From the Left, Calpurnia, One Serves from the Left! [Open]

[applesaucemod]

Tonight, the dreamers will find themselves at a dinner party. It is an elegant dinner party, for the most elegant people in all of New York. That seems to be the general idea, at least, going by the upscale interior, immaculate table settings, mood lighting, and the small fact that the dreamers are all dressed to the nines. There's even an open bar! Look, they've had worse dreams. It's hard to complain. If anything, they ought to be thankful. That's the reason for the season, after all.

Which isn't to say they'll have nothing to complain about. It won't take the dreamers very long to realize that their thoughts and actions are accompanied by a steady stream of mild, audible narration. It politely cuts out whenever they speak, but if they fall silent, it picks up again. The mystery speakers' voices vary from dreamer to dreamer, but all of them are generally pleasant and inoffensive to the ear. They don't seem inclined towards arguing with their assignees - in fact, they don't even seem to notice when they're being addressed. Are they even conscious? It's not clear. What is clear is that they just. won't. stop.

The good news is that the dreamers won't be subjected to everyone's personal narration at once. The only disembodied voice they'll be able to hear with complete consistency is their own. However, they will find that if they engage in conversation with someone else, they'll start to pick up on their partner's narration, as well.

It probably won't be awkward at all.



[OOC: the usual dream party rules apply. Characters do not have to be apped to the game to play, and dreamers can remember or forget the events of the dream at the player's discretion. For the sake of clarity, audible narration will be enclosed in colons as opposed to quotation marks :a-like so: - this will keep it from getting muddled with the dialogue or confused with the non-audible narrative phrases you'd typically use in a tag.]

Comments

[andhiswife]

Greta hasn't yet managed to shake off the mystery voice, though at least she has figured out that it's just a voice, not an entire person. The partygoers she's slipped past haven't shown any signs of hearing it, which is sort of encouraging (she doesn't like some of the things the voice has been saying), but also not.

:She feels as if she might be going mad.:

She grits her teeth - hearing a disembodied voice is bad enough; she's not about to start responding to it - and casts about for an exit, or even just a distraction, and that's when she spots Iman.

:It actually takes her an extra moment to recognize her own girlfriend. She looks stunning in that gorgeous, black dress.:

"Yes," Greta breathes in agreement, forgetting herself.

:The absence of a scarf is a surprise, though,: the voice continues placidly. :Iman almost always wears one when they're out in public.:

Greta starts. She's grown used to seeing Iman without her hijab, but the voice is right - she only forgoes the garment in private. Why doesn't she have one now? She watches Iman move along the table, peering down at the chairs in what looks like increasing frustration. Oh, dear. Either she's lost it, or the dream never deigned to give her one in the first place.

:Well, there has to be something she can do to help. Much as she'd like to leave, there's no question of abandoning Iman in her hour of need.:

Right. Greta presses her lips together in determination. She'll just ignore the voice. There's no reason to think Iman will be able to hear it, so as long as she doesn't respond to it, it'll be as if it's not even there.

:She can't help but feel anxious as she approaches,: the voice says unhelpfully as Greta edges out of the milling crowd. :What will Iman think of her?:

Ignore it. Just ignore it. "Iman?" Greta reaches out to take her by the elbow. "Are you all right? Your scarf..." she trails off. Her concern hasn't lessened, but it's sort of hard to focus on it with Iman so close, and looking so lovely, oh dear.

:She's so beautiful,: the voice says, sounding almost wistful.

[etherthief]

Iman starts at Greta's voice, turning with mingled embarrassment and relief Whatever she'd been about to think or say, however, screeches to a blinding halt and the sight of her, that color, that neckline, that everything.

She only distantly registers that the voice that speaks is not her own narrator, though the words fit well enough - the voice is different, and the way it sort of drifts into audibility doesn't fit with how hers has been clear as a bell the whole time.

