[open to all] Room full of people in your head

[applesaucemod]

The rift has gotten bored, and has decided it's time to bring people together for another dream party.

This time, when you find yourself within the dream, you'll be somewhere familiar. Perhaps somewhere you feel safe or at home, some place you miss, or were particularly happy at some point in your life. It might not be the same place every time you come back here, though.

There will also be a door where there didn't use to be one, even if there's no wall to surround it. If you go through this door, you will find yourself in endless simple corridor, lined with unmarked doors. And if you go through them, you'll pay a visit to someone else's room.


[There will monthly Dreaming party post like this. Same procedure as last time. Non-members welcome to tag in!]

Comments

[bluesuit_handy]

The trouble with hating someone who's basically yourself is that it's difficult not to have flashes of empathy now and then. And, well, there's the whole this-is-upsetting-his-favorite-ship business.

"Not homey," he agrees in conclusion. If the Doctor is feeling some sort of telepathic malevolence, Andrew is missing it. The room has an uneasy, uncomfortable feeling for him, though, as if he's missing something important...and disquieting. "Further in?" he suggests, displaying an utter lack of good sense.

[alwaysalright]

"Mmm," the Doctor agrees after a moment. Good sense has never been their strongest suit, and it just gets worse with being landlocked.

If there is something unfriendly here, better they discover it than some other poor dreamer wanders in and gets in trouble.

He shoves his hands in his pocket and wanders further. More of the same, really, though the room seems to grow larger. After a moment he notices an alcove, and feels for a moment like there's ice in his stomach. He shakes the feeling off and walks straight for it. Inside there's a glass sphere, floating quietly in midair, filled with calmly swirling black smoke. "That's ominous," he comments. This is definitely the source of the feeling.

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew strolls along, bending or standing on his tiptoes now and then to try to get a new angle and figure out what this place is meant to be. He runs his fingers along the polished surface of some sort of raised platform, the movement casual until something makes him pull his hand back sharply. Frowning, he pokes the surface. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't...feel like anything, actually. Perturbed, he shoves both hands in his pockets and trots to join the Doctor a little more quickly than he might have.

"That," he agrees, looking over the Doctor's shoulder, "is textbook ominous. Have you tried touching the, ah -- things? Counters? Can we call those counters?"

[alwaysalright]

"Don't have to touch them... It's in the air too. Though if probably infecting solid matter more effectively. Even us, maybe. And it's coming..." he says, circling the sphere slowly and point at it. "From this."

[bluesuit_handy]

It seems Andrew does have some modicum of self preservation in him, because he hangs back, his curiosity overpowered for the moment by his unconscious unwillingness to approach the sphere. He's loath to ask what's coming from the sphere and reveal that he can't even sense that, let alone that it's in the air.

"...What's coming from it?" he asks reluctantly, sounding a little pained.

[alwaysalright]

"I'm not sure," he answers, not noticing his reluctance, partly because it's not that obvious to himself either, and partly because he's used to people asking questions that only he knows the answer to. "Some sort of... telepathic disturbance."

He's feeling it with his mind, poking and prodding carefully and trying to sense exactly what it is. Slowly, he reaches out towards the sphere.

The moment his fingertips make contact with the sphere, he cries out and falls to his hands and knees. Icy cold wraps itself around his throat and chest and tries to choke him. His brain feels like it's had toxic waste thrown into it, infecting and polluting his mind, warping his thoughts.

However, to anyone else, the only thing seemingly happening is that the smoke in the sphere has turned blood red, while the Doctor whimpers in pain on the floor.

[bluesuit_handy]

Handrew finally steps a little closer, ignoring the fact that he has little to no telepathic defenses (at least, compared to the Doctor) in favor of the fact that he can't quite feel whatever's worrying the Time Lord.

All thoughts of investigating the sphere (alright, not all thoughts, but many of them) flee from his mind. Darting forward, he means to come kneel beside the Doctor and put his hands on the other man, make sure he's alright. Just a few steps closer, though, and he's halted by a jolt of very human fear that makes his heart stutter. "Doctor!" he calls, clenching his fists and baring his teeth at his own fear as much as at the sphere. Useless -- he feels so useless!

