Dreamwalking [open to multiple]

[brink]

Topher is dreamwalking. It's a trick he picked up when he came through the rift in San Francisco, and he's gotten quite good at it since then. He's not quite able to pick a specific dreamer's mind yet, but he's learnt how to visit only those who've been significantly affected by the rift, either by coming through it, or being changed by it.

He jumps from one mind to another, looking for rifties he hasn't met, at least not in dreams. These days he barely sleeps at all without jumping from mind to mind, perhaps because he's lonely. Christmas hadn't exactly helped.

Some people will barely notice he's there, but there are those who do, who recognise him as an outside element rather than a figment of their own mind. Having a certain amount of control over his avatar while in dreams, he chooses to appear as a hooded ranger, straight out of a fantasy novel. Mostly because he thinks it looks badass, and stops him from being recognised easily.

[OOC: Anyone feel free to make a thread with their character asleep and dreaming, and suddenly having Topher appear in their head. Whether they'll be lucid or not, or what they're dreaming about, is up to you.]

Comments

[fucking_ebay]

Peter's really not sure what's going on, but with the adrenaline and the vampires gone, he's starting to get an inkling that things are not what they seem. He'd not really one for lucid dreaming under normal circumstances.

"Who says I have any loyalties?" he scoffs. "And what are you supposed to be, anyway? You're not a vampire."

[brink]

"Everyone has loyalties. And you tell me. It's your head," he answers, the smile apparent in his voice. "Who do you think I am?"

Yeah, he's just having fun playing mind-games now. Forgive him.

[fucking_ebay]

"...My head?" Peter gives him a puzzled look at that, then looks around the landscape for clues. It slowly, finally dawns on him that this is not where he should be -- that he hasn't been anywhere that looked like this in years. With an uneasy laugh, he turns back to the mystery man and asks, "You're not supposed to be my conscience, are you?"

[brink]

Topher laughs at that. "Oh, you have plenty to feel guilty about, but that's not who I am. Try again."

Wild stab in the dark, of course. Everyone has things to be ashamed of. Basic psychology. He didn't sit around rewriting minds for nothing, after all.

[fucking_ebay]

Frooown. Confirmation of guilt not appreciated. "Something nasty I ate before bed -- this is a dream, isn't it?"

Were he more cultured, he might quote from Dickens at this point. But no.

[brink]

"Either that or your life has become even weirder than it used to be," Topher answers, the smile evident in his voice.

And Topher's more likely to appreciate a good pop-culture reference than Dickens quotations.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter considers this. He considers the fact that he was just in the middle of a fairly typical nightmare, and that now he's not. He considers the hooded man in front of him, with his irritatingly enigmatic ways. He considers the fact that he can't remember ever having a dream like this before.

"...Fucking boring dream; I'd've thought I'd come up with better. More tits, at least," he comments after a few long moments of such consideration. "Not you, anyway."

[brink]

Topher decides to make a point, and the surroundings shift around them again, this time to be replaced by a strip-joint, again letting Peter's mind fill out the details itself. The people there seem more distant though, unreachable. Not as undeniably present at Topher.

"Like I said. It's your dream." Yeah, he won't stop being enigmatic, though. That's too much to ask. Tits, yes, but let Topher have his fun.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter blinks -- a long blink, where he squeezes his eyes shut before looking at the sudden new surroundings. "Alright, who the fuck are you?" he asks impatiently. "I've never met you before, so if there's supposed to be some sort of significance to a git in a cape, you can enlighten me now."

[brink]

"I'm the Dreamwalker," he answers impressively. And it actually sounds fairly impressive here too, not as silly as it would in the waking world. That's an advantage to being able to manipulate dreams, he can tilt impressions in his favour, subtly plant ideas and emotions. Only to a certain point, of course, but Peter is hardly putting up much of a mental barrier.

[fucking_ebay]

Gears are slooowly turning in Peter's head. He looks at the ranger Dreamwalker with a sort of mixture of dread and awe.

"You're not from my head."

[brink]

"Indeed I am not," he affirms, sounding amused that Peter's finally gotten it. "But just because I am not from here, Peter, does not mean I can't influence it."

He proves his point by letting the strip-joint fade away, but not to be replaced by anything this time, just white fog. Peter's mind might still be trying to fill the place will details, but it will only manifest as things glanced out of the corner of his eyes, impressions immediately gone if he tries to focus on them.

Topher's trying to scare Peter now. Probably getting a bit carried away with his role, if he were honest with himself. He watches too many movies. It's slightly less cruel than bringing the vampires back, though. But so far Peter has come across as a bit of a dick, so he doesn't feel too guilty.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter looks around a bit frantically, catching visions of familiar things out of the corners of his eyes, only for them to disappear as soon as he tries to focus on them. Gone are the green hills and the strippers, and he's unable to take comfort in the fact that the vampires are gone as well due to the fact that he's starting to spot hints of those out of the corners of his eyes, too, now that his adrenaline is spiking once more.

"Stop it," he says, meaning to sound demanding and harsh, but coming out sounding worried. He fixes his gaze on Topher once more, and tries harder to dredge up an imposing air. "Get the fuck out of my head!"