Oh no. Oh no oh no. She'd thought no one could hear her voice but with increased proximity she's hearing Greta's. And if she can hear Greta's-

:Iman turns to greet Greta in kind but doesn't make it that far, standing instead rooted to the spot at the sight of her, speechless. She really ought to pull herself together but she can't. No amount of imagined daydreams could have prepared her for the actual sight of Greta in an elegant low-necked evening gown. She's stunning. She's flawless. Iman staggers back like she's trying to escape. She feels the pull sit down abruptly, but defies the urge with every scrap of will she has. She will not make more of a fool of herself than she already has. She covers her face to hide the blush, minutes too late.:

"Noooo," she whimpers from behind her hands, praying for the voice to just stop already, before she actually ignites from the heat of her shame.

:This is agonizing. It reminds her of the texts her phone sent, the premature truths she worked so hard to conceal. She still remembers every word. They might as well be etched into her heart. Greta I know we just met in the relative scheme of things and you don't know me all that well but I think I might be in love with you. You probably didn't realize a woman could love another woman like that? I don't know we've never talked about your relative understanding of gender and sexual norms. But I can teach you about that stuff. Not for ME, for you. You're so lovely, I hope this isn't too much.:

"STOP IT," she shrieks at the ether, flailing away from Greta as if to protect her, like she might be a bomb about to go off. She reaches out at random, grabs a bottle of wine off the table, stares at it, then breaks into a run.

[andhiswife]

Oh. Greta blinks in surprise as a second disembodied voice enters the mix. It only takes her a moment to realize it seems to have assigned itself to Iman the way her own voice has been tormenting her, and it's clear that Iman can hear it, too. That probably means that Iman can hear her voice as well, which would probably concern her if she wasn't too busy gaping at the sudden onslaught of Iman's narration.

Oh, goodness.

She's gone crimson by the time Iman's voice pronounces her flawless, and has to cover her mouth to hide a grin of mortified delight. She probably shouldn't be enjoying this when Iman so clearly isn't, but, well, it's sweet. She drops her hand when Iman staggers back, reaching after her with a sympathetic wince. "Iman, wait..."

But Iman's voice isn't finished. Greta pulls up short, eyes widening as it brings up those texts - not just mentioning them, but reciting them. She'd been curious about them; the only reason she hadn't asked about them before was because they'd been sent months ago from a phone Iman no longer even had. She'd assumed the details had been forgotten.

:Apparently not,: her voice observes quietly, just before Iman shouts at her own voice, nabs the nearest bottle of wine, and bolts.

"Oh, not again." Greta fists a hand in her skirt, hiking it up enough to hopefully keep from tripping over it, and follows.

:Why does this keep happening?: her voice wonders as she gives chase. :She supposes it would make sense if Iman's feelings for her were still a secret, but they're not. She already knows Iman had a crush on her for ages, she even knew the texts happened. Iman can't possibly think Greta would find any of it upsetting, honestly.:

This is ridiculous. Greta pauses long enough to kick off her shoes, and not being in heels gives her enough of an advantage to finally catch up. "Iman, stop." She stretches forward, finally seizing Iman by the hand that isn't already occupied by a wine bottle, bringing both of them to a standstill.

:That's better. She hates it when Iman runs from her; she always has. And this time, she's not even sure why it's happened. How else could she feel after that outburst but terribly flattered?:

And now this. Iman can probably hear it. Well, let her. Fair's fair. Greta releases her skirt and smoothes it over with her palm as she catches her breath, still keeping a tight hold on Iman's hand, lest she get any ideas.

:She's so lucky - lucky to have Iman, lucky to be so well-loved. She can't imagine running from this. She can't imagine wanting to.:

Oh, god. Greta buries her face in her free hand, then peeks at Iman from between her fingers. "You have one of these voices, too," she says, unable to fully mask her relief. "I thought it was just me."

[etherthief]

:Iman has no idea where she's going or why she's even running,: says the voice helpfully, cutting off when Greta snatches her hand. She stops short and turns, staring up into Greta's eyes with a stricken expression.

Greta's narrator divulges a few things and she draws a sharp little inhale, about to protest or apologize or something, she doesn't want to hurt Greta's feelings with her stupidity, it's just-

Well. It's hard to remain distressed when Greta's hiding her face like that. This is all ridiculous, as per the rift's usual - which is better than awful, which is the other usual.