[alwaysalright]

The Doctor barely even registers Andrew calling his name, as if it's coming from far away, through a fog. The sphere is making him replay terrible memories in his head, the deaths of friends, the war, terrible things he's done - and inventing new scenarios from his fears. The things he can't stop, the things he might do, what he might become.

"No... please..." His voice is desperately and strangled, his body convulsing in pain and terror, his eyes closed tight.

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew lets out a squeaky little sound of frustration and anguish on each exhalation. He tries to will himself forward, but his body -- this mental facsimile of his body -- won't obey him. Tearing his gaze away from the Doctor and the sphere, he casts about for something he can do. There's nothing but polished, shining black all around them, nothing he can use, nothing he can repurpose, nothing he can throw --

Nothing but what he brought in with him. Hit with sudden inspiration, Andrew lifts a foot and yanks off his shoe. His first throw goes wide and he has to use the other as well, the second Converse hitting its mark, thrown hard enough to punch through the sphere, shattering it like the glass it appears to be.

[alwaysalright]

The moment the glass shatters, it's like the Doctor's strings have been cut. He falls uncerimoniously into a heap, as the red smoke dissipates, and even the glass shards seems to disappear in the air, leaving no trace. The Doctor rolls over onto his back, breathing hard. His mind is slowly clearing, but he feels like he's just run a mile, his brain sluggish, his body limp.

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew stands a moment, breathing hard and hardly daring to hope that that was it. He stumbles forward as he realizes he can move again, and then he's hurrying to the Doctor's side, finally dropping down beside him like he first meant to, leaning over the other man so he can turn his worried gaze over him. "It's alright -- you're alright, it's done now," he says, though he's not actually sure of that.

[alwaysalright]

The Doctor slowly opens his eyes, and there's still just a hint of the terror remaining there as he looks up at Andrew, then at where the sphere was. He closes his eyes again and groans, before rolling over and pushing himself up, using Andrew for support, ending up just sitting to lean against the wall. Either he's become completely desensitised to it, or the malevolent aura of the place has vanished.

"What did you do?" he asks, voice hoarse. He registered that Andrew did something that caused it to stop, but he's not sure what exactly went down.

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew does his best to be helpful, waiting until the Doctor seems to be situated before sitting down beside him. He rubs his face sheepishly, looking at the downed footwear. "I threw my shoes at it," he admits. "What was that?"

[alwaysalright]

The Doctor looks down at Andrew's shoeless feet, then at the shoes. Well, whatever works. Could even call it resourceful. Who knows what would've happened it Andrew had tried to touch it.

"Not pleasant," he answers darkly. He has no idea what it was, or how it did what it did. He's almost tempted not to investigate. He really doesn't want to experience that again.

[bluesuit_handy]

"I got that part," says Andrew with a mirthless chuckle. He leans against the Doctor, putting an arm around his shoulders without thinking about it. He wars with himself, feeling both of them ought to lay out anything that could help them figure out what it is/was, but embarrassed by the truth. He lets out a little sigh. "...I couldn't go near it."

[alwaysalright]

The Doctor appreciates the gesture, though it comes from a rather unexpected source. But then they're both pretty tactile - or rather, he himself is, and he therefore assumes Andrew is as well.

He frowns at what he says, though. "Strange," he answers thoughtfully. "I almost felt drawn to it." He clears his throat a bit, considering. He's not so much embarrassed as he's unwilling to open up, perhaps because Andrew would understand too well. "It got inside my head. Showed me things. Memories, guilt, fears..."

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew does understand. He gives the Doctor's shoulder a little squeeze, able to think without even trying of dozens of shared memories he'd really, really rather not relive.

