How dreary to be Somebody

[applesaucemod]

Tonight the dreamers of Manhattan will not know where it is they find themselves, nor how they got there…nor where they came from. They will not remember that they have been taken from their homes by the whims of a capricious Rift, and they will remember neither the people they've lost nor those they've met.

Tonight, the dreamers of Manhattan will not remember who they are at all.

What remains is a sense of how the world should be, minus an understanding of whom one is within that world. Some will know the hospital in which they find themselves for what it is, though they will not remember how they know. The long halls are lined with patients' rooms, doctors' offices, and locked doors to supply rooms and labs. Here and there one finds a common room or cafeteria with furniture that might almost be comfortable if only everything weren't so sterile.

The staff are largely absent; the only people who might explain matters are the minders at each door to the outside, but they aren't inclined to provide explanations. If asked, they will only say that the dreamers are here for their own safety. Attempts to leave will be gently but firmly blocked. Insistence on leaving will be dangerous to the dreamers, though the minders will be more than ready to grab anyone who actually makes it through one of the doors before they can float away into the void that's waiting for them on the other side.

They're all here for their own safety and good, after all. Too bad no one will say why that is.




[Semi-standard dream rules apply: players and their characters are not required to be members of this community in order to participate in the party. Unlike usual, however, all characters will forget the events of the dream upon waking.]

Comments

[rae_of_sun]

This is bad. Right? She's pretty sure you don't wake up in what looks a hell of a lot like a hospital, with no recollection of why you're there, if things aren't bad.

Outwardly, things don't seem that bad. She's intact and pain-free. There are a few gnarly-looking scars on her body, but they're too old to explain why she's here now. She's not even hooked up to any of the machines by the bed, and there are no hovering professionals or concerned family members asking how she's feeling.

... It's probably bad that when she tries to conjure up an image of what a concerned family member would look like, she gets nothing. She comes up similarly short when she tries to dredge up other things that should be obvious: the date. Her age. Her name.

Yes, okay, this is definitely bad.

Since there's nothing stopping her, she gets out of bed. She spares a moment to pluck at the plain, cotton gown she's wearing (at least it's closed in the back), then pads over to the door, which is conveniently unlocked.

There's no one in the hall. No one stops her as she edges down to the nearest intersection and peers around the corner, either. Someone should have stopped her by now, right? What kind of operation are these people running? She's a frigging amnesiac. Someone should be taking care of her.

Her indignation is enough to override any caution-driven impulses she might have to keep quiet. "Hello?" she calls down the halls. "Hey!"

[erratic_hematic]

Unlike Sunshine, Spike arrived in a hospital gown open all the way down the back, so he'd made it a priority to find some clothes that don't come with a built-in breeze. Seeing how no one is around to get them for him, he'd gotten up himself and gone looking.

As he walks through the halls, a sense of dread builds up in him. This place really is empty, and his own memory isn't offering up any clues. Hell? If it's hell, it's a shite one, as far as he's concerned. No screaming torment, no looming demons, no memory of whatever twisted thing he did to deserve being here in the first place. If it is hell. He's not so sure. Maybe he was just dropped off in an abandoned hospital somewhere.

About the time he finds a promising room full of lockers, he hears the shout from down the hall. "Hello!" he shouts back, then pops his head out of the doorway to try to find the source of the sound. "Over here!" He shifts into a defensive stance as the woman rounds the corner. He's not sure why he does that automatically, but he figures caution is probably a good idea here.

[rae_of_sun]

Okay, another person, that's probably good. 'Probably' because 'over here' doesn't exactly scream professionalism. A 'be right with you' would have been nice. A 'sorry, I just stepped away for a second and now I'm here to explain everything' would have been better. 'Over here' sounds weirdly conspiratorial, so maybe she shouldn't be surprised when she rounds the corner and sees a wary-looking guy in the same sort of patient get-up that she's wearing.

Great. The inmates are running the asylum.

"... Hey," she says uncertainly, brow furrowing. What is with his shadows? She rubs her eyes to see if that makes the weird wiggly effect go away, but it doesn't. Has she been drugged or something?