[brink]

"Oh, don't worry, I will. I'd just like the answer to few questions first," Topher answers, clearly not intimated whatsoever. "Answer me honestly and I'll be out of your hair. Well, head. Where are you from, Peter? Before you came through the rift?"

[fucking_ebay]

"The land of none of your fucking business," growls Peter in reply, trying to concentrate and bring back the wilderness -- or maybe the strip club. He can make flashes of...something show up in his peripheral vision, but the white fog still overcomes everything.

"Las Vegas," he snaps after a few moments more of that. His accent doesn't match Vegas even in his dreams, but Topher did ask where he'd come from before the rift, not where he was from originally.

[brink]

It's not so easy, manipulating the dream environment without practice. And a normal human (currently assuming Peter is one) probably won't get as good at it as Topher is, even with some experience. He can tell that Peter's trying, though.

He can also tell Peter isn't lying, feeling it like an energy in the air, or what passes for air. Lying in the dreaming is different than lying in meatspace. There's other things you have to fake besides body language, and Topher has gotten used to picking up on the tells, and it doesn't seem like Peter would be used to having to hide them.

He takes the opportunity while Peter is thinking about where he's from, and makes the surroundings change to the location in Peter's mind. A posh, roomy apartment of dark stone and glass materialises around them.

"It's quite nice," he comments, looking around and nodding appreciatively.

[fucking_ebay]

What's frightening is that it's so hard for him to control what's in his own head when this stranger can show up and apparently do whatever he likes. He scowls at the other man, trying to hide the wave of self-pity and longing that rises in him at the sight of his old place. It would be convincing in meatspace.

"Yes, very clever," he spits, not realizing that his clothing has changed to the lounge wear he was accustomed to wearing in this place. It doesn't leave much to the imagination. He's more relieved than he'll admit to be out of the fog, though now he's trying his hardest not to think of other things from home.

[brink]

Not whatever he likes, but quite a lot. With people with stronger mental barriers it's much more difficult for Topher to affect their minds, but Peter doesn't seem too accustomed to psychic and mental invasion.

"Nice outfit," Topher comments, though he keeps most of the amusement out of his voice. Mostly out of respect given the emotions he can feel subtly emanating from Peter. "Did you have this place to yourself?" he asks. The dreamspace is still quite open to Peter's influence and thoughts.

[fucking_ebay]

It seems like Topher can do anything; it's not like Peter's been able to resist him so far. He utterly fails to show any shame -- or any emotion other than mild surprise -- when Topher points out his outfit and he glances down at himself to see what he's wearing.

"Yes," he lies sharply -- and there's exactly the thought he was trying not to think. He tries to block it out, but it's too late.

"Only because none of his groupies would come back a second time, after they couldn't find his little prick," says Ginger. Her image is hazy as she lounges in the doorway. "I always had to use a magnifying glass."

[brink]

Topher senses that it's a lie, and it becomes quite obvious when the woman appears. Letting the place be more open to Peter's subconscious might've been a good idea, since it seems to be betraying him.

Though her manner is not exactly friendly or flattering, Topher picks up on what he thinks is sadness and longing at her appearance.

"Do you miss her?" he asks, his voice suddenly much more soft and sympathetic. His intimidating air is all but gone. While of course he still potentionally poses a threat, the feeling he is giving off now is trustworthyness. He's not sure it will work, but it's worth a try.

[fucking_ebay]

"I need a drink," says Peter flatly, turning and stalking away to the bar. It's fully stocked, everything where it should be, but Peter takes no comfort in that. He pauses with a bottle in hand, remembering that it's only a dream and he can't actually drink the pain away. Probably. Best try anyway.

He leans against the bar and stares at Ginger, who looks around a moment as if trying to figure out what he's looking at, then casually flips him off. "Yes," says Peter at last, quietly.

[brink]

Well, it being in his mind and everything, it's not unlikely it will have a placebo effect, given this entire place is basically placebo.

The fact Peter doesn't bother to lie this time, even in person, convinces Topher this is a conversation he'd rather have in person. His disguise fades away, and is replaced by how Topher would look on a regular day in meatspace, looking sympathetic and vaguely sad.

"I'm sorry," he offers.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter downs his first placebo without much enthusiasm, and pours a second. He arches an eyebrow at Topher -- another time, he might have laughed at the man's dweeby appearance. He lets out a mirthless chuckle instead.

"Why should you care?" he asks bitterly.

Ginger rolls her eyes and speaks to Topher. "Don't even bother; I'm pretty sure it's his time of the month again already."

[brink]

"You're not the only one with someone to miss," Topher answers, ignoring Ginger for right now. He's not about to go into details exactly, but he'll share hints.

It occurs to him, however, that talking to Ginger might be a good way to talk directly to Peter's subconscious, albeit seen through a filter. "Why vampires?" he asks, just as much to Ginger as to Peter.

[fucking_ebay]

Of course -- Topher has the ability to remain vague and keep his secrets, while Peter's going to end up baring all if Topher keeps pressing. He frowns, but doesn't offer his sympathy -- none of this was ever the dreamwalker's business.

"Don't," he says sharply to Ginger, seeing her open her mouth to reply. She pouts, pointedly turning her attention away from him. "Why do you think?" she asks, flicking her hair away from her face. Peter's stomach lurches as her appearance shifts, blood dribbling down her nightshirt from the jagged, raw hole in her throat.