"Yes," she says, hoping to speak before her voice gets any ideas. "I - I'm sorry, I wasn't running because I thought you'd... It was just too much, sometimes when things get to be too much I can't - I just panic." She looks down sheepishly at the hand still holding hers, and the wine she's still grasping like a ridiculous lifeline.

:Even as she settles down, she feels herself pulled between several instincts - to pull Greta along with her on her journey to whatever lies beyond this room, to drink this entire bottle of wine, to cover her damn hair - most of all she wants to be alone with Greta, which might almost be enough of a reason to give chase again, were she not intent on keeping close.:

During this monologue she starts gesturing along with her wine bottle, humoring the oversharing of information as though it were intentional, grinning in near-hysterics. She needs a drink. She needs eleven drinks.

[andhiswife]

"Okay." Greta lets out a breath, a smile slowly spreading across her face as Iman's narration picks back up. She's giggling by the time it finishes, because the whole situation is so absurd, and because of the way Iman's conducting it with the wine bottle, and out of a general sense of relief. At least they're on the same page.

"Well. Next time you panic, just take me with you," she says, stepping closer, finally releasing Iman's hand so she can wrap her arms around her. "You look amazing, by the way," she adds, turning to press a kiss to her hair.

:Being alone with Iman sounds perfect - as does leaving the room. Maybe they can find a coat closet. If anyone's abandoned a scarf, that's where it would be.:

"Oh." Greta pulls back, eyebrows raised. "That's actually not a bad idea."

:And even if they can't find a scarf, they'll be alone in a coat closet, which strikes her as a more promising scenario than some sort of fancy dinner.:

Greta opens her mouth, but only manages a few aborted syllables before she gives up and shuts it again, her face flushing.

[etherthief]

"I like the way your unsolicited narrator thinks," says Iman, turning and tugging Greta along with renewed purpose.

:She's right, of course - getting somewhere on their own, where they can sort this out on their own terms, is the clear answer. The wine can come too. Just the wine and the two of them - ridiculous gowns and all. As rattled as she is, Iman isn't sure she can shake off the feeling of seeing Greta like this, and what's more, she isn't sure she wants to. Coat closet it is.:

"GOSH this is sure a thing that's happening," says Iman loudly and with a manic smile. Desperate for conversation points to keep them afloat on their journey - and she won't need long, thank fuck, there's a door in the hall just off this room and she's heading straight for it - she barrels on, "This isn't what it was like in your universe, is it? Narrators and everything? Singing about your innermost thoughts?"

[andhiswife]

"Definitely not," Greta says, wrinkling her nose at the thought. She's never been much good at just nattering along for the sake of it, but if speaking aloud keeps their respective voices at bay, she'll do her best. "Well, there were no narrators, anyway."

:Considering the turn their stories had taken, that's probably for the best. She shudders to think at what might have happened if there had actually been someone to blame for how wrong everything went.:

"Yes, thank you, Voice," Greta mutters. Raising hers a little, she adds, "There, er, might have been some innermost-thought singing. But usually not in front of other people." Which is enough conversation to bring them to the door.

:Lo and behold, it is a coat closet,: her voice provides - rather redundantly, Greta thinks, but she'd rather have it comment on their surroundings than on her ostensibly private thoughts. :By Greta's standards, it's less a closet and more a room in its own right, almost wide enough for her to stretch her arms between the two rows of hangers on either side. Most of said hangers are empty, but still, there ought to be something here they can repurpose into a headscarf.:

"Let's see..." Greta starts, picking a side and shoving some empty hangers aside so she can start examining what's on offer.

:Is this theft? It probably doesn't count, this being a dream and all. Besides, it's not as if Greta's above a little thievery, if it suits her purposes.:

"Yes, thank you, Voice," she says again, more pointedly this time.

[etherthief]

Iman can't help snickering softly as Greta's voice guides them on their magical journey. Greta's reactions are so cute, and at this point - well, hers has already revealed more than enough, but she knows it hasn't finished with her, and this is only going to keep happening and get increasingly awkward. At this point, a punchy attitude might be the only thing that can get her through.

