applesaucedream | Here You Are, Stick Figure and a Busted Grin [Open to All]

Current Music: September 14th/15th, 2013

Here You Are, Stick Figure and a Busted Grin [Open to All]

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The first thing that the dreamers of Manhattan might notice is that the ground is a good deal closer than it normally is. The second thing they might notice is that their surroundings are larger than they might expect. The playground looks almost daunting. Of course, there are other ways for the dreamers to occupy themselves on this hot summer day: a charming fountain bubbles away a little distance from the playground. There's an ice cream stand with treats free for the taking. Beyond the paved area is a meadow, covered in wildflowers and dominated by a huge, sprawling tree, perfect for climbing.

It's all prime entertainment for children. So really, it's just as well that 'children' is what the dreamers will find themselves to be - once more, for those who had childhoods, or for the first time, for those who didn't.

Perhaps you'll remember everything: the Rift, Manhattan, the friends (and enemies) you've made since your arrival. Or perhaps you'll only remember who you were when you were young, and find this an opportunity to forge new friendships - or new (and probably pettier) animosities. Run around, get dirty, have a good time. ~~It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.~~

[ooc: usual dream party rules apply. All are welcome, whether they've been apped to the game or not. Characters will remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Mental and emotional regression is optional, but physical regression is mandatory: your character is in the body of a little kid - human, or human-ish - regardless of who or what they are in the waking world.]

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"Me, neither." It's not the sort of thing she'd admit to a stranger, but it tumbles out of her when she realizes they're the same, that way. "Well. Not one I've met. He was just passing through, Ma said." That's too much, and she blushes unhappily. It's worse to have a Da who's just gone; if he was dead, at least no one would look down on her or Ma for him not being around.

"I dunno if I ever had one," he admits. "Mom never said. Never really around to say."

He looks away. Daine probably doesn't care. Why should she? He's just some freak under a tree, hiding from dee-loo-shuns and slivers of nightmares. She shouldn't care. Maybe she really, really shouldn't, in case the tall man gets mad. He doesn't like it when it gets mad - it tells him to do things like hurt people, and Daine's being nice and he doesn't wanna hurt her too.

No Da, and not much of a Ma, either. That's a pity. Maybe he's staying with distant relations who aren't good to him, or maybe he's just on his own and nervous of everyone. Either way, he's probably short on kindness, and Daine knows just how valuable that can be.

"Are you hungry?" she asks. He probably is, if he's not being looked after as he should be. "Maybe we can find something to eat." She has a little coin if need be; elsewise she could just take him back to the farm. She's pretty sure it's not too far off.

His head whips around back to look at her, shoulders creeping up defensively. She's still here. Why's she still here? Kids don't play with freaks, that's the second thing he learned, right after the tall man.

"Um," he says. He doesn't know how to tell her to just go away. He doesn't want her to, but it'd be safer, wouldn't it? "I - guess."

A small sliver of terror slips through him and he stares at her with a sudden unease.

"Is there anything," he begins slowly, but shrinks when he thinks about it and knows he just sounds stupid, or dumb, or crazy. That's what everyone else says. But he has to ask. "Is there anything - behind me?"

"Besides the tree?" It's an odd sort of question, but there's no reason not to answer honestly. Maybe he's like her, hearing things other folk can't. She gets to her feet and takes a good look. "There's a squirrel on one of the branches a ways out," she says, pointing. "And there are blackbirds out in the meadow." She shrugs. "That's all I can see, though." There's a slight emphasis on 'I,' as if to say she's not promising she can see everything. She could be missing all sorts of things, compared to someone who has the Gift.

She chews her lip a moment, then offers him a hand up. "It's safe. The animals'd fuss, if it weren't, or they'd go all quiet."

"Sometimes there's things you can't see," he says quietly. "Like in the corners of your eyes, an' - "

He bites his lip and falls silent. He's just gonna scare her off. She'll think he's weird, if she doesn't already. So he just grabs the trunk for support and pushes himself to his feet.

"Never mind," he mumbles, staring fixedly at his feet.

She pulls her hand back, not especially stung that he didn't take it. Boys are weird. Instead, she asks, "D'you have the Gift? I don't, but Ma keeps testing me." She wrinkles her nose in general displeasure. It seems fair foolish to keep testing her, as if it might just show up overnight. She's good with animals, but that's all.

She takes a few steps, then pauses, waiting for him to follow. "Sometimes folk with the Gift can see things like that, I think," she adds.

"...gift?" he repeats, and he feels like he's moving slowly compared to her. Like she sounds way, way smart about whatever this is, and he's just some dumb kid.

Seeing the tall man is a gift? Well, he didn't ask for it, and he wishes gifts like that came with receipts, if there are any.

"It's not a gift," he says disgustedly. "I hate the tall man. He says stuff, like burn that and do this, and I don't want to, not ever."

