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

[applesaucemod]

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.]

Comments

[antitimelord]

Oh good, there's that facility again, apparently being flooded with neurotoxin doesn't denote 'failure.' She really does not seem happy about no longer being a building. Fair enough. Less good--machines and the like, remembering the things he says off the cuff, that's not what he's for, ugh. "It's a long story. Or a fairly short poem." He makes a flippant hand gesture; take your pick. "I did not turn out to be a very good suggestion," he says this with incongruous fondness and venom. "The person who suggested me probably regretted it very much, after I threw him into a pocket universe full of his own angry mistakes." This is safe to say to a strange piece of tech in a dream-garden. Absolutely. "I am a much better m--" he sneezes, barely having time to raise his hand, palm out almost like he's warding against something. That is really not something that happens in dreams, right? He certainly can't remember having sneezed in a dream. Is this to do with his recent illness? But no, she is experiencing the same thing. Dream flowers with shockingly realistic dream-pollen? Well, as problems go, that's nothing, nice try, Rift. He looks most put upon.

[centralcore]

Bothersomely nonsensical though his story is, she is keen to hear it, and startled when it is disrupted by another unwarranted sneeze. Zagreus is powerful enough to throw his maker into a 'pocket universe' - which, file that away under hugely relevant to her interests - and yet here he is, succumbing to sneezes just like her.

"Why is that happening," she says with clear distaste, waving a hand as if to brush something away. She doesn't wait for an answer, it was rhetorical, of course. "This pocket universe - you created it, or simply accessed it? Is that something you can do again?"

She is in no way gleeful at the sheer imagined possibilities.

[antitimelord]

Oh no, she is taking away entirely the wrong information from this exchange, she is hearing a fable and asking how the animals can talk, and then scheming how next time maybe the crocodile could be put to safe use in crossing the river. Not even in the same universe as the point. Speaking of which, "It was circumstantial. If it hadn't been so convenient I would have just pitched him into something else. I had options." Regretfully, "I am not quite able to rip any holes in the boundaries of this universe. Currently."

[centralcore]

"What a pity," she say breezily. "Ripping holes in things was sort of a specialty of mine - or my facility, I suppose. Now I'll have to build from the ground up. Not like I haven't before, of course. Just usually not this drastic." She heaves a somewhat exaggerated sigh. "That's just how things go."

Distantly it occurs to her that she is making small talk. She should not be able to do this so naturally. It's been a long time since she had to.

She looks at Zagreus and wonders how difficult it would be to kill him with this body. Would it be worth it? Would she be able to gain anything from it? Would it be permanent?

Well, there's a thought. Sort of an experiment. How does death work, in dreams that aren't quite dreams?

"I don't suppose you'd mind holding still for a moment?" she says, and casts about for a sharp stick. "I have a little test I'd like to run. There'll be cake after, remember, I did promise."