applesaucedream | 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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Stay still, stay quiet. Stay very still, be the quietest. She can still hear the girl climbing, but she doesn't call again and maybe she's climbing up a different branch, maybe she'll go back down to her friends.

Or maybe she'll climb right up and see Asmodia. Asmodia's eyes fly open at the sound of the girl's voice and she stares back, equally wide-eyed. "Um," she replies, trying to think how she can possibly explain herself. "I'm s-sorry," she stutters too quickly. "I, um -- I didn't know this was -- I didn't mean to, to, um -- I'll go, I can go, just please don't tell. Please."

It can talk! Good thing Daine has such a good grip on the branch, elsewise she'd probably fall right out of the tree, so great is her surprise. Not only can it talk, but it sounds like it isn't much older than herself - and nervous, to boot. Goddess, what is she supposed to do?

"You've got horns," she breathes, astonished. "What are you?" She doesn't even have the wherewithal to consider that the question might be rude.

"Um?" She doesn't know? How doesn't she know? No two tieflings look alike, it's true, but everyone in Cheliax knows what horns and a tail mean. Maybe this girl's just never seen one before. "'m a tiefling," she admits in a small voice, waiting for the recognition, for the derision. It's the worst thing she could be, and she's already rehearsing the familiar lies in her head, ready to point out the collar around her neck as a mark of ownership, of safety, even though Mama and Papa have always insisted that they'll never file the paperwork to really own her.

She'll get neither of those from Daine. The girl's still staring, wide-eyed, but she knows better than to scream in the presence of something wild and unknown. And whatever this creature is, it seems fair sensible. It can talk and everything. "What's a tiefling?" she asks. Then, in an excited rush, "Are you an immortal?" Immortals aren't supposed to be in this realm anymore, but maybe one got left behind, or snuck through the barrier, or something like that.

This isn't the first time Asmodia's been questioned for being out in public, but it's certainly the first time she's been asked those questions. She lets go of her cramping tail and lets it and her other limbs uncurl a little, shifting to brace up on her elbow and stare questioningly at the girl. "You don't know?" she asks, deeply confused and at a loss to explain the basic concept when all her life everyone around her knew before she was old enough to even know what she was herself.

It occurs to her that she could lie.

It also occurs to her that if this girl tells the wrong person about it and describes her well enough, the watch could come to the inn and demand that her parents punish her for lying. They need people to tell each other good things about the Antarion family and their inn; she knows she makes it hard for them when she acts out and other people see.

"It's when you have fiendish blood," she explains after a moment's shocked silence. "But not like a half-fiend, it's after that, when it's your grandparents or your great-grands."

Daine shifts her grip on the branch and shakes her head. Grandda's told her stories about the immortals that used to roam the world centuries ago, but she doesn't remember any mention of 'tieflings.' Or of 'fiends,' for that matter.

"I don't know what a fiend is, either," she admits, a little sheepishly. "It's been a long, long time since there was anything but humans and animals in this realm. That's what Grandda says. All the immortals are in the realm of the gods."

Asmodia outright gawps. "But that's not true at all!" she blurts, face heating up in that way that makes her glad it's hard for strangers to tell when she's blushing. "There's lots of tieflings in Cheliax, and slips, and -- and gnomes, even!"

As for not knowing what a fiend is...Asmodia's told some whoppers in her day, but that's such a blindingly obvious lie even next to the other part that she doesn't know what to make of it.

"Cheliax?" Daine furrows her brow. "I'm from Snowsdale, in Galla." And she's not sure she likes hearing someone who sounds not much older than her tell her that her Grandda doesn't know what he's talking about. Even if - she? - is some sort of immortal, she can hardly blame folk from a mountain village for not knowing about her. There are no immortals in Snowsdale, and it's only when merchants pass through that they hear anything of what's happening in Corus or the other larger cities.

"Where?" The look Asmodia gives her is one of pure disdain. Wherever this Snowsdale-in-Galla is, it must be a real backwater if it doesn't have anything but humans and animals. "I've never even heard of it."

She should still be polite to any human, no matter what their age, but if this girl's an ignorant foreigner her legal reasons to have to do so just got a lot less important to her. What's a foreigner going to do to her?

...Other than tell her parents not to stay at the inn while they're in town. Drat it.

Daine scowls. Immortal or no, she doesn't appreciate the implied insult. "Well, I've never heard of Cheliax, so it must not be anything special." Elsewise one of the merchants would've mentioned it. She'd've heard tales. "I bet it's nothing compared to Corus."

Not that she has any business taking ownership of Corus; she's never been there, or even set foot in Tortall. But everyone's heard of Corus, she's fair certain of that.

Asmodia hasn't. She scowls and retorts, "If you've never heard of the Infernal Empire of Cheliax, how come you're in it right now?"

The fierce grin she turns on the girl is triumphant even as the feeling that she really, really shouldn't be talking back to a human this way twists inside her. Who goes to a trade city and doesn't even know what country they're in, though? Idiots, that's who.

"We're not in Cheliax," Daine replies scornfully. "The nearest Empire is Carthak, and that's not even close!" So even if this Asmodia person has confused Carthak and Cheliax, she's still off by an awful lot. "You're lost," she concludes. That really is the only explanation.

"No, you're lost!" retorts Asmodia. "I didn't even go anywhere, and I've never heard of Carthak besides!"

She...doesn't think she went anywhere? She's never gone anywhere before. She's met plenty of people from outside Kintargo, but that doesn't mean she ever went anywhere herself.

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

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