applesaucedream | 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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She grins up at him. "Sorry," she says sheepishly. "It's not so bad, though." Certainly not as bad as that dream where they'd been trapped in the tunnel filling with water - well, she doesn't want to think about that for a variety of reasons.

She turns back to peer down at the sand through the water, bending down to dip her hands in and picking up a little shell. She hands it to Peter without a word. This will probably confuse him, and she doesn't really have a reason for it either. It just seems like the thing to do.

Peter instinctively takes the object thrust in his direction, and is of course left standing in the ocean and staring at the little shell in his hand. Is he supposed to do something with it? What is it people do at the beach when they're not getting drunk and throwing tips at drop-out kids trying way too hard to be edgy street magicians?

"What's this for?" he asks.

"For you!" she says, like 'you silly'. She wanders onward, searching for more treasures or maybe some little fish. Simonides peeks back at Cascia and Peter, blinking silently, which might be interpreted as an invitation to follow if one can put human body language interpretations to tiny shy anteater expressions.

Oh god, now he has a shell he has to carry around. Why did you make him responsible for this shell, Bee?

He steps further out, his movements ginger like he expects his foot to come down on something nasty with every step despite being perfectly able to see to the sandy bottom. He doesn't particularly mean to look for anything so much as he's watching where he puts his feet in case there's something sharp (or worse, living) down there, but when he spots the curved edge of something metallic he stoops and slips his hand into the water to dig it out of the sand, and when he straightens and squints at the thing finds that it's some kind of coin. "Look at this," he calls.

Bee turns back immediately, coming close and peering at the coin in his hand. "Well look at that," she says, grinning up at him. "You found buried treasure."

See, Peter, this is called 'having fun'.

"What is it, some kind of token?" Peter turns it over in his hand, rubbing at it with his thumb. His first impression is right -- it isn't a proper coin at all. He grins at Bee, a filthy joke coming to mind re: the token being good for one ride, then swallows the urge when he remembers the last conversation they had along those lines.

"Maybe it'll get you a spot on a cruise, if we see one," she says airily, turning and splashing off in another direction. Her dress is getting a little wet now but that's okay. She takes Simonides down from her shoulder and gives him a few gentle pets. "Do you want to try swimming?" she asks.

"No!!" he squeaks fretfully, covering his face with his little claws.

"It's not that cold," snorts Cascia, tossing her head in lieu of rolling eyes that don't so much roll. She tromps closer, pointing her nose upward to peer at the smaller daemon.

Peter glances at the little scene unfolding, then back at the token -- and the shell in the other hand. After a moment's consideration he pockets both. "You hear about what happened?" he asks. "Back in the waking world, I mean, not here. Obviously."

"It's not that," murmurs Simonides, which is a little surprising - he doesn't usually talk to people on his own. Bee smiles at him encouragingly.

"I just don't think I can swim!" he says. "And I'm too little - I'd drown."

"I wouldn't let you drown," says Bee comfortingly, but she won't force the issue if he doesn't want to try. That's fine.

Peter's question pulls her attention back, and her smile wavers and fades. "Yeah," she says. "Friend of mine was involved, I think. Apparently one of his friends got taken prisoner..." She sighs heavily. "Why would they do something like that, I mean, I thought ROMAC wanted to help people."

Not that she's naive enough to believe in any inherent goodness of a corporate government organization, and being on the Rebels' side of things has instilled a vague automatic distrust of ROMAC, but still, taking prisoners seems so extreme.

"You will not," insists Cascia, though fuck knows if whatever Simonides is can swim. Fuck knows if goats can swim, but it's shallow here so it doesn't matter. "You've got how many people standing around? We're not going to stand here and watch you drown." Because rescuing a floundering whatever-he-is would be so easy for a goat, and so non-mortifying for Simonides, too.

Peter shakes his head. "Doesn't surprise me," he says. "From what I hear the Rebels get up to the same kind of thing, too. It would've been weird if the people giving out handouts didn't have some kind of hidden agenda."

"Hrmf," grunts Simonides noncommittally, clambering onto Bee's shoulder as she folds her arms tightly around herself, gazing at the water.

"I just don't understand why they have to hurt anyone," she murmurs. "I mean, what did we ever do to them? We're all lost, all in the same boat. We should be helping each other."

"Hasn't stopped anyone else in human history," Peter points out. More hesitantly, he asks, "You didn't know anyone over there, did you? In the ROMAC building?"

He's absolutely just checking in on whether she has anyone she's worried about. This has nothing to do with a half-assed attempt to get some kind of news about a ~~loved one~~ acquaintance of his own.

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

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