It's Saturday night and you're hallucinating in your sleep!

[applesaucemod]

It's that time again! The rift has caught the good little dreamers of New York (and beyond) in its currents and washed them ashore on a desert island in a dream wonderland. This time, however, quite a noticeable change has come over each of the attendees of this nocturnal party.

All the people who arrive in this shared mindspace will find that they have been transformed into some sort of animal they find familiar or that resembles them. They will find that they can still communicate with one another and that they still have all their mental faculties, but might be a little…well…influenced by the forms they have taken on.

They will also find that they have been deposited in the middle of the largest, most elaborate playground they have ever seen. Climbing equipment and slides of the sort meant for human children are in evidence, but so are cat trees, meadows, tunnels, pools and ponds, aerial obstacle courses, and anything else the mind can imagine, for as far as the eye can see.



[OOC: The usual dream party rules apply: players apply the party's theme (in this case, transformation) to their characters according to their own discretion, and both members and non-members are more than welcome to use this post to try out characters not yet in the game. Usual dreaming rules also apply, in that players can choose whether or not their characters will remember this in the morning. Have at!]

Comments

[theoldgirl]

Once he has a grip on her, she raises her head high enough that she can walk, but keeps her horn fairly horizontal to the ground. Then she resumes her way to the nearest tree, even sticking to a slow walk this time to avoid another disaster.

Not that that keeps her from bobbing her head irritably at his complaint. "I don't sleep. And I am enjoying this environment; I won't have you sour it for me. Not again," she adds darkly.

[fucking_ebay]

He was sort of thinking of taking off from her horn as soon as she lifted her head and have done with it, but in the moment it seems better to wait and get off where he knows he won't just end up right back on the ground (or under her hooves) again. Of course, the fact that she's making him seasick doesn't help with his resolve to fly his way out of the situation.

"Who said I wasn't before you came along?" he demands irritably. He has the decency to feel a little bit bad about the ruined carnival...though he feels that was more her fault than his, and Gabriel's not-so-veiled threats back in the waking world haven't made him feel any better disposed toward either of them.

[theoldgirl]

What, is he trying to say it's her fault he's in a bad mood, once again, when she's the reason he currently isn't being trampled by anyone? She's almost ready to fling him into the next bush for his audacity, but dredges up her last reserves of patience and instead just whips her tail angrily.

"I have seen no evidence that you are capable of enjoying anything without finding something to complain about," she argues, voice low and bitter. "All you can do is sulk and sow discord."

[fucking_ebay]

"You," he'd point meaningfully, but no, "don't even know me. Or what, you're magically the expert on people? You know all about them after five minutes? Fuck off."

He's not like that at all, he tells himself. So he has off days every now and then -- everyone does. He has a life, he has friends. Well, friend, singular. She's just being presumptuous.

[theoldgirl]

Maybe she is being presumptuous, but it's on a solid foundation of experience. "I have known enough humans like you to recognize the type," she says derisively, "and to avoid them when I can." Not that the Doctor gives her much choice on that matter even when she makes her displeasure known. Nor did Gabriel. She tenses up with the remembered hurt of that fight and walks faster to reach their destination. Under an apple tree she comes to a halt and raises her horn up to the lowest hanging branch for Peter to finally get off for good, too morose now to even give him a dismissive order.

[fucking_ebay]

"You're no prize yourself," grumbles Peter. "And I'm not a type." He's a special snowflake unique showman with intriguing qualities, and why the fuck do people keep forcing themselves on him and then bitching about the results?

He snags the branch with a thumb as soon as it comes within reach, and within moments has hoisted himself up and latched on with his feet. What need orders, when he's just as eager to be away from her?

[theoldgirl]

Finally he's off, and she shakes her head as though there's bat germs to get rid of. Once more she snorts, having no interest in continuing this pointless conversation and knowing he's too self-absorbed to actually show some gratitude.

"Stay away from me and I will do you the same courtesy," she declares and then turns her backside on him to be on her way.

[fucking_ebay]

"Promises, promises," he mutters, getting comfortable and getting his wings in order. He glowers after her, the idea of thanking her after she insulted him and broke his bones not even occurring to him.