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!

Comments

[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.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny stiffens abruptly when the chimaera brings its paw down over Nova, trapping her more or less in place; she's hunkered down, holding still, but he can almost feel her frightened little heart beating.

He doesn't speak out against it, too cowed to threaten, and already too entrenched with the current bargain. It doesn't matter. They both knew this would happen. And he's just as trapped, if not physically.

"Out of my head," he reiterates, reinforcing it. If he wins, if Zagreus follows the fucking rules, this could be it, he could excise one invader if not all of them. This might be worthwhile. But what does he have to bet with?

It's not like he's bad with words. He's a writer, you know. Ha ha.

"What do you want," he says with an impatient shrug. "Me? Free access to all of it? You wanna hold me under again, every fucking night?" He gestures recklessly at the water. "Do whatever you want to me. I don't care. If I win." He jabs a finger into Zagreus' chest. "You get out of my head and don't come back."

This is stupid.

He knows it's stupid.

Wouldn't be the first time.

[antitimelord]

Zagreus raises an eyebrow at this outburst; the chimaera chuffs warningly at this boldly hands-on treatment of its other half, but lets the rabbit go with an overbearing little pet. Oh, Johnny. "Not drowning, not every night," he says, offended. That would get old, given time. This isn't some classical punishment, liver-eating eagles and pushing boulders up hills, dead tiresome repetition. If someone's been tormenting Johnny to the point of bone-weary familiar despair, tracked his mind up with mental pacing like a dead dirt path where there should be grass, it was Johnny himself, wrapping up in his familiar anguish like a childhood blanket. Cute that he thinks that would be a nightly effort from Zagreus, when he's more of a groundskeeper. It's also not very creative, when he could throw him onto black rock fangs or have him pulled apart by the walls, any number of things, with their combined impressive imaginations the sky's the limit and that's just garden-variety bodily torment. "That would be quite the committment. But alright, I agree to these terms. Would you like to start first?" It's another indulgence, Zagreus has no shortage of confidence.

[johnny_truant]

Nova scurries from under Alecto's paw back to huddle by Johnny's foot, but he's too stiff to pick her up.

He agreed. Just like that.

That's it.

Johnny has just signed a fucking contract with open-ended terms he put forth himself.

Lips moving soundlessly for a moment, he finally says, shaky, pale-faced and ghost-voiced, "Okay."

Should not have done this. Should not have said. Too late now and in any case it's so hard to resist these days, getting harder.

He bends to the sand and draws out a little line of dashes.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

[antitimelord]

"Very good," Zagreus says, waiting patiently for the game to be laid out. He even offers Johnny the stick, so he can draw a gallows, if he likes. Clearly he's got no showmanship, as drawing the gallows to drive the point home to your opponent is the most important part. "It's only a game, Johnny, why do you look like you've just seen your own corpse?" asks the chimaera with faux-concern; Zagreus flaps a hand at it warningly. Let it stick to routing fuzzy little woodland creatures, he will do the diabolical deal-making and wordplay. "I'm making this easy for you, you know. I could be making you guess. That would be more in keeping, anyway." Trust Zagreus to grumble in his bed once he's made it. But he really does mean to be sporting. "I'm giving you a chance. So never say I didn't." He scrutinises the dashes in the sand, mouth working. Hangman is a very serious game, a divination really. And Zagreus can always use some foresight. "'R,' to start with." Textbook, for now.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny tries not to feel relieved. It's way too early for that.

He draws an R beside his shitty little gallows picture, and a small circle for the head. This game is so morbid, of course it is, of course this is what Zagreus wants to play.

He remains where he is, squatting in the sand, looking up at Zagreus expectantly.

[antitimelord]

Way, way too early. Johnny didn't make a beginner's mistake, at least--some players like to pick the longest word they can, like that's an advantage instead of more rope to be strung up with. Zagreus feels only a tick of annoyance at missing his first guess, doesn't bother not to let it show; the chimaera begins to pace. He really ought to have had Johnny be the guesser, unnerving him would be so easy and so fun, but there's something to be said for taking the high road in life. Once in awhile. Just to see what it looks like. "'I,' next." No more textbook. Don't want to look worried, even if it means sticking your neck out.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny chews his lip and doesn't look up anymore, eyes on the sand. Nova curls closely against him and he rests his free hand against her. He wishes he hadn't agreed to this. His heart is pounding so fast and there's still twenty-four whole letters to be guessed. Yeah, unless he picks right. Unless he guesses the word. This choice was dumb. Obvious. Easy. He's so fucked.

We'll just see. Just do the fucking thing. Throw the ball, Johnny.

Abandoning the stick he draws with his finger:

_ _ _ _ _ I _ _

[antitimelord]

"Well that narrows it down," jeers the stalking chimaera. Less verbally, Zagreus agrees. But is Johnny the sort to play clever, or to play to meaning? Serious now, Zagreus sits down cross-legged on the sand, a literal and visual buckling down. "'N,'" he says, with the weight of real actual calculation behind it. It can't hurt to be cautious, at least in this one, singular thing.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny feels cold, feels like his insides are stone. It's only two letters but it seemed like such a purposed, informed guess, like he knows, he's onto him. Feeling like every scrape of sand is a cut into his own skin:

_ _ _ _ _ I N _

[antitimelord]

There's no rope to call Johnny predictable yet, just the English language, but it's early still. Really, what did he hope to achieve here. "Calm down, Johnny, it's just a game. In a dream, no less. 'T,'" he prompts.

