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

[applesaucemod]

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.]

Comments

[andhiswife]

He's in front of her, now - how?! - and she starts back with a sob. Why won't he just leave her alone? It's bad enough that he stole her crown and then picked it to pieces.

But then he shows her the crown, and it is fixed. More than fixed. He's made it better; there are flowers she didn't pick, flowers she didn't even see when she was searching the meadow for the best ones.

She darts a glance from the crown to his face and back, then sniffles. "You ruined it, first," she points out, lest he think he's won her over. "And you weren't a--a gentleman." Prince or no, she's been given to understand that any man - or boy - can and ought to be a gentleman.

One hand absently scrubs at her cheeks while the other reaches out to run a fingertip over one of the primroses. "Thank you for fixing it," she says quietly. If she's going to scold him for not having manners, she has to have them.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"Are you going to take it, or am I going to have to hold it all day?"

It's amazing that she'll believe that he's a prince and that he has magic and can appear and disappear at will, but she won't believe that his Father is God or that he's an angel. Because the rest of that stuff is so plausible.

"You know that it won't last very long, don't you? It's going to all be dead by tomorrow."

He could make it last longer, and maybe he would just to see how she'd react to having a flower crown that never dies, but it still seems like a foolish use of flowers to him.

[andhiswife]

Greta starts, then takes it, balancing it carefully across her palms. It's very beautiful, moreso than when she first made it, but she's a little bit afraid to put it on. This reminds her of stories about fairies, and how you shouldn't eat or drink what they offer you. He seems too mean to be a fairy - the ones in stories are always nice to you until they have you where they want you - but maybe she shouldn't wear what she's given, either.

It doesn't feel like bad magic. But maybe it wouldn't, until it was too late.

"Some flowers dry nicely," she says, though that's not really the point. "But it doesn't have to last forever." She frowns up at him, puzzled. What sort of kingdom is he from? It's like he's never heard of playing before. "It was just for fun. Don't they have fun in your kingdom?" They would if he was a fairy, anyway.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"We do as our Father commands us."

Angels, as it turns out, are terrible at free will. Trying to teach them self-determination is about as effective as trying to teach poetry to fish, and the archangels are actually slightly less awful at it than the average angel.

Not that free will does him any good in the end.

"When He doesn't have tasks for me, I'm supposed to teach my little brothers."

[andhiswife]

That sounds boring. Greta pulls a face. She does as her parents ask (for the most part), but they don't keep her busy all the time. She's allowed to run about and play with her friends. Even some of her chores are fun.

"Don't you play?" she asks dubiously. How can he have little brothers and not play with them? "You must play with your brothers," she decides.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"I teach them how to fly and use their powers," he says. "Gabriel shows a lot of promise with illusions."

Does... that count as playing? It's what their Father wants him to do, and he gets satisfaction from his brothers' progress. He doesn't have friends, he doesn't have anything other than his family and his Father.

[andhiswife]

Greta considers all that for a moment, idly turning the crown between her hands, taking care not to crush any flowers. She doesn't know what an 'eelooshun' is, but flying must be a grand time. She thinks she'd like to fly. Not with this fellow, but on her own.

"Flying sounds fun." If she knew how to fly, and one of her chores was teaching someone else to do it, she doesn't think she'd be able to help making a game of it. "Don't you mess about, even a little? All boys mess about." That last is said with complete certainty.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"What do you mean?"

Messing about sounds like not doing what your Father says to him, and he could never disobey his Father. Aside from the fact that he literally couldn't think of a reason why he'd ever not obey, the thought of inciting his Father's wrath...

"I do as my Father commands of me. He's the Lord God, and I was created to serve Him."

[andhiswife]

"You know." Except no, he doesn't. What a strange lad this has turned out to be. "Having a good time," she says, slow and clear and just this side of are-you-simple-or-what. "Playing. Laughing. You know how to laugh, don't you?"

Maybe he doesn't. He hasn't laughed, yet. Not even when he was teasing her by picking apart her crown. Greta scrutinizes him for a few moments, mouth drawn to one side in a considering pucker.

"Are you really an angel?" she asks. "Angels are supposed to have wings and halos."

[wentdowntogeorgia]

He's going to brush right over all the talk about playing and laughing, because those must be strange little mortal concepts that he doesn't need to know about. Mortals have to do all sorts of things that he doesn't, and he doesn't need to concern himself with them.

"Of course I have wings and a halo," he says, sniffing a little like he's offended at the insinuation that he wouldn't. "You just can't see them directly, because you're mortal and your eyes would burn right out of your head."

[andhiswife]

Greta lets out an alarmed squeak and takes a little step backwards at the implicit threat of having her eyes burned out of her head. "That's awful!" she accuses. Why would an angel do something so mean? "Angels are s'posed to bring glad tidings and--and play trumpets, not hurt people!"

She shifts the crown to one hand so she can fold her arms in disapproval. "And you can always see their wings and halos in the pictures."

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"Well, the pictures are wrong."

These creatures had such strange ideas of what angels are supposed to look like. They don't look like their vessels at all, and their wings aren't really wings like birds have, and it's all wrong but he can't show her what it'd really look like without killing her.

"I'm too big and bright for you, you'd just burn right up. It's not on purpose, it's just that you're too fragile."

He frowns; he could show her his wings, sort of, if he didn't manifest them fully but only let the shadows show through. But why should he have to? He told her that he's an angel and that should be enough.

"And, anyway, I wouldn't be bearing tidings of anything, I'm not the Messenger. That's my little brother, and he's not here right now."

[andhiswife]

Greta's pout intensifies. She doesn't like being told she's wrong, or that she's fragile, which is too close to just calling her a baby. Like he thinks she's small, and silly, and she's not. Besides, why should she believe him over the pictures and the priest and everyone else who's said things about angels?

"I don't believe you are an angel," she decides. "Maybe you've just got magic. That's not so strange." Well, it's a bit strange, but not as strange as being an angel.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"I am an angel," he says, frowning, "and you lack faith. If my Father was before you, would you question Him, too?"

Maybe it's not a fair comparison-- his Father never came to Earth without announcing Himself with great power and splendor, since apparently subtlety hadn't been invented yet-- but He'd also be terribly displeased that one of His creations denied one of His angels. Especially Samael, because he's the favorite and he knows it.