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

[theoldgirl]

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.

[lottawork]

"There was no other choice." The insistence is flawed, his premise is flawed, and the entire line of reasoning stemming from it and extending beyond is a perspective rooted in inherent bias. "We couldn't risk his survival - as a threat to the city. To you."

The old argument. The hard divide. The greater good.

Perhaps the rationale would be more effective had that been his true reason for action in the heated moment, but there had been the clear choice and the option to release the unrelenting press of fingers and leave the man to wither in the foundations of his own crumbling organization, and Rush had committed himself to the mounting pressure and that occluding airway and he had known it would engender consequences as such actions typically do and he had not exercised foresight to predict said consequences and so this is his consequence.

"If I hadn't, someone else would have." A less easily-supported thesis, though he has little doubt Asadi would have allowed Fring the luxury of survival after his use of Ms. Baker as bait, obvious and unapologetic.

[theoldgirl]

She has been calm, disappointed more than angry, willing to accept the inevitable flaws of his species. But then he has the gall to claim he ended a life for the safety of others, for hers, and any patience she had evaporates. As though it isn't obvious that his main motivation was revenge. And so much like Gabriel again, pretending he was protecting her, expecting her to be grateful. It is an association Rush would have done well not to draw upon himself. Her eyes narrow, her expression darkens, the Unicorn jerks its head away from the cat, lashing its tail once.

"But you did," she states, stark finality in her voice; why should she concern herself with any would have beens that did not transpire in this instance of reality, why should anyone? "Tell yourself what you like, but I take lies as a sign of disrespect. And if you were to think of me while exacting violence, I would not thank you either."

[lottawork]

"It's not a lie." A distortion of the truth, potentially, but he is not inclined to devote thought to the minutiae of deviations from that subjective baseline. The flare of his frustration and its building velocity reaches an inevitable peak that he does not altogether see as wise but has no means of preventing. "You asked what I was hiding, and I told you. I didn't expect you to see my actions as favorable."

Asadi, possibly, had understood - she had not questioned it, but she had shot him the look heavy with warning, that they would never by any accounts mention or discuss the incident further - and the only other individual present had not been in the same room to witness it. It was not the first time he had murdered in cold blood, it would never have been the first time, and perhaps prior to this to everything he would not have committed such an act, he would not have acted rashly - but the linear, careful reasoning constructed around that argument dissolves because retrospect is, as it is in all circumstances, utterly useless. There is little point in debating the intricacies of whatever version of himself existed prior, not when he has already long since executed the necessary action.

"You don't know," says Arista, quietly, more contained, her ears laying flat, "what he did. What he was going to do."