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

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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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My, they are so very high up, aren't they? It appears to occur to his unfortunate quarry a shade too late as he backs himself against a tree, and Rumpelstiltskin follows at what may best be described as a leisurely stroll.

The rabbit's words are a betrayal of self, doubtless indicative of some terribly intrapersonal tangle of self-sabotaging indecision. It brings the Dark One up short for a moment. The terror in the other man's eyes as he searches and knows he is utterly incapable of scuttling away is - curious. Familiar. Reminiscent of a man who has not existed in centuries, in lifetimes.

Rumpelstiltskin knows the plight of the coward, the scared and fearful. He knows it and he is scornful of it, but it burns a cold reminder of what he is beneath the mantle of the monster and its hyperconfident puppetry.

It is for that reason that his voice is only softly intrigued, devoid of the tint of menace, when he says, "there is no shame in having power."

No. NO. What is that? What the fuck just happened? This is worse.

"I don't have power," he hisses, revolted enough by his betrayal of self (would he have given himself up like that if Nova had been inside as usual? he might never know, but he has a pretty good fucking guess) that it shakes him out of his fear, if only for a moment. "It's not power, it's a fucking - curse." He practically spits the word out.

The recognition, the sudden softness, is anathema to him. Don't say you understand. Don't compare yourself to me. We are nothing alike.

I will never be so frightening.

"You're so full of shit," says Nova under her breath, and with disgust Johnny releases her, not violently, just opens his arm and lets her hop down to the ground.

"Leave me alone," he snaps, and he has no idea, terrifyingly, which figure he's addressing.

Edited 2015-05-19 01:01 (UTC)

The flash of revulsion, the horrified alarm, brushes something old and frightened in the heart of him. Rumpelstiltskin knows the piercing, choking disgust as his skin became scaled, his heart turned black. He knows the scrambling, gibbering fear as he became stunned by the realization of what he was. The power had made him exultant, the price well worth its reward.

He sees his old desperation mirrored in the other man's face as the rabbit comes spilling out of his arms, and the Dark One's stare bores into him.

"It's possible I could help with that little problem," he says neutrally. Grizelda's heavy tale curls along the leaf-strewn floor as she shifts toward the little creature. "Curses happen to be a specialty of mine."

He did not know the meaning of his curse when he shouldered its burden, but that does not mean Rumpelstiltskin has learned to regret it.

Oh good. Help, from this coy-faced gameplaying motherfucker. That's definitely on the roster of things Johnny wants and needs.

He jolts slightly when the lizard sort of melts toward Nova, moving like thick fucking liquid. He's not quite pinned but he'd have to make the gambit of pushing past the man to get to the lizard and that's not something he thinks he wants to try.

"Don't-" he starts, catching himself with a shaky breath. Nova has gone very still under the eye of the other creature, not quite so overtly afraid, but then she's a rabbit and this is what rabbits do, they sit paralyzed waiting for the moment where it'll be too late to run. Dumb little fucks.

"What do you want from me," he grits out, looking back up at the man's peering eyes.

"I don't want anything." Yet. Not unless this man is willing to divulge more about his alleged 'curse'. That, he thinks, is a very valid mutual point of interest.

Grizelda watches the rabbit, silent and with the mild air of a cat about to enjoy the show of what a cornered mouse might do next. Her tongue darts out at brief, arrhythmic intervals as she watches, unblinking.

"If you've a problem, however, I'm only too happy to help." One side of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but subtly triumphant. "Every curse can be broken."

"Yeah, right." Johnny stares up at him, bowed against his tree, smaller, almost poised to fight, as if he would try that shit when it never, ever works here. "What, out of the goodness of your heart? What would you get out of it?"

Suddenly seeming cowed, perhaps now that Johnny's taken the course of directness, Nova skirts backwards a little, trying to dart behind the tree, out of sight.

Grizelda follows, circling around the tree with the dragging of tail and a curling of claws against roots, scraping pale sickles of bark from beneath her grasping feet.

Rumpelstiltskin smiles in earnest, his interest only sharpened. This man recognizes a deal before any utterance of the word, and is appreciably wary about the endeavor. This alone has elevated him somewhat above the usual desperate peasant or powermongering king.

That, and the fact that he does not hide his fear, just as the Dark One does not hide his wolven face. Monsters among monsters, baring their souls to the world and one another.

"If it's power you wish to be rid of, there are ways that can be," he pauses briefly, almost theatrically, as he searches out the word, "remedied, shall we say."

Johnny's lip curls at that. Oh, sure, remedied. Given away, weaponized, he's heard it all before. Too many possibilities pulling him too many ways, and still the fucking lizard stalking his soul around a tree. He can feel Nova starting to weaken a bit, quivering, more rabbitlike, as she tries to hide between roots.

