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

[bibliophale]

"Oh, thank goodness," Aziraphale says upon spotting his small, awkward-looking compatriot, nearly tumbling over himself in an effort to get to him. "Crowley! Over here!" He waves a chubby little hand at him, then slumps to a halt beside him, bending over to catch his breath. "This is a right nightmare, isn't it? I can't get over it. No one even remembers who they are!"

[anguiform]

'Uh,' says Zaphkiel, staring in some bewilderment at the person who's just run up to him. It's another angel (of course he is, what else could he be? Humanity is only as yet a whisper of thought amongst the very highest higher ups), a principality by the feel of him, but not one he recognises. He can't think of anyone who'd voluntarily take a form like that-- it's so small and squishy! he kind of wants to poke his belly-- but then, Crowley didn't exactly voluntarily take this form himself.

'Sorry, mate, think you've got the wrong person. Crowley, you said?'

Weird bloody name, for a start.

[bibliophale]

"Wh-" Aziraphale's face falls and he stares at the demon - or not, yes, he's pure angel now that he takes the time to sense him out, how is that even possible - with despair and disbelief. "Not you, too."

This is madness. Is he the only person who still remembers himself? Why does the rift see fit to pick on him like this?

"I'm Aziraphale," he says. "We know each other. Have done for a thousand bloody years. This is a dream we're in, can't you tell that?"

[anguiform]

'A what we're in?' A dream, he'd said? Zaphkiel... doesn't even know what that is. Technical terminology? Well, this guy is higher up than Zaphkiel, maybe a dream is some new trick of the Almighty's, some way of... imparting His vision to the ranks? Something like that?

He's starting to feel faintly nervous on top of his bewilderment. Not that he's done anything wrong, but there are... a few of his friends who might be considered radical thinkers, and here's this principality throwing around terms he's never heard of and claiming to know him; well, it's a little unnerving.

'Well, Aziraphale, I'm Zaphkiel. And look, uh, no offence, but one principality's about the same as the next at my level, yeah? But I'm... pretty sure we don't.'

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale feels himself going faintly cold. Zaphkiel? Just some low level angel with no idea who he is, all that happened - his 'vague saunter' downward, Adam Young, the Apocalypse, none of it.

What if this is permanent? He tries to tell himself that's nonsense - the effects of these dreams are never permanent - but one never can know with the Rift.

"Well," he says rather sullenly, "we will, at any rate."

Now he's not sure what to say. How does one talk to other angels? It's been a long time since he's done it - Gabriel scarcely counts.

[anguiform]

'Yeah? How d'you reckon?'

The sullen tone is kind of amusing coming out of that tiny, pudgy shape, and Zaphkiel leans against part of the weird wooden not-palace, kicking one knee up to prop his foot against the wall behind him. Even if he's not entirely at ease with this Aziraphale, he might as well have a chat with him. Maybe he knows what's going on here-- this dream or whatever he'd called it.

'And what's a dream, anyway?'

[bibliophale]

"Well, it's..." Aziraphale waves a hand, frustrated and bewildered at the idea of explaining dreams to Crowley, very much the inversion of how things should be. "It's a human thing. Where you go when you sleep."

No good. He won't know what humans are yet, will he? "It's... it's not real, it's happening in our heads," he says, and flaps his hands impatiently, stymied by his limited capacity to explain under these circumstances. "I don't know! This happens all the time but you usually haven't forgotten who you are."

[anguiform]

Zaphkiel squints, and his eyebrows do a little jig of incomprehension as Aziraphale tries to explain himself. Yeah, neither human nor sleep mean anything to him.

'Okayyyy,' he says dubiously. 'Like a vision, is that what we're talking here?'

The insistence that he should be otherwise than he remembers is more than a little weird, though, and he begins to suspect that, far from being some sort of spy from the higher-ups, this Aziraphale might be just a tiny bit cracked. A little too much of the Divine Word can make a fellow go a bit odd. He hitches himself back against the wall, looking down at Aziraphale.

'Alright, then, who'm I supposed to be?'

[bibliophale]

"Sort of like a vision, yes," says Aziraphale, only marginally encouraged. "It's - it's too difficult to explain." He sighs heavily.

Oh, and then there's that question. Bloody brilliant. He levels a stare at Crowley (Crowley, whose manifested body is older than his, even though he's entirely regressed and Aziraphale is still himself - it just isn't fair), trying to gauge how well or how poorly this will go over.

"You'll... fall," he says delicately. "And become a demon. The Serpent Crowley. You make a rather important mistake, actually." In the grand scheme.