applesaucedream | Universal Remote [Open to All]

Current Music: October 13th/14th, 2013

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Universal Remote [Open to All]

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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.']

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The Cat chooses not to answer her, but rather begins cleaning behind his ears by first licking his paw, then rubbing it over his head and cleaning it again.

He stops when the door opens and a stranger comes in. He supposes perhaps he's meant to know this two-legger by the rules of this dream, but the Dream King's rules are always flexible. He simply meows in response.

Greta's hand tightens on the door, and she gives serious consideration to the idea of just shutting it in the man's face. It's just a dream. It doesn't matter if she plays along or not. Then again, the man is looking at the cat with recognition, too. Maybe she could get answers from him, if he's just another product of the Rift's broad and rather twisted imagination.

"I see," she lies, stepping back to admit the whole crew and trying not to wince.

The man makes his way over to the counter, though not without pointing out a few ostensible changes she's supposedly made to the apartment. She acknowledges his approval of a new 'cat tree' with a strained smile, and watches closely as he approaches the cat in question.

"How're you doing?" the man all but coos as he extends a hand in the cat's direction, stopping short of actually touching it. "You seem happy."

"Yes," Greta agrees flatly, "he's very pleased with himself."

He stares at the man, eyes wide with attention. If this is one of Gainel's creatures, it doesn't smell like it. He leans forward to sniff the hand, then calmly bites it.

"Tell your master if he is so eager to speak with me that he may do so in person."

To his credit, the man doesn't react as strongly to being bitten as Greta would have. There's a grimace and a retreat, but he doesn't seem especially shocked or upset - at least not until the cat opens its mouth and speaks.

"... Uh," he says, glancing back at his cameramen. "Did... did you get that?"

And then the scene shifts again, leaving the men behind. They're in a house this time, their surroundings a bit more cheerfully cluttered. Some distant part of her notes that she's still wearing jeans, which ought to be embarrassing, but she's a little too preoccupied with the cat to worry overmuch about how she looks.

"What did you mean by 'his master'?" she asks, brow furrowed. She probably shouldn't be talking to it, but what's the alternative? Awkward silence? "This is a dream. The man probably wasn't even real." And even if he was, she doubts he had one. He didn't seem like any sort of apprentice to her.

The Cat naturally seeks out the warmest, most comfortable spot in the room and climbs up on the arm rest next to it to curl up. His tail is waving wider now, raised in the air in a sign of friendship. Now he's pleased with himself.

"He was not real in the sense that you and I are real. If he is one of the Dream King's creations then perhaps he can explain how it is that I have come to reside in the dream of a mortal woman."

"Dream King?" she repeats. She's never heard of such a thing. Manhattan's lack of royalty was part of her whole orientation, and she'd like to think she would have heard if any Dream Kings had come through the Rift since then. Greta frowns at the cat, then cautiously lowers herself onto the opposite side of the couch. This is all completely mad; she might as well sit.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she says, smoothing her palms over her jeans, wincing just a little at the reminder that she's not wearing a dress. "There's no Dream King in Manhattan, and I don't think there's one here, either. Just the Rift." She watches the cat sidelong, wondering if it's really new to all this, or if the Rift is just toying with her. It doesn't seem like the Rift, but then again, her experience with those cats is rather limited.

A mortal who doesn't know who the Dream King is. Now this is interesting, even more so than the anachronistic setting. And if it isn't Gainel, then who has the power to draw one such as himself into a dream world?

"Gainel, god of dreams, is also called the Dream King. Tell me more about this Rift." He wants to know everything he can learn.

Well, either the cat truly doesn't know what the Rift is, or the Rift itself is just... what, fishing for compliments? It ought to know better. Greta twists her hands together in her lap and gives the cat a considering look. It's aloof, and perhaps a bit smug, but it's far less possessive than the Rift-cats she's met. Maybe it really is just a coincidentally talkative cat with uncanny violet eyes.

All the same, she treads with a bit of caution when it comes to her description. "I've been told it's a sort of tear - like a hole in the bottom of your pocket - but between universes. People like me come through, and we've all been arriving in this city called New York," she continues haltingly, avoiding the easy slip of referring to it as falling and landing. Considering what happened to her right before her arrival (and what happened to Lilly, for that matter), it's just a bit too raw.

"I don't suppose you've heard of it?" she asks, feeling absurd. All this polite conversation with a cat.

"I have not." It's fascinating though, the idea of a tear in the fabric between realms. It would certainly explain how the power to hold him here was found. It isn't often one forces a constellation to do anything it doesn't want to do.

Of course it hasn't. Not that Greta can blame the creature. She'd never heard of New York before she found herself there, and as far as she can tell, the Rift has been news to everyone it snapped up.

"Well, you seem to have caught its interest," she says, a faint undercurrent of bitterness in her tone. It's hardly an honor. Then again, considering what could have happened to her, perhaps she shouldn't complain.

