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

"Whhhhhat," says Jay, taking a faltering step back. These are a lot of questions he doesn't really know how to handle. He is not the person she wants to be talking to, he thinks. "Look. Where I come from, gods are just like - myths. I mean, some people believe in them, but there's no, uh..." Is he really getting into a religious debate with this creature? He huffs out an impatient sigh. "Nobody killed them. We just don't know if they ever existed. If they do, we sure don't hear from them."

How existential. But probably about the best explanation he can give.

"People from other worlds might have it different," he adds softly. There's angels, after all. It's not like he speaks for everyone.

"...You're very fortunate," reiterates Ecks. "The gods of my world take very...active roles. They killed the last pantheon."

She tilts her head at him, reaching up to brush her ragged hair out from in front of her eyes in the most human gesture she's yet displayed. "Do people still kill each other if there aren't gods to tell them to?" she asks. "Do the godless people try to be good? I try to be good. It's more complicated than I thought it would be, but maybe it's simpler without gods."

"Oh," he says, entirely nonplussed. "Um. If you say so."

And then that series of questions. He goes very still, shoulders tightening, staring vacantly at the ground, looking like he might be sick. How he is supposed to answer that? She can't know what it means to him - what it stirs up in him. How cruelly on point.

He's quiet for a while, and then he says, "I don't think people ever needed gods to tell them to kill each other." Though that's not exactly his experience, is it? That thing was no god, but it was controlling them, warping all of them outside themselves, until he was ready to take a knife to his only friend, until Alex was ready to pull a trigger.

"We do try to be good," he says, still very quiet, pulling his arms around himself. They all tried, so fucking hard. "Doesn't always work."

"Oh," she says, disappointed. In her experience people killing each other has usually been a direct result of a god giving them rules telling them to do so, or a god's followers sending them out to violate another god's rules about who they're not supposed to kill. "Sometimes the people in my world who don't follow the gods still do bad things," she says. "Even when they're trying to do good. I had hoped it was a side effect."

She watches him carefully, comparing his body language against the mental catalog she's spent her entire life building. He's upset, clearly, but it seems like something more personal than a general disappointment in the state of his world. "It's a process," she offers, because maybe he's struggled to know who to kill or not kill, too. "We can only try our best."

Hah. Well, glad he could shatter her remaining shred of hope that people aren't inherently terrible.

He shifts back instinctively - physically, from her, and internally, from her attempt at consolation, if that's what it's supposed to be.

"Yeah, well." He huffs out a sound that might have been a laugh. "Most of the time our best isn't enough. In my experience."

Did she misread? She blinks at him, re-cataloging. "Granted," she says cautiously. "But I think it's good to try. I hope it's good to try."

She pauses a moment to consider the net outcome of the last few weeks of her life. At least one thing has been made much worse by their involvement, but other things are better now. "I'm writing a book," she says, because it's important to share your contributions. "About how to be good."

Yeah, well. He hopes so too.

He's not sure how to respond to her next remark. He raises an eyebrow at her. That sounds like something he can't possibly help her with.

"That's... nice?" he says slowly. And then, because he can't actually leave it alone: "I mean... I don't know that you can really write that down. It's... subjective."

"No," she says, not particularly bothered by his objection to the concept. No one else has yet proven willing to use her book, but once it's complete things will be different. "It can't be. There have always been rules; we only need to find the right rules. If I write rules that are good and complete, then I'll always know what I should do."

"I..." Jay narrows his eyes slowly. "I don't think that's..."

Is this really a fight he wants to pick?

He raises his hands slowly. "Look, good luck with that," he says flatly. "I should probably go. Okay?"

He's not quite sure why he's asking permission.

"Okay?" she parrots back at him, unsure of the meaning. If he must go, he must go, though it's disappointing to lose a new friend so soon. He doesn't even appear to be a murderer. "Can you tell me how to return home from here before you go?" she asks.

"I..." He hesitates. "I don't kn-"

He feels the sudden intense itch of a sneeze and cuts himself off irritably. "You just have to wait," he says, "until we all wake up."

Well. Apparently that's the truth. Comforting.

"Oh. I can do that." It's a pleasantly simple instruction, if somewhat unsatisfying. And harmless, as far as she can tell. She glances around, then back at him. "Where should I wait?"

"Anywhere?" he says with an exasperated shrug. "I don't care."

Oh, hey, that's true too.

So, he's a little bit of an asshole. It's not news to him.

"I'm gonna go," he says a little more firmly, and turns away.

That doesn't help her, but it doesn't hinder her, either. She nods slowly. Anywhere. Doesn't matter. She could go exploring. She could wait right here. She could go anywhere.

She stands stock still and stares at him as he turns to walk away.

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

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