[johnny_truant]

Yeah, well. Every little bit counts.

He draws a slow, intent line beneath the little head, adds 'T' to the pool beside R.

"I'm fucking calm," he lies. "Next."

[antitimelord]

Zagreus and the chimaera just grin knowingly at him, eerily in tandem. What adorable and false bravado. "'L,'" he says, on a whim. Still some limbs to spare.

[johnny_truant]

To his false bravado's credit, whatever that's worth, he does remain calm even as he slots the letter into place. No choice but to remain calm, hope for the best, hope is stupid but it's all he's ever had.

_ _ L _ _ I N _

[antitimelord]

Zagreus stares at the regrettably few letters in the sand meditatively. All he has to do is win, but it would be nice to guess the word impressively, before it's obvious. And knowing Johnny there's probably some wretched hidden meaning, something anchored in his past traumas or personal mythology, etc. True unpredictability is well beyond him. "'A,'" he offers.

[johnny_truant]

He'd been expecting 'A' much earlier, and its absence had been giving him all kinds of false hope. There's some kind of metaphor to be found there but he has no wherewithal to look for it now. He sighs heavily and Nova digs her paws nervously into the sand as he writes. He's starting to feel sick. And not just because he knows he's going to lose.

_ _ L A _ I N A

[antitimelord]

Zagreus wrinkles his nose at this development. Not what he'd been expecting at all. Maybe Johnny is more creative than he gave him credit for; wouldn't be the first time he'd underestimated an opponent, won't be the last. "'M,'" he guesses, and while it's the only likely guess, it's still a guess.

[johnny_truant]

Is this cheating, he suddenly asks himself. Maybe not. Zagreus has been in his head enough to have a homefield advantage.

In any case, M goes off to the side, and the tortured stick figure gets an arm. Three more turns, right? Three more. He can do this.

[antitimelord]

Zagreus looks up at Johnny warningly; the chimaera goes very still. "If you cheat, the game's null and void. Plus, I'll drown you." Maybe the chimaera can dig him a grave, leave him for the tide. That would be hilarious. "'S,'" he says, quietly. He never bothers to nail down the rules beforehand, it's always such an annoying mistake, this tendency to trust others with things they don't understand.

[johnny_truant]

"I..." Johnny looks up, startled by the sudden threat, so in line with his paranoid, passing thought. He's not cheating, at least, not on purpose. He's probably made a misstep with this choice, he doesn't know the fucking rules, he hasn't played this game since long forgotten childhood.

Uneasily, he draws the S off to the side and gives the hung man another arm.

[antitimelord]

Hasn't got much to say for himself, has he. Doesn't matter, Zagreus can live with the rules being changed at the end of the game, just watch. Of course he can also live with losing, brush it right off, he's done that too and it's hardly a cramp in his style at all if he can murder the culprit immediately and without repercussion. "'F,'" he tries. Not the challenge, but he'll build up to it.

[johnny_truant]

And that's it. That has to be it. If he doesn't guess it now, well... something else terrible will happen. Because only terrible things happen. Why did he ever dare hope.

He feels sick, feels that weight in his stomach growing stronger, dragging him down.

_ _ L A F I N A

[antitimelord]

Of course, he should have guessed ages back, a strange name, the only reason he'd remembered it specifically instead of just the vague emotional flavour of Johnny's past traumas. Foolish of him to play that, and not within the rules either, not as Zagreus thinks. But isn't that always the way, the rules are never as universally understood and obeyed as he thinks, when will he finally manage to murder and bury that dogged naivety. It could have been a good strategy, if questionable, but he just had to pick something meaningful, even if it meant losing. Well, at least that Zagreus understands. It's almost comforting.

"Your mother's name. Pelafina, was it?" he says it sourly, even though it should be a victory. The chimaera is a statue, awaiting some silent instruction from its other half, motionless except for a heat shimmer that doesn't belong to this sun. "How about another game." It's not a question, and Zagreus doesn't think he needs to specify what will happen if Johnny refuses. "Best of three. I get to be the executioner this time." So much for taking the high road.

[johnny_truant]

He exhales stiffly when Zagreus so casually suggests 'best out of three'. All he has to do is win this time, and then come up with a better word. Right? Statistically he's got to be better at guessing than coming up with a word. Next time it won't be such an obvious fucking tell.

He can't believe he's doing this.

"Okay," he murmurs, rubbing out the letters and the unfinished stick figure with his hand. He scoots back a bit, breathes out again, slower this time. He can do this.

[antitimelord]

That's it, not so much as an argument or sarcastic congratulations? Tch. How empty. Where's his spirit? Surely he still has a little. "I was afraid you'd be a sore loser, but I think now that might be an improvement." He reclaims his abandoned writing stick from the sand nearby, no grit hitchhiking into the waking world inconveniently under his fingernails. The chimaera relaxes almost imperceptibly, looks if anything a little disappointed.

Zagreus considers a moment, tapping his chin in an obvious affectation of pensiveness, maybe he can drum up a little suspense from his apathetic opponent. He rejects a few clever or biting choices, for being too predictably laid out, and restricts himself from the more outlandish picks that aren't relevant and wouldn't be sporting, anyway. Finally he sets to marking decisive little lines in the sand, all poorly concealed amusement at his word choice. He wastes no time in drawing an elaborate little stick-gallows on a hill. Perhaps to be embellished later, if Johnny stalls.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _