything, but maybe big multiheaded beasts are a dime a dozen where she's from.

[i_jones]

Ianto wanders down the beach, sunglasses on and snake draped over his shoulders, as one accessorizes for the beach. She is partly hidden under the collar of his t-shirt, the end of her tail peeking out from his sleeve.

"He almost looks happy," she observes in his ear, so close that her tongue tickles uncomfortably.

"Please stop talking," he hisses under his breath as he approaches.

"Tell him he looks at home in the dirt."

"It's sand."

"Semantics," she says flippantly, but she disappears under his sleeve, wrapping around his bicep as they come within hearing distance.

"Planning your castle?" he calls jovially, lifting his sunglasses to the top of his head and giving the chimaera a curt wave.

[antitimelord]

The chimaera pulls its heads sharply upright in surprise, then all of them look away, ears varyingly turned in disgruntlement. Who waves at a chimaera? Zagreus, however, looks unruffled, grins at Ianto manically, as pleasantly surprised as anyone who ever ran into an old friend at the beach. "If I built a castle here, it wouldn't be sand. Where's your standard issue animal companion? Out of red dragons, were they?" He doesn't comment on the shirt, though it's a near miss. "I do hope you got a rain check, at least. Fancy a game?"

[i_jones]

He is indiscriminately polite to alien and chimaera alike. It's his thing. Ianto shrugs and crosses his legs to sit, feeling Myfanwy coil tighter around his arm, one part amused and one part offended. Naturally he'd hoped for a towering red dragon stomping around the dreamscape, setting fire to the palm trees. "I've never been much for theme nights. Not here, anyway." Remember the old days? Good times. "I'm ace at word games," he warns. "Don't think it'd be fair."

[antitimelord]

Zagreus narrows his eyes, but doesn't question. Is he implying he didn't get one, or just being ancestrally glib? Well, it probably doesn't matter. Maybe he just misplaced it. "I think I have the advantage, but I've never let that stop me. Keeps the metaphor truer to life. Do you want to guess, or pick a word, then? Since you're so sure of yourself."

[i_jones]

"I'll have a go," he says quickly, drawing an immaculate gallows in the sand with his finger and then seven lines of disturbingly equal length beside it. "Alright." Myfawny slithers further up his arm, under his armpit, and he raises his shoulder a little to keep her from tickling, then tries to turn it into a stretch and a posture adjustment.

[antitimelord]

That is disturbing, enough so that Zagreus doesn't notice Ianto's shiftiness, diving into the consideration of his guess. The chimaera is less concerned with orderly lines and watches him closely. "No cheating, now. Standard rules. 'S.'"

[i_jones]

Ianto traces an R next to the gallows and then a head for the unfortunate stick figure doomed to death. "I never cheat." Next, he draws a stick figure near the base of the gallows, waving its wiggly little stick arms in the air in apparent glee.

[antitimelord]

He gets points for his level of commitment to the game's central motifs, sass aside. But that stick figure needs to calm down, game's barely started yet. "No? No cards up your sleeve? You can cheat at anything, if you really try. Or don't." Zagreus ponders his seven blank spaces. "No 'R.' 'I,' then."