"Why would you do that for me," he says. "What do I have to give?"

He wants to get his rabbit. He makes a slight, bracing movement as if to push away from the tree, brush past the man, testing. Maybe if he lets him, if Johnny can get Nova back up away from the lizard, they can make a goddamn break for it. Should have done from the outset. Stupid boy.

The jerk of movement snaps Grizelda's attention back to the man. She hisses, a low and unmistakeably threatening sound, and advances upon the rabbit further.

Do not flee when the Dark One is speaking to you.

That is not polite.

"Power has a great deal of uses, dearie." Rumpelstiltskin's tone never diverges from its patient neutrality. This is a business transaction like any other, and he will treat it as such. With respect. "You want it off your hands and I'm only too willing to take it." Grizelda punctuates the statement with another wordless hiss, and Rumpelstiltskin folds his hands over his cane. "No reason it should go to waste."

Dearie really deserves more of a response than a slight tilt of the head mildly affronted expression but Johnny's mind is elsewhere. Nova's tension is turning to fear, stupid fucker, this is your fault after all, my fault, our fault - he can't mistake the implied threats coming from the lizard, if not the man, they do make a good little tag team don't they - and his willingness to wait this out is diminishing. He twitches back to his cowardly press against the tree, uneasy, waiting for something to go off, he doesn't know what.

"Yeah?" he says, rough and ragged. "You don't want this shit, man. Nobody wants it. The rift gave it to me, it's mine, I'm supposed to carry it. I can't get rid of it. That's the point."

Nova picks this moment to make an attempted break for it, darting out from behind the tree and past the lizard, like a fucking class act moron. That was the thing, then, the thing he was waiting for. Fantastic.

"Nova-!" he snaps just before doubling over at the first hint of pain, the tug in his chest.

Rumpelstiltskin's expression becomes briefly, fleetingly annoyed for an instant as the rabbit bolts. Her counterpart has made the wise choice to remain, straining their bond and truly making the situation much easier to resolve. Grizelda twists and spits, claws raking out after the thing, but it darts between them. He suppresses a spike of frustration with his scalier self for allowing it to slip between its claws, but a twitch of hand restores the situation to its former balance. Magic ripples up and around the rabbit, engulfing it in shimmering purple for but a moment - but in that moment, it is become immobilized in its tracks. Grizelda catches it between her claws more firmly, pinning it, and with noticeable flair Rumpelstiltskin releases the little trapped thing.

Perhaps that is the indicator of his power they have all been waiting to see.

"You think you're the only one with a curse?" he says softly, almost partially to himself as his hand lowers to rest over the curved handle of his cane again. "You think you're the only one with darkness inside you?"

He looks back at the man against the tree with a predatory edge that was not altogether present before.

"Perhaps it's time you knew who it was you're dealing with," continues Rumpelstiltskin, abruptly amused again. "Hmm?"

Johnny feels a much sharper jerk of pain when the man catches her, freezes her, it's like ice in his blood, he can still feel her but she can't talk, can't run, can't come back to him. He releases her but the lizard has her now, locking her down.

"Don't-" he protests, breathless, pain still pounding in his chest - she's still just a little too far from him, held at the edge now, and it is with considerable effort that he looks up, reaches both his hands toward the man and seizes him by the lapels of his stupid jacket. Yeah he's powerful, that was sort of obvious wasn't it? He doesn't care, it isn't like he's a stranger to putting himself in the direct path of malicious forces far greater than him. "Let her go," he says between his teeth.

His quarry grabs hold of him, some poor attempt at physical intimidation when the current power dynamic is so obviously skewed in the Dark One's favor. He tsks softly, unconcernedly, and cocks his head, completely untroubled by the attempted assertion of dominance. His voice remains level, his eyes unblinking.

"That's bad manners, dearie." One hand snakes up to wrap iron fingers around one of the offending wrists. "I suggest you release me. It may be all the worse for you - " Grizelda's grip tightens - " - if you don't."

Novatiana makes no sound but Johnny lets out a soft whimper, a little nnh, feeling the immediate increase of her fear. He loosens his fingers immediately, his free hand dropping to brace himself on the tree, the other pulling very slightly at the grip on it; he's too afraid to actually wrench himself free, and it's probably better for everyone, there's not much else that would stop him from kicking someone's soul-lizard to get his rabbit back. He always lets these things happen to him, doesn't he.

"Who are you," he says fearfully.

"So pleased to make your acquaintance." He straightens immediately upon being released, making a show of brushing off the front of his jacket before folding his hands back over the handle of his cane with a flourish. Grizelda loosens her hold incrementally, enough, perhaps, to allow a little breathing room. If they continue to have this level of cooperation, perhaps he may be convinced to release her entirely.