:Iman speculates she's even less above thievery than Greta,: her voice chimes in helpfully. :Either way, it's not as if she's any great beacon of morality, paying her way through university with underground boxing, stealing lab equipment on the regular, lying about her findings when it suited her purpose. She's a virtuosic liar, really. She should put that on her resumes.:

"Wow, okay," says Iman, opening the wine bottle as loudly as possible. "Rude."

She knocks back a heavy swig and reaches out to take Greta's hand back, pulling her gently away from the hangers.

"Narrate this," she mutters, and pulls Greta into a kiss, dropping her hand and settling instead at her waist, her other arm wrapping around her back, holding the bottle of wine at a semi-precarious angle.

:What Greta may not realize is that the hijab's express purpose is to keep Iman's hair covered from non-intimates,: the voice says, and is Iman's imagination or has the quality of the narration become smoother and subtler, like it knows things have just stepped up a notch? :Now, shut away from strange eyes, this is no longer a priority. As long as they stay in here, the only priority is the beautiful woman in Iman's hands, acutely contoured in that dress, perfect shoulder blades exposed.:

That's more fucking like it, Iman thinks with a little grin, and her free hand drifts up to Greta's back. She does have immaculate shoulder blades, which is maybe a weird thing to be into, but Iman doesn't really care about 'weird'.

[andhiswife]

Greta glances back with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile just in time to catch Iman helping herself to a generous portion of wine. That strikes her as an excellent idea, and she makes a mental note to get some before it's gone, but she doesn't abandon her search until Iman reclaims her hand, draws her close, and kisses her.

Her surprise lasts about half a second - she figured they'd be getting around to this, just not until after they'd completed stage one of their little mission. But that's fine. Forget stage one. Forget about everything else; that's easy enough to do when Iman is kissing her, the taste of wine on her lips. Greta leans into her, one hand settling onto her shoulder, the other on her cheek. As Iman's narration continues in its usual vein of 'informative and ridiculously flattering,' she lets out an intrigued little hum - the closest thing to 'is that so' that she can manage with her mouth otherwise occupied. No wonder stage one was so quickly abandoned, she thinks, feeling a bit giddy as she slides her hand back into Iman's hair.

:Greta could point out that they're only one unlocked door away from the prying eyes of some hapless servant with a guest's coat,: her voice chimes in, and if Greta's eyes weren't shut, she'd roll them, :but the odds of being walked in on seem slim, and the potential of being walked in on makes it all that much more thrilling.:

Oh, god. Greta pulls back enough to mutter, "I might be needing some of that wine," before leaning back in to brush a kiss against Iman's jaw, and then, as long as she's in the neighborhood, that spot just below her jaw that she likes so much.

[etherthief]

"Okkhhhh-" Her answer to the request for wine becomes a noise almost like static as Greta mouths just under her jaw, that is RUDE, and she's going to spill the wine if she's not careful.

:Two can play at that game. Iman is disadvantaged by her lingering grip on the bottle, so she takes Greta's hand - the one that isn't in her hair, that one can stay - and slips the bottle neatly into it. So freed, she loops one arm around Greta's waist and pivots, turning them so it's Greta against the wall. Much better.:

Well, at least it's stopped going for the jugular on private thoughts. Maybe if she keeps doing things it'll be too distracted to introspect. As weird as it is having her every move described aloud, she'll take it.

"Sort of like we're being watched already," she remarks, a little breathless. "Sort of like we have a sports announcer following us."

:Her diminutive height is an advantage when what she really wants is to hear the noises Greta can make. She dips her head and presses a kiss to Greta's collarbone before biting and sucking, slow, gentle but firm, intent on leaving a mark. If Greta is keen on someone knowing what they've been up to, Iman is very happy to oblige.:

[andhiswife]

The bottle's in her hand and her back's against the wall before Greta quite knows what's happening (even with the narration's help), and she instinctively curls around Iman with a startled little hoot of laughter. This is ridiculous; they're in a closet, for goodness' sake. She definitely needs some of this wine, and she's guessing she has about two seconds before Iman does something incredibly distracting, so she takes a hasty sip from over Iman's shoulder as she speaks.

