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

[whofrownedthisface]

The Doctor watches the snake's antics in amusement. What an odd, determined little creature. He always forgets that she has lived on an Earth, albeit a strange one by everything she says. "My planet had red sand too, more orange than this though. The sky was red and the suns were older. Even the grass was red," he says, just as softly. Callie's imprisonment would have been very different from his experience, his flight, but he can't refute some similarities. Is it as bittersweet to her to have left her version of Earth behind, or is she only glad of her freedom? The people one leaves behind probably make a lot of difference. "The architecture was very impressive, of course. Time Lords go in for that, bit much in my opinion," he says candidly, warming to his subject, hoping to draw her out. "But the trees were something to see," more wistfully. The foundation for his castle is good enough, he decides, and starts to work on the center, building up.

[starlightcalliope]

Hearing about his planet is an unexpected comfort, and she's surprised by how similar it sounds to her old home. All those myriad and marvelous ways a world can look like, and they both lived on a red planet under a red sky. She glances at him from beneath her hood while he speaks, wondering why he seems to reflect even her odd homesickness. Is it because he currently can't flit about the universe in his ship like he does in all the tales of his magnificent adventures? Or because of his troublesome relationship with his own species? Either way, she isn't sure if it's something she ought to ask about.

"I would have liked to have plants, I think," she says instead, pensively, thoughts on her own past once again. "The view grew a smidgen monotonous, at times. But I never tired of looking at the sky. The sun was so wild and beautiful, as though the entire firmament belonged to it." Sometimes she'd sit on the roof for hours, in the heat and the bright limitless space, drawing or writing until the sunlight made the paper brittle. A small sigh escapes her fangs. "It was lonely, but also peaceful."

Her foundation has taken on a round shape, and she gingerly smooths down the sides by running a claw around its circumference. Solemnly, she asks, "Do you visit sometimes?" She isn't sure if she would, if she ever had the opportunity, so perhaps his answer could serve as a guide for her.

[whofrownedthisface]

He supposes he should have expected a question like that. He hadn't opted to go into it really, one nice thing about being trapped in Manhattan, other concerns become more distant in the shadow of a more pressing concern. Story of his life really. Her wonder at the sky is admirable, she would have enjoyed traveling so much, it's such a shame they're landbound now, he thinks for the millionth time. So much of her strange isolated upbringing remains a mystery, but everything he knows of it sounds regrettable. "Not in a very long time. There was...a war. My home was destroyed, and that was the end of it, I thought. It was just me and the TARDIS and the universe." He carefully navigates his part in any of that by avoiding it entirely. "But eventuality is negotiable, for Time Lords. Some of my species could be very resourceful," perhaps to a fault. "There was a possibility of going back, before the rift." Not that eventuality could be entirely negated, but the possibility, the search, had been bewilderingly real, ripping open everything. "I kept my visits to a minimum before that," he says dryly, to cover up something like the precursor to regret. Mostly that is the truth. He carries on making divots in the roof of a central edifice like nothing he'd said is of any importance. Perhaps the knowledge will help her adjust in some way. He can't imagine how, perhaps their shared outsider status will do the heavy lifting, there.

[starlightcalliope]

What a sad and sorrowful tale he is telling her in response to her question, though she doesn't quite regret asking, rather feeling grateful that he would share it with her. She recognizes the loneliness in his fate without words, has a sense for it like nothing else; such an unlikely thing to unite them. And there seems to be a smidgen of hope at the end, a possible way home, if he chooses to follow it. That must be a comfort. Yet very far away, it seems.

"I'm sorry, love," she says softly, wishing there was more to say. She'd love to hear what his visits were like, would be more than glad to listen to happier tales of his home, but she'd hate to push him. So instead she offers, "I fancy my planet must have been destroyed by now, either by my brother or by our sun. But... I suppose that is all right, so long as one has the nigh infinity of a universe to keep one company." She, too, keeps on building, adding another cylinder to the larger base, smoothing it down, pressing a small hole into the center. The snake seems to have tired of reenacting spirals and winds over to the shade, raising his head to regard the owl inquisitively.

[whofrownedthisface]

Far away, and only present in the back of his mind, with all his current concerns to take center stage. But still there, nonetheless, nagging at him distractingly. "Yeah, it's all right," he says, encouragingly bordering on flippantly, like he can make it true for either of them. "The universe, and all the people in it, still there. Good to have someone to knock about the stars with, so I usually did. There's so much to see, when you can go anywhere, any time," he says, with evident fondness, giving the central construction of his castle a satisfied once-over. Not any consolation to either of them, but all of time and space abides, that's the beauty of it. He sets to piling up a corner tower, very traditional, an old classic. "I'll get the rift sorted one of these days. Then the sky's the limit. Any of them." Manhattan is barely even training wheels, to that.

The owl graciously makes room in her little hut, letting the snake get out of the sun if he likes. Awkwardly but determinedly, she grooms at nothing on the snake's smooth scales. What strange, perhaps offputting little spirit creatures. No fur, no paws, not well suited to anything, but here nonetheless.

[starlightcalliope]

Oh how marvelous it sounds, travelling the stars, seeing innumerable sights and civilizations, sharing adventures with someone. She could listen to him talk about his travels for an eternity, he is such a splendid storyteller when he gets going, passionate and engaging. And, perhaps, a welcome distraction for both of them. She starts to pile up a little wall as she listens, or a bridge, gently sloping from the base of her structure over to a corner of his, delicately carving out tiny spires along the top. Her hood keeps obscuring her vision during this tricky bit of work, so she ends up brushing it back over her skull.

