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applesaucedream2016-06-04 03:14 pm
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Step Right Up! [Open]
It might be winter in the waking world, but tonight, the dreamers will find themselves wrapped in the warmth of a blazing August afternoon. Here, it is summer - and what's more, the Carnival has come to town!
Whatever the dreamer's tastes, there should be something to amuse them. There are rides that tend towards the rickety, wooden end of the spectrum, a petting zoo occupied - for the most part - by tolerant farm animals, food stalls selling every kind of carnival faire you'd imagine, and an arcade full ofrigged games. Inquisitive dreamers might find that some of the wares tend towards the esoteric, and some of the stalls might seem a little out of place, but it's all the sort of thing that might show up in a carnival somewhere. Look, no one's perfect.
Overall, though, it's a modest set-up. The once brightly colored canvas has been faded by the sun, and the paint is peeling in a few places. But the gentle wear lends everything an air of comfort (as opposed to an air of a lawsuit waiting to happen). Whether you're riding the ferris wheel, petting a goat, or trying to win a stuffed animal the size of a small child, the only harm the dreamers can expect is the kind they might dole out themselves.

[OOC: oh, you all know the drill by now.]
Whatever the dreamer's tastes, there should be something to amuse them. There are rides that tend towards the rickety, wooden end of the spectrum, a petting zoo occupied - for the most part - by tolerant farm animals, food stalls selling every kind of carnival faire you'd imagine, and an arcade full of
Overall, though, it's a modest set-up. The once brightly colored canvas has been faded by the sun, and the paint is peeling in a few places. But the gentle wear lends everything an air of comfort (as opposed to an air of a lawsuit waiting to happen). Whether you're riding the ferris wheel, petting a goat, or trying to win a stuffed animal the size of a small child, the only harm the dreamers can expect is the kind they might dole out themselves.

[OOC: oh, you all know the drill by now.]
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"Oh!" The Balladeer turns away from the booth he was inspecting - some kind of fishing game involving rubber ducks. "Ah, hi?" He's obviously uncomfortable, and the Balladeer isn't exactly at his ease either. But dreaming does make it easier to be around Johnny. Maybe this is for the best. He'd really meant to try harder to build bridges there; they don't have to be best friends, but Johnny's done a lot for him and Steven. "You're looking better!" he ventures, smiling uncertainly.
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Hilarious. He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck.
"How are you, uh, holding up?" he asks.
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"I'm fine," he answers, quite automatically. That's mostly what he's said in response to that sort of question. Its truth has been variable at best, and that's a problem he's been meaning to work on. Steven always gets annoyed with it anyway. "I mean, I think I'm doing better. Considering." No relapses or anything, and his one binge-drinking session has pretty much gotten that impulse out of his system. The only issue left is the fact that he's the very thing he's always despised!
His smile slips sideways into brittle for a moment before he recovers himself. "I meant to thank you again for...you know. Dealing with that." He thinks he did before, but the time immediately after waking up in the tub is something of an emotional blur in his mind. Besides, he knows more now. Oswald was an ex-Marine; of course he knows how to beat someone up.
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"That's good," he echoes quickly. This is stupid. He knows a thing or two about recovery, about having something dark lurking in you, trying to cope with it and act normal. He wants to be real about that, talk earnestly about it, but this is hard. He doesn't know how to do this, not with someone who has spent most of his time avoiding him for all the right reasons.
The thanks is surprising, and comes just when he's second-guessing his impulses, thinking maybe he should leave the poor guy alone. "Oh," he murmurs. "Yeah. Sure." He shrugs, digging his hands into his pockets. "It's... I know what it's like. Kind of. I mean it's not really the same thing at all, but I..."
This is going great. He shifts his weight, blows air through his teeth.
"I mean, you've probably figured that out already," he says wryly. "I bet I sound like a fucking nightmare to you."
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"Yeah, that's...not a bad word for it." Johnny knows already; he doesn't have to soften any blows. Still, he feels an instinct to try. "It's better in dreams, everyone's muffled. But it's not..."
Not what? Normal? Representative? Now that he understands Johnny a little better, it truly doesn't seem to be. It's not his story. It's something larger that he's caught up in, like a fly in a web. The Balladeer wishes there were something to be done, but changing stories is far, far from his role. "They say that stories want to be told," he concludes instead, shrugging, "but I've never heard it so literally." Dangerous ground, for someone like him.
He's not sure it's the same thing. Similar, sure, but he thinks he must still have it better than Johnny. If no one had been around to tell him what happened, it's possible he'd never even have realized.
no subject
They're both narrators, in a way, the Balladeer just much more literally than Johnny thought possible. Or should that be figuratively? He's literally figurative. God, Zagreus would have loved this poor guy. Johnny supposes it's fortunate he seems to have vanished along with the TARDIS.
He's about to start freaking out about how he has nothing else to say, when a topic comes to him, fully formed. He looks up from his feet, suddenly curious, and says, "Wait, so you've met Gabe? What does he sound like to you?"
