Universal Remote [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

Here's an interesting scene: the dreamers of Manhattan are on a pirate ship. Or perhaps they're standing in a busy ER, wearing scrubs and holding a scalpel they may or may not know how to use. Or perhaps they've found themselves in the middle of a world cup championship game, or an old-fashioned highway robbery, or an interstellar dogfight, or a dramatic, 'unscripted' showdown between arguably attractive people they've never seen before in their lives.

Whatever the situation, rest assured: it probably won't last long.

Maybe the Rift is bored. That might explain why the dream keeps changing, as if someone were idly flicking through the channels and switching up the genre. The poor dreamers are just along for the ride, the only constant amidst a shifting array of scenery, clothing, and overall mood. Perhaps, if things are sufficiently interesting, the dream might settle a little to see how things play out. But given the Rift's definition of 'interesting,' that might not be a good thing for whoever is providing the entertainment.

[OOC: the usual dream party rules apply. All are welcome, regardless of whether they're in the game or not. Dreamers can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Dreamers' clothes may change to reflect whatever scene they're in, but their memories and personalities will remain intact... though the overall mood of the setting might influence their mood, as well. Feel free to throw NPCs into whatever scene you find yourself in, with bonus points added if said characters treat the dreamers as if they're established parts of the 'canon.']

Comments

[biscuit_powered]

The air is thin and cold at the turret of this weather-beaten castle, which sits at a dizzying height atop a mountain pass. The sounds of infantry fighting below have ended, the enemy's forces either killed our routed, but up here the open air crackles with the dark magic that keeps three of the figures on the rooftop ensnared. The fourth figure gloats as the life force drains from the fiend on one side and the haloed woman on the other into the winged child at the center of the ritual. The mage responsible is speaking to the half-angel. "My minions are making short work of your friends as we speak," he gloats. "In just a few moments --"

The sound of beating wings interrupts him, and all four turn to look on in incredulity as a tyrannosaurus rex laboriously hauls itself upward through the air on undersized wings that sprout from its shoulders, a gaggle of bruised and bloodied adventurers clinging to its back. The half-angel on the roof bursts into whoops of triumphant laughter as the man nearest the front of the dinosaur climbs to his feet, a rifle in his hand, and takes a running leap up the t-rex's spine to spring from its nose. Time seems to slow as he hauls back his arm to throw the rifle in midair, the half-angel outstretching her hand as the weapon hurtles end over end toward her --

[CLICK-BZZT]

And then Asmodia is very abruptly not clinging to the tyrannosaur's hips, and she's not watching her friends locked in mortal combat and trying to work up the courage to follow Stig's lead now that her flight spell has worn off and she has rather a long way to fall if she misses the jump.

She is, in fact, sitting on the end of a rather comfortable couch under a glaring array of lights. Ahead of her is a mob -- no, a crowd sitting in relative dark, all staring at her as they guffaw and applaud. Tensing, she looks around quickly to discover a small, currently silent musical band off to one side of the -- stage, it's a stage she's on -- and beside her a desk with a person on it, looking little less bewildered than herself. She leaps to her feet, hands raised in readiness and teeth bared as she demands of the world in general, "What in the abyss is happening here?!"