applesaucedream | What's Stopping Us From Breathing Easy [Open to All]

Dreamers of Manhattan, you've lucked out. Rather than finding yourselves in some kind of dystopian nightmare, you'll end up in a series of formal gardens on a lovely day, the air filled with birdsong and a cloud-scattered sky arching overhead. Some of the gardens look a bit wilder than others, in an artful sort of way, but it's clear that all of the gardens are well kept and frequently tended. Aside from each other, dreamers aren't likely to run into any creature larger than a rabbit. True, there are no actual exits - every doorway or arbor leads to another garden - but that's hardly a problem. It's beautiful, it's safe... what could go wrong?

Well, that depends on the dreamer's honesty. No uncomfortable truths will drop unbidden from anyone's mouths like last time, but the dreamers will find that any time they attempt to lie or prevaricate, they'll be beset by a sneezing fit. A tiny lie by omission might only prompt that uncomfortable feeling of an impending sneeze; a larger, more significant (or more stubborn) fib will lead to a sneeze attack so crippling that the dreamer might just need to sit down for a minute.

You could try to pass it off as allergies, if you could get the words out without making everything worse. But while telling the truth is not compulsory, lying is punishable - and pretty well obscured - by sneezes.

[OOC: Usual dream party rules apply. All are welcome to participate regardless of whether they've been apped in the game or not. Dreamers can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No. No. That can't be--she only fell, she didn't... she didn't...

Greta curls in on herself with a broken cry, as if the Witch had driven a blade into her. She can't bear it--not the thought of Jack weeping over her after the way she used him, not the thought of them all being left alone to face the Giant, not the fact that the Witch can't even tell her anything more, something helpful, something that doesn't confirm the worries she's been burying since she arrived.

"That's not... that can't be--" she starts, before a sneeze cuts her off, and she lets out a bark of frustration. Why is this happening now? "I--I'm not--" another sneeze, and she slumps against Iman, her breath coming fast and shallow.

"Greta - Greta!" Iman cries, clutching her desperately, burying a hand in her hair. Oh god, oh god. What can she do? How can she fix this?

She - she can't.

"Greta," she says again, uselessly, unable to keep her own tears at bay, even though she should be strong right now, this isn't about her. "It - I-"

She feels the threat of a sneeze before she can get any further, and she breaks off into agonized silence. She can't make this better. She can't promise everything will be fine. She can't do anything.

She wraps her arms tighter around Greta and turns a furious look on the Witch. "Leave her alone," she growls. "Get out of here."

"And here come the waterworks. You'd think someone had died, the way you're going on." The Witch lets out a little chuckle at her own joke. "Oh, wait."

She's less amused at being told to move along by some upstart who hasn't even the common manners to provide her name, but she's fast becoming less and less interested in seeing this play out. She's dead. Doesn't that entitle her to some kind of holiday from all this complaining? No one asks her what she's lost today, no, it's just complain, complain, complain about their own problems.

"Oh, and what are you going to do?" she asks with a roll of her eyes. "Alright, you can have your -- whatever she is to you. I'm dead, what do I want with her?"

There's a whole garden to explore, after all. With a sniff, she turns on her heel to go.

Greta's on the ground, now, though she doesn't remember how she got there. The brutal nature of the Witch's exposition doesn't surprise her - she never did care about anyone but herself, never showed the slightest inclination towards sympathy. It's just like the first time, when she'd blasted their door in and casually informed them of the Curse upon their house.

But there's no magical solution this time. No list of ingredients she can gather that will fix this. The Witch needs nothing from her, and will give nothing. She's just being left here, broken and hopeless and alone.

No, not alone. Iman is still here. Suddenly consumed by the not entirely unreasonable fear that Iman will go after the woman, attempt to exact some kind of revenge, Greta clings to her friend desperately. "Please," she gasps out between sobs, unable to articulate any more than that.

Iman sinks down with her, her eyes still fixed on the Witch for a moment, wanting more than anything to go after her, give her what-for, rain hellfire down on her awful smug head for doing this to Greta. She knows she can't, for a multitude of reasons, the most important one being Greta needs her here.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, keeping her arms tight around her, holding her as close as she can. "Greta, I'm so sorry." She keeps wanting to say it's okay but she can't, and it isn't. She keeps stroking her hair, murmuring the only truth she has to offer over and over again: "I'm here. I'm here."

She can't bear this, she can't, she can't. She remembers the fall, remembers the horrible length of it, but she landed in the Park, she lived. She lived, and she met someone who promised to get her home, and now all that someone can do is hold her close and apologize, and it's not enough.

She remembers the fall, the sickening sense of vertigo, remembers it so well that it ceases to be a memory. It's here, heavy and immediate and pulling her over some unseen edge.

"Iman...!" she gasps out, just once.

And then she wakes.

What's Stopping Us From Breathing Easy [Open to All]

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