:Greta almost wants to contest the idea that she makes noises - at least not any worth trying to elicit - but then Iman's mouth is on her collarbone, and she lets out a gasp that, while quiet, still seems to fill the small space. Her hand fists in Iman's hair, the other barely keeping the bottle upright, and her head thuds back against the wall with more sound than actual force.:

"Ah-!" she starts, something between an aborted objection and strangled delight, acutely aware that this is exactly what Iman wants, drat her.

:Someone is going to hear them if they aren't careful,: her voice observes, not sounding half as reproachful as Greta might expect. Whose side is it on? :Clearly, Greta needs some way to keep her mouth occupied.:

"Come here," she finally manages, all but panting in Iman's ear. She definitely needs to get a little of her own back, and quickly.

:Not wanting to actually tug Iman up by her hair, she lets herself slump a little, sliding down the wall so she can reclaim Iman's mouth. That's better; she might still be making wayward noises, but at least they're muffled. Unfortunately, her knees have gone weak enough that instead of straightening back up, she just continues her slow sink towards the floor, dragging Iman down with her.:

The floor? That, Greta thinks, is taking things just a bit too far, and she makes an attempt to shift her footing and straighten back up. Instead, she treads on her hemline, and the unexpected tug is enough to turn the aforementioned slow sink into more of a fast lurch. She breaks the kiss with a frantic little "oh no" and loosens her grip on Iman's hair, but it's not enough, and she still ends up bringing them both to a rather bumpy landing on the carpet.

:By some small miracle, she doesn't spill the wine.:

"Oh, for..." Greta sets the bottle aside, then turns to Iman with a guilty, embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry - are you all right?"

[etherthief]

Iman lets out a startled 'whoop!' when they suddenly drop with speed, then bursts into a fit of giggling once they're down. "I'm good!" she says with a big grin. She looks down at Greta, at the absurd length of her skirt. "Sort of impractical, isn't it?"

:Iman thinks she has a solution for that.:

"You stop," says Iman, waving a drunken hand through the air as if to cut through the voice's antics.

[andhiswife]

"There's yards of it," Greta complains before Iman's narrator makes a suggestive aside. Even though it wasn't technically Iman who said it, Greta still gives her a light, playfully scandalized whap on the shoulder.

:It's only then that Greta notices the sizeable tear in Iman's skirt, and her heart skips a beat. When did that happen? Did she ruin Iman's dress en route to the floor? She didn't even hear it tear! It isn't until she takes one of the edges between her fingers that she realizes the garment was made that way, and then she feels a bit foolish in addition to relieved.:

"Not the most practical thing in the world, either," she says, releasing the skirt.

:And then it's Greta's turn to be struck with an idea,: her voice provides as Greta inhales sharply. She gazes off into the middle distance for a moment, gives Iman's dress a considering look, then drops her gaze to her own substantial skirt, fingering the material thoughtfully.

"You know, if we did want to leave the closet eventually," she says slowly, oblivious to any wordplay, "I might be able to take care of the hijab problem."

[etherthief]

Iman covers her face and snorts through the narration of Greta's skirt investigation.

:This is all just too ridiculous, she can't stop laughing. It's nice. A good feeling. She always feels so comfortable with Greta, no matter how absurd things are, how embarrassed she ought to feel.:

Well, that was nice of it to add.

:Iman peeks through her fingers as Greta comes around to voicing a scheme. She's pretty sure she sees where this is going, and she's pretty sure she likes it.:

Iman grins. "Scandalous," she comments. "I do like it."

[andhiswife]

:Greta blushes, more in response to the assorted compliments than the idea of it being scandalous. True, it would be a shame to rip her own skirt apart, but it's already so long that she'd barely have to take it up to the knee to have plenty of material for a scarf. If she tears it straight enough and no one looks too closely, they might not even notice.:

"I think I could," she says, sounding increasingly excited by the idea. "Make it straight, I mean. My Rift enchantment has worked in dreams before; I don't see why it wouldn't work this time, too."