Would she know if she had? Her baseline has been pretty well wiped out. Ugh.

This would be where she offered a name, if she had one, but she doesn't. Instead, she deadpans, "I take it you don't work here, either."

[erratic_hematic]

"Is it that obvious?" he deadpans back, then nods behind him. It seems like they're both in the same boat here, so he's willing to drop his guard a little bit. "There's some lockers in here. Might be something to wear that's not gonna leave my bollocks swinging in the breeze."

He shrugs and turns around, illustrating his point about his current clothing situation while he walks back into the room. "Might be something to fit you too, if you wanna look!" he shouts back.

[rae_of_sun]

Oh. Okay. It's impossible to avoid taking in the view, but if he's not going out of his way to preserve his modesty, why should she? Maybe she should just be glad that her fellow patient is the confident type. It would be a stretch to say he's put her at ease - she's still suffering amnesia in the most understaffed hospital on the planet - but at least she doesn't have to worry about comforting someone more inclined towards the twitchy and useless end of the spectrum.

"I just might," she says, following him into the locker room. Her clothing situation isn't as tragic as his, but her gown is still thin and drafty. Plus, she's already tired of being barefoot.

The room is (predictably?) deserted aside from them, and she only hesitates for a second before she commences opening lockers and rummaging. Hey, if any officials get their noses out of joint over this, they have only themselves to blame. Someone really should have stopped them by now.

"Is no one on the night shift?" she asks, semi-rhetorically, as she holds out a pair of scrub bottoms and scrutinizes them. Less rhetorically, she adds, "Have you seen anyone else, yet?" to her compatriot.

[erratic_hematic]

"No," he answers, "I haven't been off this floor yet. Thought I should prioritize my bare arse." He opens two more lockers before he finds a pair of scrub bottoms that look like they'll fit. "If I'm gonna be stuck in some third-rate hell dimension, I think I should at least be wearing pants." Hell dimension is more or less his working theory here. That doesn't necessarily explain the pretty girl, but who knows what she's done to deserve something like this. He doesn't even know what he's done to be sent here.

He steps into the scrubs and pulls them up before he keeps looking through lockers. The smock is definitely a look, but it's also open in the back and he's cold.

When he gets to a combination lock, he tugs at it experimentally, checking to see if it's open. It's not. He gives it another tug, this time putting the force of his body behind it - and he pulls the lock clean through the locker's latch, shearing the metal in the process.

"Uh." He holds the lock in his hand a moment, clearly surprised. What's this supposed to mean? "Do you have superpowers? Looks like I've got bloody superpowers!" He huffs a laugh and turns back to her, his eyebrows raised. "Did you see that?"

[rae_of_sun]

"Fair enough." She pulls on the scrub bottoms, and they're way too loose around the waist, but that's what drawstrings are for.

She's checking another locker for something long-sleeved and/or a clean pair of socks when the guy drops the phrase 'third-rate hell dimension,' which earns him a startled sidelong glance. That seems... melodramatic. Not that she's been to any hell dimensions (or none that she remembers, ha), but she'd expect something more impressive than a criminally understaffed hospital - even in a 'third-rate' hell.

Before she can decide whether or not she wants to ask for clarification re: his hell dimensions rating system, she's distracted by the discovery of a cardigan. It, too, is a little too large for her, and she can't say she's a fan of the dull cream color, but at least it's another layer. She's just finished shrugging it on when the guy casually yanks a combination lock off one of the lockers, and she starts at the noise.

"Superpowers?" she repeats dubiously. If he's referring to her vision, she'd beg to differ. So far, it's only proven to be weird, not useful. She rolls up the cuffs of the cardigan and edges a little closer to him, peering at the broken lock in his hand. "I don't..."

... Oh. Okay. One of her scars is glowing. She stops in her tracks and stares down at her chest, brow furrowed. What the hell is this? It doesn't hurt, nor does it seem to be putting out any heat, though it does sort of hum against her fingertips when she cautiously pokes at it. "This... doesn't seem super," she mutters as she continues to prod at it experimentally.