She gives the cat another cautious once-over, then offers, "I'm Greta." If it really is some messenger of the Rift playing with her, then it already knows her name; no sense in hiding it. And if it's not, she supposes an introduction is only polite.

"Hello, Greta." He would offer a name in return, but at the moment he doesn't have one. Not one she could understand, anyway. The Cat is the closest he has to offer, and that's hardly helpful to a confused young woman.

He steps down from the armrest, walks over to sniff the woman, then leaps up onto the back of the sofa to pace.

"You are the only thing in this place that is real. It is very much like a dream."

"Oh. Yes." Greta stills as the cat sniffs at her. Even if she hadn't witnessed the way it responded to that dream-fellow, she wouldn't do anything so rash as try to pet it. "This is a dream. The Rift does this sort of thing all the time, pulling people together in their sleep. You'll probably wake up wherever you were before you dozed off." 'Probably' being the keyword. She doesn't want to panic the creature - goodness knows what that would entail - but if the Rift hasn't taken it already, it ought to be on its guard.

"Very much like, but not precisely." She needn't worry - the Cat doesn't panic easily. Or much of ever, really. He settles down on the sofa back.

"Powerful work. I wonder if I shall wake up at all."

Greta looks faintly horrified at the thought - not least of all because it wouldn't be the first time the Rift decided to trap someone in the Dreaming for a significant length of time. Poor Jay. But Jay did manage to escape, and the cat exudes an air of general capability. It's the sort of thing that she might find reassuring if it was coming from a human and not some sort of magical, talking beast. It's so calm about the prospect of not waking up that she can't help thinking the Rift would have quite a job on its hands if it really wanted to keep it here.

"I should hope so," she says with a little frown. "People usually do."

Should she even be counting the cat as 'people'?

Greta purses her lips, then turns to face the creature. "What are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

If this particular cat were inclined to answer questions directly or to arguing, he would inform her that he does not count as 'people' since he is neither people-like nor truly one of the Beast People. Being as he isn't inclined towards either of those things, he instead twitches his whiskers forward in a sort of cat smile. Behind him his tail switches back and forth, a show of some amiable interest.

"I am a cat."

Oh, hilarious. Greta's still a little too wary to blatantly roll her eyes or anything, but her exasperation isn't exactly veiled. "Cats don't speak. Not normal ones, anyway."

It probably doesn't help that the only other talking cats she's encountered are Rift-related, but even back home, it wasn't unheard of for animals to speak their minds. None of them had ever done so to her, though.

"Some sort of magic, then?" she hazards. That, too, is something she has some experience with.

His ears flick back and forth, considering. He decides she can handle the truth, probably.

"I am also a constellation."

"... Oh." Well, if angels exist, she supposes a constellation - or the story behind one - could be just as real. It's startling, but it doesn't beggar belief. Few things do, anymore.

That would make it old, wouldn't it? Most of the stories about the constellations back home go back for generations, handed down since who knows when. She can't recall any cat-shaped ones, though, and she'd like to think she'd remember a tale of a talking cat with violet eyes who ended up in the stars.

How do you talk to a constellation? She has the sudden, slightly absurd urge to get up and curtsy. "I've never met a constellation before," she says instead, which is no less absurd.

That's the really terrible thing about being a constellation: all of those things were true, all at once. It was a terribly abstract life he led, and most of it he wasn't in the sky for.

"Most mortals have not," he says agreeably.

Greta swallows the slightly hysterical urge to laugh. No, she'd suppose most people wouldn't have sat down for tea with a mythical arrangement of stars. You wouldn't guess as much from the the cat's behavior, though; he's acting as if this sort of thing happens every day.

What else would a constellation do with its time? Just... float about in the sky, looking down at people? Sounds a bit tiresome. Maybe it's so calm because being sucked into a dream is better entertainment than it usually gets.

"Most, but not all," she guesses, peering at the cat's fur and noticing, for the first time, it's celestial shimmer. It's a little dizzying if she pays too much attention to it. "I suppose being stuck in the sky would make it hard to socialize." Then, "Are you normally stuck in the sky?"

"I am not normally stuck anywhere I do not choose to be." Not even when he takes a mortal shape (which is always, pretty much) is he ever really trapped. As a constellation he can walk from realm to realm with little more than a thought. The only reason he ever gets into trouble is because he has to follow certain rules, just like any other immortal.

"Which is what makes this place so interesting."

"That's one word for it," Greta mutters. She can't help wondering just how much traveling the cat's used to. There are certainly others in Manhattan who are accustomed to wandering much farther afield than the Woods, or the next village over. None of them, to her knowledge, find being trapped on a comparatively small island 'interesting.' It chafes, even for her.

And, she thinks with a pang of bitterness and lingering sorrow, it's not as if she has anyplace else to go.

"The dreams aren't so hard to escape," she says with a flippancy that belies how awful her own deliberate waking was. "You just have to die."

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Universal Remote [Open to All]

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