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

[singthesong]

"Nothing too specific!" he hastens to assure her. "It's not really my business. I just knew you were alive, and...old, I think."

It doesn't occur to him not to guess at a lady's age; to him, being old is hardly a bad thing. Her song must be long and beautiful. In the end he suspects it might be more than he could handle. Yet another good reason not to pry! "I only get impressions most of the time, unless I try for more."

[theoldgirl]

Privacy concerns weren't really why she was looking slightly perturbed just now; it's a concept that hardly ever occurs to her, neither for herself nor for those whose minds she reads and whose lives she observes. So his reassurance is met with a somewhat blank look, but his guess at her age is endearing in its naivety and an amused smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

"Very old," she confirms, "Which is why you had better not try to sense more. My existence has been very very long and highly complex, and I would hate for it to cause you harm." One painful situation like Johnny's is bad enough.

[singthesong]

The Balladeer chuckles wryly. "Trust me, I know better than that." It's not malevolent, if one could use that word for whatever crawls around in Johnny's skull, but it's big enough that he's sure he doesn't want to deal with it. No sense in being reckless.

"Besides, it's much better getting to know people by actually talking to them. I didn't have too many chances to do that before the Rift took me."

[theoldgirl]

The TARDIS has a rather different opinion on talking to people and shakes her head in amusement. "I find talking to be cumbersome and inefficient, by and large. Especially for the purpose of getting to know someone. Telepathy and viewing their timeline are much more comprehensive and clear." It sounds like he might know a little about that, even. "But most people can't relate to me unless I communicate with them in this form, so I make do," she manages to say without actually rolling her eyes. She uses her body for her own pleasure and communicating like this isn't usually too much of an imposition, but the fact that so often, she has to act as something lesser than she is in order to be respected at all is deeply irritating.

"There were not a lot of people to talk to in your universe?" she asks then, curious about his home again. "Your unusual perception was not an alteration done by the rift?"

[singthesong]

"Eight," the Balladeer answers without hesitation or calculation. "It would be nine, but one of them's always avoided me..."

He's an odd figure, that one. The Balladeer has truly never spoken with him, though they've glanced at each other in passing. Something about him makes the Balladeer's skin crawl; perhaps it goes both ways. In all this time, he's never attempted to approach either. The most time he ever spent near the man was right before he came here - but that doesn't bear dwelling on.

He shakes his head. "Anyway, I knew all their timelines already. It's for them that I have this perception at all. There just wasn't much left to say to each other." Thoughtfully, he leans forward to rest his arms on his knees, watching a nearby fountain burble. "I don't think I realized until I got here that I did like talking to people."

[theoldgirl]

"That sounds quite lonely," the TARDIS comments sympathetically. Not having anyone to communicate and connect with, in whichever way is most native to one, is an isolation she couldn't bear for long. Eight is better than none, but that seems strangely limited. "Were you imprisoned?" she asks gently but with unmistakable curiosity. "What was the purpose of your perception?"

[singthesong]

The Balladeer shrugs. "It didn't seem so bad then. I was just used to it, you know?" He wouldn't have described himself as necessarily unhappy at the time, but looking back...well, it wasn't anything like now. Even the most mundane Manhattan day has its simple joys.

"I was there to tell their stories," he explains, a faint frown creasing his brow. That's something he's always known; he hasn't questioned it. But to call it purpose? If there's an intent or an origin behind his world, the Balladeer does not know it. He just knows the role he's supposed to play.

"If anyone was imprisoned," he continues in the tone of someone thinking aloud. "It was them. They were murderers. But I guess I was just as stuck, yeah." Not entirely fair, but history rarely really is.

[theoldgirl]

That's a more clearly defined purpose than she's used to humans having and it's quite strange. But what he says also seems familiar, in a way. "It can be difficult to realize one's own captivity until one experiences true freedom," she agrees pensively, thinking back to a very, very long time ago, before the Doctor. "One might never know anything else." And what a pitiful fate that would be.

It's also rare to meet someone whose life has actually been improved by being taken by the rift, aside from the child the Doctor brought home. "I assume you will not want to return to your own universe, once you can?"

[singthesong]

The Balladeer tilts his head curiously; is that familiarity he detects? Maybe they have more in common than he'd thought. Most people want nothing more than to go home.

"No," he replies, frowning. "Not if I had the choice. I'm not sure what'll happen back there without me, but..." It bothers him. He's essential there - that's not just self-aggrandizement, even his enemies knew it. If he cared in the least about any of them, that combined with his duty would be enough.

But they were already trying to get rid of him when the Rift interfered. The Balladeer is not in the habit of giving the assassins what they want, but just this once, just once, it should be okay. If it backfires, that's their problem.

"I'd rather stay. Or go somewhere else, if I have to."