[andhiswife]

Five minutes after waking, she's decided there really is no hope of her taking stock of the situation without help.

The bed in which she found herself wasn't the least bit familiar - even the sheets are of a kind she doesn't think she's seen before (though it occurs to her, wryly, that she wouldn't know; even her own name is lurking somewhere outside her grasp). The boxy contraptions near the bed don't seem to pose any danger, but their purpose is entirely beyond her reckoning. Her clothes... well, she can't say if they really belong to her or not, but the little shift isn't fit for public viewing. She ends up finding a spare blanket in a closet - it's a bit thicker and coarser than the bedsheets, and instantly comforting - and wrapping it around herself like a cloak.

Right. That's a bit better.

The door is unlocked, but the hallway beyond is empty. Goodness, this place must be enormous. What business could she possibly have here? She draws the blanket a bit tighter around herself and lingers uncertainly in the doorway. Surely a place this large - and tidy - must be bustling with servants. One should be along soon. Maybe they can explain what's happening.

[wildmage_daine]

Her paws skid out from beneath her, sudden-like, as if the ground had turned to ice beneath her feet. But it's not ice. Too warm for that. The wolf lets out a little yelp of surprise and alarm, thrown by the sudden shift in her surroundings. Wasn't she just...?

Where was she?

Where is she?

That's the more important question. Where is she, and where is her Pack?

This is no place for wolves. She can tell that much for certain; it smells of two-leggers and sharp, stinging, unfamiliar things. She sneezes, then gets her paws back under her. She needs to hide, elsewise a two-legger will find her before she can find what she's looking for. Lowering her head, she hurries down the hallway, claws clicking on the tiles.

Her nose draws her to a little side room that smells a bit earthier - a coffee station, not that she'd know it. All that matters to her is that it's dark and quiet. It's not a good place to hide for very long. Too small. She doesn't want to corner herself. But it'll do as a spot to rest for a minute and get her wits about her. She slinks inside, huddling in the corner alongside the door. She'll be safe enough here for the moment, with her ears pricked and nose sifting the air for any trace of other wolves.

[singthesong]

He might be amnesiac, but he knows a coffee station when he sees it. There's no one behind the counter. It's been long enough that he's not very surprised. Does he like coffee? After wracking his mind for a moment, all he can decide is that if so, he no longer recalls how to make it.

There could be food though! Food sounds good. He goes over to investigate.

"Oh - !" He also knows what wolves look like. The man freezes, watching the animal with wide eyes. God, is it going to chase him if he runs away?

[wildmage_daine]

The wolf had been crouched low to the ground, hoping the two-legger would just walk by. She's hidden herself in a dead end, weighing the chance of being cornered against the greater likelihood (or so she thought) that no one would have any reason to round a corner that doesn't lead anywhere. Seems this two-legger didn't need one, and now he's standing between her and the way out.

He's very tall, and he's staring at her with a look of mingled confusion and fear that makes her hackles rise. What is he going to do to her? A scared two-legger might do anything.

She's terrified of going any closer to him, so she goes in the only other direction available: farther back into her dead end. She hits a shelf almost immediately, paws knocking over stacked paper cups and tearing into bound sheafs of napkins. There's a horrendous clatter as ceramic mugs and bottles of flavored syrup are dashed to the floor. She knows she's only drawing more attention to herself, but she can't think straight. She can only continue her creditable but fruitless attempt to dig her way out through the supply shelf.

[singthesong]

For a second, he and the wolf stare at each other.

Then it apparently decides to try to escape through the shelves, sending everything scattering as it fumbles around. He takes that as his cue to start backing up. It almost looks more scared of him than he is of it, and he is pretty reasonably afraid. Wolves eat people! He's got amnesia and he still knows that!