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That's a description of quality, more than sound, but the most basic quality of Gabriel's song is that it's overwhelming. He's hardly in the habit of describing peoples' actual songs to others anymore - it's almost strange to think about how rarely he's done it since leaving home. That was all he was ever good for before. If he had to try here, things might get biblical quickly.
"I think it's age, more than...anything else," he continues, not wanting to give the wrong impression. Gabriel hasn't got anything horrific going on like Johnny. It's easier to chat now that he's gotten going, and his posture loosens up as he gestures vaguely. "That's a lot of history all at once, and I'm just used to being around normal humans. I think I can handle a couple hundred years' worth just fine, but angels?" His grasp on theology is a little shaky, but he gets the concept of angels. Around since the beginning of time and all. There's probably several reasons they always lead with be not afraid.
no subject
"So..." He shifts his weight. "I'm just wondering if... I think Gabe might be able to turn me down, too." He's not sure if this would be a permanent solution - more likely Gabe would have to be present to make it work, but it's something. "If that would be helpful to you." He shrugs, hands dug deep in his pockets.
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He's hardly seen anyone since his episode who wasn't already witness to it. The thought of having to explain it all makes him feel ill, and he knows it's too much to hide. It leaks out from between his words like blood through tight fingers; no amount of false reassurances can quite contain it all. Yet another failure, he supposes, though he isn't sure on which end.
He smiles, the expression only slightly off-center. "I'm sure he could manage it. Easier on everyone that way." Neither of them would have to sneak around the other anymore. It's a big city, but the Riftie community is much smaller. They were never going to avoid contact forever, and he doesn't even care to try now.
no subject
"Well I'll ask him about it when we wake up," he says, relaxing a bit. He looks around the display as if finally taking note. "So, this dream seems kind of... low key, right? I mean it kinda seems like everyone is just... hanging out."
Which are ideal dream circumstances, for him. There's nothing here that would qualify as a house, and his mental state seems stable enough for now. That's good. Step one accomplished: hanging out with him probably isn't going to cause undue strain. As for the next step of actually asking if the Balladeer wants to hang out, he's still miles away from being that socially graceful.
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Does Johnny know why that is now? How much did Greta tell him? Well, regardless, they're not going to discuss that.
He's not really sure what Johnny's angling for here? Does he want to go explore the dream together? That seems like a natural thing to the Balladeer; they have just agreed to restart things between them. But he doesn't want to assume. "Do you know what's fun around here?" he asks instead. He knows Johnny's life hasn't been...well, the greatest, but he might've been to a fair sometime, right?
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He doesn't feel the need to go through the whole no-homo song and dance he might have instinctively done just a few months ago. Ferris wheel rides aren't inherently for dates, and he doesn't need to be a big insecure shit when he's trying to get to know someone. They could both probably use something chill right now. And a higher vantage point seems unusually tantalizing.
"You wanna?" He takes a few steps ahead and turns back to look at the Balladeer, shrugging, hands in his pockets.
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"Sure!" the Balladeer agrees readily, striding forward to join Johnny. He'll take any opportunity to finally conquer that Ferris wheel; Johnny's not even someone who's tried to kill him before. "I don't have any problem with heights. New York would be a bad place for that."
Even as they go on their way, he's still obviously interested in the rest of the fair. Not necessarily enough to stop - fun houses and cotton candy machines aren't much more than novelties - but his gaze isn't on Johnny as he speaks. "It was strange being surrounded by that much city at first. A little vertigo-inducing. But you get used to it." He was certainly never as badly off as someone like Greta. It's all just more modern than most of his experiences.
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No, not really. Is there even any point to pretending to be normal around the Balladeer? It's not like a lie; he just doesn't really feel like talking about his weird abstract claustrophobia.
Besides, it's not like open spaces are that much better.
He shrugs quickly, trying to shake all this bullshit off. Ferris wheel. Fun things. No need to get all weird and mopey.
The dream's rules seem relatively lax about paying for things or having tickets or whatever, which is good because Johnny's just been wandering around rather than gathering fair currency. Without having anything to offer they're welcomed into one of the little carriages.
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The Balladeer hums appreciatively, as if he didn't already have some idea of it. Perhaps he really didn't. It sounds familiar, but he doubts he could've produced the factoid on his own. At the time he wasn't attending very much to the biographical details of Johnny's song. "I've never really been off the East Coast. I'd have liked to travel some more..."
Of course, the Rift stopped that. He shrugs, after climbing into the carriage and taking his seat. "But I guess I did get to see New York!" It's not hard to sound optimistic about that. Manhattan is the best place he's ever been by far. But they're here to talk about - well, nothing in particular, but probably not this. He leans out to watch as the fair grows smaller beneath them, knee bouncing a little. "The dreams aren't bad either. As much as that's worth. Not exactly getting to go anywhere else, but they all seem so real at the time..."