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

[omnomnom_feels]

This would be so much simpler if he intended to kill the child. Nhodd can hardly keep a grip on the squirming thing, and he has to abandon his efforts to snatch the flailing knife-hand out of the air in favor of grabbing at the shoulder and sliding a much firmer grip down the arm again to end at the wrist. It is not ideal; the stabbing motions necessitate a constant dodging away and he grunts as the human scores glancing blows along his torso that leave his shirt torn and body bleeding.

No matter. It will be repaired, or it will not matter when he de-manifests. It only matters that he hold the child still and force him to drop the knife.

[lottawork]

He has to facilitate a shift in priorities, and that priority is to get away. The kid doesn't want to give him a doing but Nick doesn't care, he just wants him to go away and stop being his goddamned creepy sick stone-faced self. He wriggles, desperate, uncontained, tiny wiry back arching - they say he's built all wrong for this, he's too many angles and he's meant to grow up wrong, can't he see - but they're wrong, he's Nick and he's always been Nick. He grew up cut from steel with square corners and sharp edges, and he won't be shown by this silent little fuck.

He keeps swinging, squirming, throwing every raw ounce of kin - of kaen - of kinetic energy into getting away from the stupid knob. Let him go let him go let him go.

[omnomnom_feels]

"Jus' stop, Ahm going ta give you a vision," says Nhodd in an attempt to appeal to the boy's seemingly nonexistent rational side. He's really at a loss here; a warrior would certainly struggle against him but would not panic like this, like some wounded animal rather than the proud little sapient he is.

It is very difficult to concentrate on forming a glorious (if severely abridged -- no need to burn the little thing's mind out) vision of the inner workings of the universe to send into the child's mind while he's also trying to hold on with hands increasingly slippery with his own manifestation's blood and simultaneously avoid any further injury to them both. Perhaps he should have begun with the vision and worked from there. For a brief moment he thinks he has it, but just as he tries to send over the first little packet of information the boy gives a particularly violent thrash that yanks him out of Nhodd's grip and sends the angel scrabbling to recover him.

[lottawork]

"Go - fuck - yersel'," he manages in a taut, breathless snarl, and a successful wrench tears him from the other boy's grasp.

It's the only window he needs. He's fair fucking fast when he needs to be, always has been. Always has had to be. He stops only to jerk two fingers up in a defiant 'V' before facilitating his escape by pitching himself over the edge of the slide. He lands in a flurry of sawdust and scrawny limbs but picks himself up immediately, scrambling off and away.

[omnomnom_feels]

Well, that certainly did not go as planned. Nhodd watches the little sapient go, noting the gesture with disapproval. He is bleeding and he got his blood all over the human child without accomplishing anything to justify it. This is a most unsatisfactory outcome.