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]

The other girl's second attempt is much better than the first, and Greta nods in approval - and then blushes a little, at the thanks. An older girl is thanking her. Not just older, either, but of an unmistakably higher class. All the grass stains in the world couldn't hide the fine quality of the clothes she's wearing, after all. Greta's own dress is far more plain, though at least she's managed to keep it reasonably tidy.

Oh, dear, she hasn't even introduced herself. Her blush deepens. "It's Greta," she says sheepishly, ducking her head and focusing on her own work for a few moments. But her gaze flits inexorably back up to the other girl, and she ventures, "What's yours?" Then, because she can't help herself, and in a tone that wavers somewhere between complimentary and merely observing, "Your hair is very blue."

[lostthebeansagain]

Not getting much chance to interact with other children leaves her a little baffled at Greta's blushing, but she answers, "Celosia. And it is, isn't it?" She pauses her braiding to preen a little, patting some stray curls back into place (they promptly fall again) and tossing her head so they bounce, shining even in the tree's shade. "Mother tells me it won't ever be as pretty as hers, but I don't think that's true. Blue is my favorite color," she adds.

Celosia's mother is not a good or nice witch; she might well not even be a witch who's right.

"What's your favorite color?" she asks, because she assumes all girls must have one; her mother certainly does, and she does, and that's surely a pattern.

[andhiswife]

Her own hair doesn't curl so much as frizz, and Greta watches Celosia's curls bounce with a wistful expression. She's not quite sold on the color - it's just so odd - but there's no denying that it's nicely styled. Or that it was, before she got untidy.

"Red," Greta replies. If she hesitates a little, it's not because she has to think about the answer, but because she knows it's not a very common one - at least not for girls. Most of her friends would say yellow or violet or pink. But she likes red. It's strong, and alive, and it makes her think of sweet things that still have an exciting sharpness to them, like strawberries and apples.

Blue is a nice color too, though. Greta glances up at Celosia's hair again. Maybe she shouldn't ask, but Celosia seems nice, like she wouldn't mind answering. "How'd it get blue? Was it always like that?"

[lostthebeansagain]

"Like blood and berries and roses," Celosia says, approvingly, and grins at the smaller girl. "That's a good color, too." Greta should have a crown of red flowers, then.

As for her own hair, she shrugs, and tells the other girl without fanfare, "My mother changed its color when she took me, and it was supposed to be violet, like hers, but my magic turned it blue instead. So it's been blue as long as I know." She bows her head back to the flowers crown, and asks with intense casualness, "I can change the colors of all kinds of things, though Mother doesn't let me do it in the house. Would you like to see?" It's a small magic, but she never gets to show off to anyone, and she's almost certain Greta would appreciate it.

[andhiswife]

The quiet pleasure Celosia's approval gives her is quickly snuffed by 'when she took me.' It's followed closely by 'magic,' and Greta might be young, but she knows what that means. Only Witches or Fairies take children and keep them, and if she'd been taken by Fairies, they wouldn't have let her out like this.

Celosia's mother is a Witch, and so is she.

Greta definitely shouldn't ask to see any magic. It could be dangerous, even if it's just a little thing. If her own mother was here, she'd be grabbing Greta's hand and hauling her off.

But her mother isn't here. And she's never actually seen someone do magic before. And how much harm could it really do, just changing the color of something? She chews her lip for a few moments, then says, "All right," before hastily adding, "As long as it's not my hair." Mother would notice that for sure.