His voice verges on a whine but it almost breaks too, and he pulls back. He hates the tremble. He hates how he's scared all the time, scared of himself.

Yeah. Some gift.

... What? Daine blinks, startled by the outburst and confused by what he's saying. "The tall man?" she repeats. He can't mean one of the gods, can he?

"I'm not... the Gift's magic," she explains haltingly. "It lets you do things like--like call fire, or light. Or scry." Or any other number of things she can't do no matter how many times Ma asks her to try. "Who's the tall man?"

He stares at her with mingled horror, alarm, confusion. Magic's not real, he knows that. But the tall man's not magic, it's something else. Something worse. And now he's messed it up.

He always messes things up. The tall man's gonna get really mad, really mad, and he'll make Tim's head hurt and he'll probably burn something, and someone will end up impaled somewhere like a broken puppet with the organs wet and dangling out and it'll be all his fault.

"He's nobody," he says a little too quickly. He used to lie so well to the doctors but now he's alert and terrified, and he doesn't know what to say. "Forget it. Forget I said it!"

Please forget. He doesn't wanna make the tall man mad.

"All right," Daine lifts her hands peaceably. Maybe the tall man is a god, and he doesn't want Tim talking about him. That's not so hard to imagine. "I won't tell."

She hesitates, then resumes walking towards the sounds of other children. She's not overeager to be near other two-leggers, but there's a good chance any food to be had will be over there.

"I've a knack with animals," she offers, a bit hesitantly. Maybe he'll look less upset if he knows she's not normal, either. She lowers her voice before adding, "They talk to me, sometimes."

Edited 2015-06-01 02:05 (UTC)

Okay. It's - it's okay. She doesn't want to talk about it, and that's good, and he'll follow her and everything will be fine.

Please don't be mad, he begs, silent and desperate. Please. Please please please. Daine's not a friend exactly, he doesn't know her, but she's being nice and talking to him and that's more than he usually gets. Just let him hold onto something normal, just once, even if it's only for a little while.

"Really?" He wonders if she's lying too, but it doesn't sound like a lie. He knows how lies sound. But he has a silent thing without a face that's followed him all his life, so maybe talking to animals isn't so weird. "That sounds nice," he says wistfully. Animals seem nicer about being a freak than people are. They don't whisper or taunt.

Edited 2015-06-01 02:11 (UTC)

She's half expecting a jeer, or at least more open disbelief. There's nothing shameful about having a knack with animals, but plenty of folk would think her mad for claiming they talk to her. But Tim just takes her at her word - he even sounds a little jealous - and Daine smiles.

"It is." Brightening further, she adds, "Once we find some food, if you want, I can introduce you to someone." He doesn't seem like the sort who'd torment a creature for fun, but by the time they've found something to eat, she'll have a clearer idea of whether he's trustworthy. And most animals are happy to take a little time out of their day to say hello if you've food to offer them. Then you're not just wasting their time for something as silly as conversation.

She can introduce him? He doesn't quite brighten at that, but the weight in the slump of his shoulders eases a little, and he doesn't walk with as heavy a step.

"That'd be okay, I guess," he says. But only a little. Can't let anyone get close, not ever. That's the third rule. He learned it straightaway, right after the second rule - the rule that made it easy, the rule that says he's broken and wrong and that's because he's meant to be.

Most of the children seem to be clustered around a great wooden fort. It's an odd structure, not seeming to serve any purpose but play, and she gives the area a wide berth instinctively. There are no animals down there, and she doesn't expect the other children to want anything to do with her.

Besides, Tim still looks like he'd rather dart into a hole than be walking out in the open. Best keep him away from the fuss, too.

She nods towards a promising-looking cart. It's not manned so far as she can see, but it looks like the sort of cart someone might sell sweets from at the market. "That might have something," she says, picking up her pace a little. The sooner they get some food, the sooner they can get back out where it's quieter.

As she steps up to the cart, though, her brow furrows. It's not made of wood, but some other material she doesn't even have a name for, and it's decorated with strangely sharp images she doesn't recognize. "What is that?" she murmurs, her steps slowing dramatically.

He's glad Daine doesn't go near the playground, but he can't stop looking about in nervous agitation, waiting for the dark smear in the corners of his vision. But it's not there. There's nothing, just the too-bright, cheery sun warming the structure's dark wood.

Tim really does brighten in earnest when he recognizes the stand, but it looks like it's Daine's turn to be confused. He's not sure where she comes from - he might be weird and lonely, but at least he knows what an ice cream stand is, even if he can't remember being around one much.

"Never seen an ice cream stand?" he asks in genuine puzzlement.

Daine shakes her head and darts an anxious glance Tim's way. There are plenty of ways for folk to shame her - no Da, and too good with animals, and looking so different from anyone else in the village - but there was no way for her to guess this might happen. He's talking as if everyone ought to know what ice cream is. Maybe everyone does if they live in larger cities, or if they're well-traveled, but Daine's neither of those things.