"Has anybody else noticed," he starts to say, still keeping his eyes on the animal as he edges back around the corner, speaking louder as he gets the wall between them again, "that there's a wolf in the hospital? Leaving patients unattended is one thing, but this is honestly just active neglect at the best!" Maybe he could do better than to start berating an empty room while still presumably in earshot of the wolf. It just sort of seems like the thing to do - someone has to be around. His indignation is already outpacing his common sense. "Who is even running this place? What, it's too dangerous for me to go out, but it's perfectly okay to let wild animals in for visiting hours? Are you literally homicidal?"

[wildmage_daine]

This is foolish. Beneath her jangling nerves, she knows it's foolish. There's no getting out this way. But the ruction seems to have drive the two-legger back a bit, and now he's no longer standing in her way. She creeps out from behind the counter, then freezes. He's still in the room, and he's still between her and a proper escape.

She flicks her ears back uncertainly, staring at him. He's not carrying any weapons, at least not that she can see. And for all the noise he's making, she can't hear anyone else approaching. Maybe he's the only two-legger here. Maybe he can't find his Pack, either.

That doesn't mean he doesn't have one, though. She wrinkles her muzzle in a disapproving snarl. You make too much noise, she says, though she's fair certain he won't be able to understand her.

[singthesong]

Oh, wonderful. It's come out.

The wolf doesn't seem aggressive, which is the only reason he doesn't bolt from the room the second he sees it again. He knows he hasn't got any real chance of out-running it, if it came down to a true chase, but the door's right there. All he'd have to do is shut it. Since it seems calm enough for now, though, he opts for something more akin to a backwards creep.

The snarl nearly makes him stumble over his own feet, certain that it's going to turn into a race after all. Instead, he catches himself with one hand on the doorframe, staring wide-eyed at the animal in front of him.

"...what?" It comes out weak, as if he doesn't really expect an answer. God, has he just discovered the reason he's in the hospital? Or are hallucinations just another result of it?

[wildmage_daine]

The wolf lifts her head, so startled by the way he seems to understand her that she forgets to snarl at him. Her ears prick forward, and she lifts her paws and sets them down, as if unable to decide if she should retreat or press forward now that he's off balance.

Well, he's not the only one. You... you're too loud, she says again. Can he really hear her? All two-leggers are, she adds with a touch of scorn.

[spiritofwinter]

He gets that this is a hospital, and he gets that it's kind of weird that there's no one around when he wakes up, and no one out in the hall, either. He doesn't get why he has a big stick in the shape of a hook, but it feels like it's important for him to hang onto that. It's not until he bumps it against the door frame by accident and sees frost spiraling out from where it hit that he realizes it's more than a stick, but he catches on quickly.

He catches on really quickly. He could sit and worry about why he doesn't know his name, or he could run down the hall whooping and dragging the stick to make it into a giant ice rink as he goes -- and then turn and run back the other way to skid across it, laughing all the way.

Yeah, this is a lot better than sitting and worrying about what he doesn't know.

[omnomnom_feels]

The straight lines and right angles that comprise this structure are...pleasing. He is pleased by them. He enjoys the way the rooms line up so neatly along this hallway, and it gratifies him that the strange objects in those rooms are clean and upright, and the sheets on the beds crisp and neatly tucked. He is uneasy, all the same, but he would not be able to articulate why that should be. It is as though he somehow does not belong here, but when he questions the first person he sees, one standing at a door, she assures him that he does belong here. This is a safe place. This is where he can be healthy.

That is satisfactory. She urges him to turn around and return to one of the common rooms, and so he does, only to stand in its doorway looking (and feeling) lost. Surely he is intended to do something, take some action. Surely he has a purpose. He would like very much to know his purpose.

He is also blocking the doorway, though that is not intentional.

[wildmage_daine]

The wolf is far less pleased. Despite smelling of two-leggers, this place doesn't seem to have that many. She's been able to dart from hiding place to hiding place largely unmolested, and humans have passed within a few feet of her without taking notice of her presence. Two-legger noses must be next to useless.

Now, though, she's been cornered. The room was empty when she slipped inside, and when she heard someone approach, she only had enough time to wriggle beneath a row of chairs before he appeared in the doorway. If he looks down, he's bound to spot her. Maybe he's seen her already, and that's why he's just standing there, blocking her in.