Then he mentions escaping his current fetters, and her claws still in the sand. For one reason or another, she'd never quite stopped to think about a future beyond their present arrangements, except perhaps in the brief lonely moments before sleep overtakes her. She has never even once considered this to be a kind of imprisonment, their life in the boundless dimensions of the TARDIS within the brilliant, loud, astonishing human city; there's been far too much to see and to do. But perhaps it would be to him, who by all his stories is accustomed to truly unrestrained wandering. Yet the thought of all that they have here ending squeezes her insides as though a relentless serpent had taken hold of her. "You must be looking forward to returning to your universe quite terribly," she manages at length, voice wavering.

Ophion is tolerating the grooming patiently, lying still and loose in the sand, occasionally twitching a coil to the side when it tickles. As Calliope's mood shifts he half turns to gaze up at her, then hurries into the shelter. Curling up close to the owl's feathered claws, his only way of showing affection is to seek out her company.

[whofrownedthisface]

He really is the worst at this. She sounds distressed, though of course she's putting a brave face on it, as is her wont. He, too, stops construction for a moment, to look at her seriously, and conveniently ignore responding to her statement directly. The snake is a spooked heap in the little coat-hut, Sraif peering down at him with exaggerated avian head movements, normally hilarious, now concerned. What is even the cause for her upset? Does she assume she wouldn't be able to go back to her own universe? A potentially reasonable assumption; she was dead, and also her universe sounds rather inhospitable. But it also sounds like it might be important for her to go back for other reasons. Who hasn't been there? Things you'd rather do, but the universe needs you in place with all the other cogs and gears, what a hassle. But it's a little easier to negotiate with the cosmos, when you have a time machine. And she'd need a fighting chance of some kind. "Callie. Do you not want to go back to your own universe some day? It wouldn't have to be immediate." Though it might have to be permanent. Universal boundaries can be quite the sticking point. But she seems pretty at ease with time shenanigans. It was apparently a Thing. Lots of things sounded like they were Things. Pretty confusing, even for him. "Wouldn't matter when. Time machine, and all." Because that strategy always never fails. At least on paper. "I know you want to help your friends."

[starlightcalliope]

The question of wanting to return to her proper place in paradox space, perhaps to the Furthest Ring and being dead, is a complicated one she has been somewhat guiltily avoiding. There just hasn't been much time for considering it, between having her nose in all those books and illustration projects and exploring inside and outside the TARDIS. And even now, it is momentarily swept aside by the astonishing implication that he would - could she be so fortunate? - take her with him.

Her eyes go wide and wondering as she looks up at him. "Do you mean to say I could come along? To your universe?" To that place of all his stories, so full of marvelous planets to see and strange splendid people to meet? And to not be alone again, even just for a little while after he heals the breach in the fabric of this universe.

[whofrownedthisface]

He doesn't need any kind of TARDIS bells and whistles to detect rising sincerity levels, and he responds with the usual dismissive blustery huff. What did she think? That he'd fix the rift and then just show her the door without so much as a by your leave? When he has so much to make up for? The owl isn't making eye-contact with anything, trampling in the sand like a cat trying to get comfortable. "Of course you could! You've lived in the TARDIS ages and not even been to so much as the moon. Now that would be, that would be a disgrace." She's been bounced from one form of confinement to another all her life. The cage gets a little bigger, maybe big enough she doesn't even see the walls anymore, but she's still in it. What a perfect target for showing the sights. See the universe through new eyes? Well, these eyes are about as new as they get. How could he pass that up? It just wouldn't be fair, and he's been on a fairness roll, for once. The universe has been almost unnaturally just, in some regards. Would be a shame to spoil that streak. "Wouldn't you want to put off going back, for a bit?"

[starlightcalliope]

And just like that, a whole bright splendid future unfolds before her mind's eye, full of thrilling adventures and fascinating encounters on unknown planets by her friend's side. Even her lively imagination isn't enough to conceive of all that they might see and get up to. It's quite overwhelming, yet in some ways so similar to the hopes she's had for her future all her life.

Though those flights of fancy had included her human friends, and opportunities to discover her potential as a Muse of Space and what her place might be in the grand story of Paradox Space. She'd be putting that off, too, or may never get a chance for it at all. As the thoughts of her friends and her ghostly past return, she crumbles a bit and glances back down at her sandy claws. "It is so very tempting...," she assures him, trying to sort through the warring desires and anxieties swirling round in her head. "I do worry about my friends, though. They were all in grave danger the last time I heard from them, and they are facing such a formidable enemy... What if there is something I could be doing for them, or should be doing?" And what if that's an awfully presumptuous concern, still clinging to the fanciful idea that she had been destined for a significant role. Ophion's coils tighten nervously at the owl's agitated trampling next to him, watching her with respect or uncertainty or longing.

Meanwhile Calliope worries at the sleeve of her robe with her sharp claws and adds gloomily, "I suppose I was not proving terribly useful hiding away in the Void, anyhoo. Perhaps they could do just fine without me... And to tell you the unglamorous truth, I'm... I'm quite frightened of going back." She says the last very quietly; the Doctor has never made her feel like he thought badly of her, but she can't help worrying that someone so worldly and bold would look unfavorably on her cowardice.