He bows his head with a deliberate, almost regal air, and one corner of his mouth twitches.

"Rumpelstiltskin."

His breathing is still labored, which is the only thing that keeps him from bursting into incredulous, manic laughter.

"What," he says thinly. "No. Nooo. You're..."

Well. Why not. Greta comes from fairytales and she's a perfectly normal person. This guy, this scary fucker with a less scary fucker's face, there's no reason he couldn't be some old monster. Ridiculous name and vague memories of an ugly-faced imp aside, Rumpelstiltskin was a monster, wasn't he? Taking people's firstborns and shit. He can't really remember. Johnny doesn't have a firstborn and the way things are going he doubts that will ever change.

His posture relaxes, though not by much. The lizard is still holding his soul down, if less aggressively than before.

"Okay," he says, like he's getting used to the idea. "Uh. Okay."

He's unmoored. Where was this going?

"And you want my..." He doesn't let himself finish that. He doesn't want to say it. That would feel too much like an offer.

He cycles through the typical excess of doubt, incredulity, and refusal all quite rapidly, and lands upon acceptance even quicker. He did not immediately recognize the Dark One's name and face, and in Storybrooke it has become clear that the associations clustered around 'Rumpelstiltskin' are somewhat more varied and imprecise than those of fact. And yet, here he remains. And here is his target, unlucky and untethered.

"Power," says Rumpelstiltskin, "is a currency with which I deal on regular basis. I realize my reputation has a tendency to - precede me." He smiles, knowing and sharklike.

Johnny straightens slightly, eyes narrowing.

"You don't want mine," he says coldly. "It's bigger than you." He may not believe that but it is. How it fits in someone so small and insignificant is on the Rift, apparently.

"Yeah I want it gone," he admits, resolve weakening a little. "More than anything. But you don't want it."

"I see you're quite certain of that," he says, adopting a bored tone, examining the other man with an evaluative, sweeping look. "Charming. But you've no need to worry on my account."

Dreams are funny things. One moment Rumpelstiltskin looks as he did in Storybrooke, as human and innocuous as his target. The next, there's the flicker of something changing, and as quickly as it shimmers over his skin and into his eyes, igniting them with something ancient and hellish and strange, it is gone again.

"The Dark One has life eternal," he says, his smile assuming a jagged edge. "Power eternal. That is the price of my curse."

Johnny flinches back at the little shift, nearly imperceptible, did he imagine it, did he, he never fucking knows he never knows what's real does he, that's his whole problem, always been, always will be.

"The fuck," he hisses, and he feels a little twinge as Nova jerks reflexively beneath her captor's claws. Johnny swallows dry and rust-flavored. "Maybe I don't want someone like you having something like this."

"I'm quite certain you're not of my world," says Rumpelstiltskin with a genuine disregard for the profound effect that little demonstration generated. "Nor are you from mine."

This much, at least, has been proven obvious to him. It does not particularly matter from what world this man hails; he has power, and this is of interest to the Dark One.

"In the context of our separate realms," he smiles, thin and inviting, "does it truly matter?"

"It might," says Johnny, soft and faltering.

But does it matter, to him. Does he have any stake in this guy or his 'realm' or any of it. Would it even stick, if it happened in a dream? Would he wake up and have it gone? Or would it be gone only in dreams, like Zagreus' scar, a continuity unto itself?

Would it mean he never dreamed about the house again?

Unlikely. Maybe it's worth a shot. Maybe it isn't.

"Fine," he says softly, weakly. "Fine, take it." He slumps a little and Nova gives a much more violent jerk.

"No!" she rages. "Don't be a fucking idiot, Johnny, don't!"

"A curse can be a terrible burden," he says, as much for the benefit of the rabbit as for its counterpart, as his tone is not unsympathetic. "One whose weight I can well imagine."

He does not engage in contracts whose every point and addendum he does not know. Intimately familiar as Rumpelstiltskin is with the act of exchange, the concept of the deal, he is not one to enter in an agreement whose every constituent has not been clearly delineated to both parties.

"Tell me," continues Rumpelstiltskin, ignoring the rabbit quite steadfastly, "what's your name?"

"Johnny," he murmurs, meek and faltering. She just said that. "Johnny Truant." He leans nervously around the tree, searching out Nova. He wants to get her back, out from under Rumpelstiltskin's lizard, into her arms, and maybe they can fucking run. Flying leap off the cliff. Whatever.

"Please-" he says, stretching a hand out to reach for her.

"One more question, Mr. Truant," says Rumpelstiltskin mildly, with all the creeping menace of an implied threat. Grizelda doesn't move save for the flicking of her tongue and the glittering of her dark, beady eyes, watching Johnny intently. She does not let the rabbit go, but neither does her grip tighten.

"What is your curse?"

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