"Someone -- or something -- put it here," he points out. "Presumably for a purpose. If someone's setting traps for dreamers...." He sniffs in an uneasy breath and looks around, as if just realizing that they're still in 'enemy' territory. "We should get out of here."

[alwaysalright]

The Doctor blinks. That hadn't even occured to him. He's still a little wrapped up in the things he saw, but his mind pounces at the idea. The alterative is that he made it up himself, and he'd much rather have a real foe.

And as it occurs to him that this is in fact still a dream, he realises he's still inside the TARDIS, which means she probably felt that too. He makes a more determined effort to clear his mind, and give the TARDIS his reassurances.

"Yeah," he agrees, and pushes himself up. For a moment he thinks his body is going to object, but now he's in his own mind, he's not going be a slave to his imagined setting or form, thank you. Dream logic can go hang. He's not sure just how much control Andrew has over his own mind here, so he soon as he gets to his feet, he picks up Andrew's shoes and hands them to him, waiting for him to put them on before heading back to the corridor.

[bluesuit_handy]

Had they been in the Doctor's own room -- or perhaps even back in Andrew's room aboard the spaceship -- he might have been more inclined to blame the Doctor's brain for the encounter. Here, though, in a strange place neither of them recognized or could explain, it seems more likely to be an outside influence.

Andrew offers the Doctor physical (or meta-physical) support in standing -- or tries to, since the other man doesn't seem to need it. Following him to his feet, Andrew brushes himself off and mutters a thank you for the return of his shoes, which he unthinkingly dons and ties in the normal fashion rather than simply wishing them back onto his feet.

"If you see another orb, don't touch it," he suggests facetiously.

[alwaysalright]

"Will keep it in mind," he answers, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking fairly briskly back out, not offering up any conversation until they're back outside.

He wonders if he should try to mark the door somehow, like a keep out sign, but he's not sure it would stay there after they left, nor is he sure the room would remain the same, and even if both things happen, a keep out sign is only going to make certain people more interested. He discards the idea.

"There are people with sufficient control over the dream world that they might be able to do something like this. Topher Brink. Gabriel. The TARDIS, of course. Probably more. But I doubt any of them would've done this," he contemplates. Granted, he can't rule Topher or Gabriel out, but he also fails to see what's to gain by it.

[bluesuit_handy]

"Gabriel might be powerful enough," muses Andrew. "Have you talked to him much? I only met him the once in a dream -- he had plenty of control then, but I didn't -- I wasn't awake enough to really watch him." Though Andrew can at least remember with some satisfaction that he'd had the sense to get a bit wary once Gabriel started making things materialize and heating up food already in Andrew's mouth.

He rubs his chin. "Topher Brink...I'm sure I've heard that name."

[alwaysalright]

"Not much," he answers with a shrug. "Topher's the rift specialist working for Romac, and he has dream-related powers. But he hasn't revealed the importance of the TARDIS or myself to Romac, and seems fairly trustworthy. Tipped Ianto off whe the TARDIS arrived, too. Because apparently, there's a TV show about me in his universe." He's tried not to think about that too much. It's one thing to read reports on his world-savings. TV show sounds like it might be a bit more invasive and personal. And probably inaccurate.

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew opens his mouth to ask the Doctor how he let this Topher Brink come to know enough about him and the TARDIS to be worth giving away. He snaps it shut a moment later in abject surprise, though, when the Doctor preemptively answers the question.

"A TV show?" he asks indignantly, mind already running along the same objections the Doctor has. For him, though, there's another burning question. "...Am I in it?"

[alwaysalright]

"I honestly haven't asked," he answers. "Though apparently it's been running for nearly half a decade." Because he had to prod a little, of course. But it seemed Topher hadn't watched it in its entirety. And of course - not enough that they have Andrew and Peter. Apparently Topher's universe has an actor who looks like them as well.

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew sniffs, a little miffed at the Doctor for not having an answer -- and a bit miffed at the show's producers now that he's been given free reign to imagine that they left him out like the idiots they obviously are. "Psychic resonance bleeding through, d'you think?" he asks.