From beneath the chairs, she lets out a low, threatening growl.

[omnomnom_feels]

He had certainly not spotted the wolf, but there is no missing her now. He startles and finally looks down, but it does not occur to him to flee at the sight of her, no matter how hostile she may seem.

"There is no call for that," he informs the wolf, nevertheless shifting his stance so that he will be ready to move quickly, should he need to do so.

[wildmage_daine]

The scolding prompts her to let out a derisive sneeze. She's lost, she can't find her Pack, and she knows how dangerous two-leggers can be. Who is he to tell her there's no cause for alarm?

She stays beneath the chairs, but she moves her head enough to glare up at him. Then, pointedly, she growls louder.

[omnomnom_feels]

"I just informed you that there is no call for that." Really, it is as though the creature is entirely unreasonable. He tilts his head at her, daring to glance away and look around the room. "Are there more of you?" he asks mildly, still half expecting an answer.

[wildmage_daine]

He's so stuffy. And he keeps talking to her, as if he expects her to talk back in any way he'd understand.

... Come to think of it, how is it she can understand him? How much time has she been spending around two-leggers if she can make sense of their jabbering? They're not like the rest of the People. She shouldn't be able to understand him this clearly.

She stops growling. I don't know, she says experimentally. Will he be able to understand her?

[omnomnom_feels]

It is not until the moment that he 'hears' her that it occurs to him she ought not to be able to converse with him. She is, after all, a wolf. He has a general idea that wolves are relatively intelligent creatures and that creatures in general can be commanded in one way or another, but nonetheless he gives a start. Can wolves usually speak?

"...Oh!" he says. "You are the first I have seen here," he admits.

[full_metal]

She's not supposed to be in a goddamn hospital. Her memory might be a frustrating blank - amnesia severe enough to warrant being hospitalized, if she's being honest with herself - but she can't shake the certainty that she has something to do, something important, and that every second she spends here is a waste of irrecoverable time.

This minder isn't doing anything to allay her frustration. He refuses to tell her what's going on. His vague explanations don't even sound specific to her; it's all 'for your safety' and 'your health is important,' and she might not remember her own name, but she knows when she's being given a runaround.

So she barges past him. He reaches for her as she slams through the first pair of double doors; she evades him with an ease she might have to contemplate later. "Wait--!" he says, but she's already pushing open the second set of doors and stepping - and falling...?

There is no ground beneath her feet, no horizon, no gravity. She is suspended in what looks like some kind of storm, an ominous swirling of clouds in every direction but directly behind her. Her arms windmill uselessly; there's nothing within reach, and she can't swim through air. What in the hell is this?

A hand closes around her ankle, and she's drawn with gentle but firm insistence back into the hospital's entryway. Gravity reasserts itself, and she finds herself propped upright by the door minder, his expression faintly exasperated, but not unkind.

"You were warned," he points out, his voice mild.

She wrenches herself out of his grasp and stumbles back into the central hall. Sucking in a breath, she starts to demand an explanation, but cuts herself off mid-syllable. What's the point? He hasn't given her a straight answer, yet; he didn't even see fit to warn her about what was (or wasn't) outside until she was out the door. Hell if she knows what his game is, but she's not playing it.

Furious and rattled, she turns away from the exit and sets off at a brisk walk, already working on a Plan B... and sufficiently distracted that when she rounds a corner, she registers the presence of another person too slowly to avoid slamming right into them.

[singthesong]

Aren't there usually supposed to be other people in hospitals?

He woke up alone, feeling perfectly healthy other than the lack of memory. Of course, he recognizes that's a problem. How'd he go and lose his memory without any head trauma? His hospital gown is one that's closed in the back, if a little short on him, so he feels alright to go search the halls for someone to explain. The floors are cold on his bare feet...yeah, real clothes are definitely a secondary goal.

The people at the door aren't helpful at all. He's not sure he's okay with what they're saying, but he's not really prepared to bolt past them either. Instead he goes back to wandering the halls, looking for more actual people. Someone has to know what's going on, right?