She looks sidelong at Iman, biting her lower lip in an unsuccessful bid to hide a sly smile. "I'd just need to be distracted."

:Surely Iman could help with that part.:

[etherthief]

"Sure can," says Iman gleefully. :She loves this plan! There are so many real world applications! They could do this kind of thing all the time. While Greta's baking, if they ever need to break in somewhere - Iman will be there to provide.:

She stifles a laugh against Greta's shoulder and - say, there's a nice place to start, all soft and warm and good-smelling - she trails little kisses slowly up Greta's shoulder toward her neck, murmuring softly as she goes, until she's all the way to Greta's ear. Now that's a good distracting place to linger, all sensitive and so on. She smirks and parts her lips gently around the shell of Greta's ear.

[andhiswife]

:Greta's not sure how distracted she ought to be when there are hot ovens involved, and Iman is perfectly capable of breaking into a locked room on her own. Then again, it's hard to object to the idea of being affectionately ambushed at any given time. Especially by Iman, who is just so good at... well. Everything.:

Her voice is laying it on a bit thick, but it's not wrong. Grinning, Greta takes the hem of her skirt between her hands and turns her face towards Iman, enjoying her gentle attentions, waiting for that balance between 'too distracted to focus' and 'not so distracted as to stop caring.' Her pulse quickens as Iman works her way up her neck, her breath warm against her skin, and then she reaches her ear, and--

:Greta's hands move without any direct order from her brain, tearing a neat slit from the hemline to just below her knee. The sound of rending fabric is almost enough to cover the little mewling sound she makes, but not quite.:

"Oh, shut up," Greta breathes, exasperated, before turning to check her handiwork. It is neat - as much as anyone could hope for - and she looks back at Iman with a pleased, anticipatory smile. "There's that bit done." Eyes narrowing a little, as if in a challenge, she adds, "Shall we continue?"

[etherthief]

Iman beams at all three the noise, the narration, and the successfully ripped fabric. "My hero," she remarks coyly.

:Her eyebrows lift at Greta's little challenge. Granted, the circumstances are a bit odd, but she could get used to this kind of thing. Not that she doesn't love the tenderness. But playfulness, well, that's more or less her bread and butter.:

She rolls her eyes and clears her throat pointedly, as if the narrator will actually respond to her directly, then recovers her composure and leans back in. She resumes mouthing with gentility and care at Greta's ear, but shifts her hands in between them, running them up Greta's sides before unabashedly copping herself a feel. A bit graceless, but she's drunk and punchy and it'll do the damn trick.

[andhiswife]

Iman's narration is informative enough that Greta arches an eyebrow in turn, and then she's giggling at Iman's response. But her laughter cuts off into a sharp gasp when Iman leans back in, and oh dear, she's going to completely forget what she's meant to be doing in a minute.

:This is maddening - Iman's mouth, her hands - and Greta's just preoccupied enough with this dratted skirt that she can't do anything but take it. She'd much rather be giving something back - something besides an improvised hijab - and it's in that moment of frustration that her hands move again, swift and sure of themselves, rending the bottommost portion of her skirt from the rest of her dress in an improbably tidy rectangle.:

"Oh, good," Greta says, breathing heavily, not even bothering to look at her handiwork this time. She'll take her voice's word for it that it's a tidy job. There are much more important things demanding her attention. She lets the ersatz scarf fall to the floor (it folds over on itself into a neat little bundle), and then she has one hand buried in Iman's hair and the other drifting up the exposed skin on her thigh. Perhaps that enormous slit in her skirt does serve a practical purpose. "You," she growls in breathless accusation before kissing her.

[etherthief]

"Me," Iman agrees, feeling very proud of herself indeed. Her narration is still going, trying furiously to keep up, more like a sports commentator than ever - but fuck it. She's not listening anymore. She pulls Greta closer, kissing her hard and fast before shifting them around - it's awkward, and the narration notes as such, but that's fine. She keeps a close grip on Greta's waist as she gets them into a more workable position, finally straddling her and leaning over, her hair hanging around them like a curtain.

"Keep doing that," she murmurs, shifting her hand to Greta's, guiding it back up her leg, before pressing in close again.