"No," she admits. "Not like that." Which is a bit of a fib, because she's never seen any kind of ice cream stand, and she's never even heard of ice cream. She doesn't want to admit that much, though. It would just make her sound even more a bumpkin than she probably does already.

She sounds awfully unsure about it, but Tim is too, a little bit. He knows what an ice cream stand is and once his mom bought him some, but that's so, so far back. It was before the hospital and the headaches, and he barely remembers the taste.

"That's okay," he says, and it sounds a little strange coming out so decisive, but it is, isn't it? The lack of her original confidence is helping a bit to augment his own. They can be new and weird at this together, that's not so odd. "I haven't had ice cream in a real long time."

He's trying to make her feel better, and that's rare enough from someone her own age that Daine can't help smiling, small and grateful. Then, feeling a bit bolder, she approaches the cart and peers inside.

The top is made of something like glass, though it's smoother and more clear than any she's ever seen. Inside, there are lots of brightly-wrapped little parcels. She doesn't recognize anything; it's little more than a dizzying array of colors to her eyes. Her brow furrows when she sees something she does recognize: frost. It's crystallized on the inside of the cart. "It's cold," she says in naked disbelief. But it's summer! How can anything be frosted over in this weather?

Tim wonders if there are any grown-ups around to tell them how much and how many, but there's no one here. It's just sitting there; no one can object if they take from something just sitting there.

He reaches over to slide the plastic cover open, breathing in the rush of cool, slightly metallic air.

"It's a freezer," he explains. "I think? It's how they keep it cold." Mom had a fridge sorta like that, when he lived at home. The freezer was at the top, and he could never reach it. But now he can bend to scoop one of the brightly colored packages from the inside, relishing in the crinkle of shiny packaging and the outside dusting of ice crystals, and holds it out to her with a slightly shy shrug. "See?"

"Like magic," Daine breathes, reaching out to take the offered parcel. It's freezing cold, and she shifts it from one hand to the other as she looks it over. There's something hard and unyielding beneath the thin outer wrapping, but she can't imagine what. She raises the whole thing up to her face and gives it a cautious sniff. It doesn't smell like much of anything besides ice, so she can't get a good sense of what's inside. It's hard to believe it's even food - if it was ever supposed to be. Maybe she shouldn't've assumed, just because it's got 'cream' in the name.

"How does it work?" she asks, frowning down at it.

His nose wrinkles a bit - not magic, he's pretty sure. He doesn't know what it is, maybe ee-lek-tri-sitee like they dismissed he'd need (they thought he couldn't hear but he could, he knows how to listen under the cracks of the doors and through keyholes), but he's never gotten to see one up-close like this before.

He retrieves his own package and slides the door carefully shut again - it's good to be polite, he knows, especially to grown-ups even if there aren't any around - and watches Daine studying hers like she doesn't know what to do with it. Tim cocks his head for a minute. The wrappers can be hard sometimes, like wrappers for anything can be. Sometimes they get too slippery for your fingers. This one's chilled from the freezer and so his fingers stick to it a bit, but finally he demonstrates by ripping open his own packaging.

"Like that." There's a cool slab of chocolate on a stick inside, and he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching. Almost like a smile. "Ice cream."

Daine watches what he does and mimics it, carefully tearing at the wrapper surrounding her 'ice cream' and holding the thing inside by the flattened stick that pokes out of one end. She's not quite sure what to do with the wrapper itself, so she folds it as neatly as she can with just one hand and tucks it into her pocket. Then she gives the ice cream a cautious sniff. It still smells strongly of the cold interior of the 'freezer,' but there's another scent there, too, sharp and sweet. Daine raises her eyebrows, then pokes out her tongue to taste it.

Goddess. It's like nothing she's ever tasted before. Her eyes widen. "This is wondrous," she says.

He watches her, bemused, as she folds up the wrapper real careful, like she's afraid of crumpling it up. But when she tastes it he can't help it, he smiles, really smiles, and he can't remember the last time he did that and there's a lighter twinge in his chest that he can't put a name to. Like a bit of weight over him is gone, kind of.

"Never had ice cream before?" he asks, because as far as he's concerned that's more than possible. He can barely remember the taste himself.

She shakes her head slowly, her rapt gaze still fixed on the ice cream. "I'd never even heard of it before. We've nothing like this at home."

She gives it a less tentative lick - that seems to be the right thing to do, at least so far - and then squeaks in surprise when the dark outer layer turns out to be thin and brittle, like a shell. It cracks, to her dismay: she's broken it. She didn't even know you could break food. But wait, there's something else inside, something white and... creamy. Is that the cream part? Maybe this is supposed to happen.

"Is it always like this?" she asks, sheepishly glancing up at Tim. "I feel like I wrecked it."

Here You Are, Stick Figure and a Busted Grin [Open to All]

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