applesaucedream | Far Side of the Aurora Borealis

Far Side of the Aurora Borealis

Congratulations, dreamers of Manhattan - you get to go to Oxford! It's probably not the Oxford with which any of the dreamers are familiar, though. This one is a bit… different.

The dreamers will find themselves in Jordan College, the oldest and grandest of all the colleges in this version of Oxford, a rambling structure that includes dining halls, libraries, classrooms, chapels, courtyards, a botanical garden, and an extensive network of cellars and tunnels beneath the ground. There are plenty of places to explore!

Sharp-eyed dreamers might notice some subtle architectural quirks. Doors look larger than they'd need to be for solely human use, and every staircase has a little ramp built in - not large enough for a wheelchair, but large enough for, say, a small, scampering animal.

And speaking of - the dreamers are a bit different here, too. Upon arrival, they will realize that they now possess dæmons: physical manifestations of their souls. Be gentle with them; they're undoubtedly confused by being suddenly made manifest. They come with all the side effects and complications inherent with dæmons. They can't travel more than a few yards from their person without it being painful for both parties… and it probably won't take the dreamers long to realize they shouldn't be touching one another's dæmons, what with the shared sensations and all. Still, it's a rare opportunity for the dreamers to chat with their own souls - and the souls of others.

What could possibly go wrong?

[Mod note: you know the drill. All players and characters are welcome, regardless of whether they're current members or not. Characters will remember or forget any and all dream events at players' discretion.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Johnny's still getting used to Novatiana - not just her existence, but the way she feels, the way he needs her there, like to be without her would be akin to not having a limb. Or more than that.

"I know," she whispers again, so soft only he can hear it, her little ears quivering. "I know. I feel it too. I think I've..." She pauses as he strokes a finger under her chin experimentally - she makes a contented little sound, and Johnny finds that her contentment is reciprocal, a shared experience as much as the pain of separation was. "I think I've always been a part of you, Johnny."

"But why haven't I known you until now?" he murmurs, even though some part of him finds this assertion to be patently absurd.

The snort - a horselike sound, not anything he'd have expected to hear in this environment, startes them both, and he turns to find himself staring up at - well, a horse.

"WHOA," he says, and struggles to his feet, a clumsy process without the aid of his hands, as he's still clutching Novatiana to his chest. "Whoa, hello. Where the hell did..."

He trails off, because it's not a horse. It's a majestic fucking unicorn.

"You've gotta be shitting me," he says, then catches sight of the woman standing at the entryway. "Hey, lady! Is this your unicorn?"

Edgar nods vigorously as Merewenna circles on the bench arm, rubbing against his shoulder. "We belong to one another," she says.

"It's the same with us," Coromotto supplies, returning to stand at Daine's side. She reaches down and absently curls her fingers into his ruff. The connection she feels with him is different from the one she shares with the People - but not so different that her wild magic doesn't make for a good frame of reference. If anything, it's strange because she feels so close to him despite the fact that he's not a proper wolf.

"It's fair strange," Daine adds. "He's not like any wolf I've met - he's not a real wolf at all, just like yours isn't a real elephant, but…" she shrugs, at a loss.

Sunshine glances over her shoulder at the bee, which has been upgraded from merely enormous to enormous and sentient, then back down to Spike. At the moment, his obvious agony is a more pressing concern than the editorial comments of a talking insect. "What--" she starts, before whatever's on the other side of the door interrupts her. The yelp sounds canine, but then it - then she speaks. Is she some kind of Were? Gods, that's just what they need: for a Were to come bursting in after Spike while he's down for the count.

Except the possibly-Were sounds like she's hurting, too. Acutely aware of how absurd she's about to sound, Sunshine nevertheless calls out, "Who is it?"

That's a better way of putting it, and Jennifer echoes his nod.

"I'm not even sure what Astyanax is," she admits, holding her hand up to her shoulder so he can crawl onto it. "I've never seen a lizard like him before. He's got these little wing things." By way of demonstration, Astyanax spreads the little flaps of skin and bone, revealing a brighter red-orange tone than the rest of his skin. "Like a dragon," Jennifer adds absently. Then, her eyes widen. "Oh. He's like a dragon!"

Maybe she has a point. Something in Spike is yelling at him to go to the door as much as the creature behind it is. With a growl of frustration, Spike painfully levers himself up and lurches towards the door, pulling away from Sunshine as he goes. It gets easier as he goes and, when he's finally reached the door, he's able to open it without any trouble.

The dog slips through into the room, brushing against Spike's legs as she does. "I think I'm a part of you," the dog says, and Spike squats down to better look at it. When he does, the dog licks his face.

"But dogs don't even like me."

She smiles a doggy smile when he lifts up a hand to pat her awkwardly on the head. When she speaks again, she sounds fond. "The name's Fausta, you twit." Spike spares a very confused glance towards Sunshine before he walks back, the dog trailing behind him.

Okay. A talking dog. That's not what Sunshine was expecting, but Spike's not writhing on the floor anymore, so she's going to go ahead and count it as a win.

"So… you have a talking dog," she observes as they both walk back towards her. To her credit, she's not grinning as broadly as she could be. But, come on. It's pretty adorable.

The bee leaves the chair, hovering curiously in the air between Spike and Sunshine. There's just a rash of talking creatures here. "Where do you think we are?" she asks, watching the bee.

He's looking down at Fausta when he answers Sunshine's question. "Looks like England to me, but I haven't been outside yet." When he lifts his head back up, that bee is right in front of his face. Startled, he swats it away.

Edited 2014-03-29 03:44 (UTC)

The moment Spike's hand connects with the bee, Sunshine lurches as if she's the one who's been struck. She feels like she's been struck - no, worse than that. It's not just painful, it feels like… like a violation. Gasping for air, she tracks the bee's trajectory as it tumbles through the air, five feet away, ten… and then a new pain yanks at her heart, and she stumbles after the bee as if it has her on a leash.

"Gods!" she says, and she can hear the bee cry, "No!"

Wings flapping, the bee manages to right itself and reverse its trajectory, zipping back towards Sunshine. It hits her square in the chest, right in the little crescent formed by her overlapping scars, its legs pricking her skin through the fabric of her shirt - and it is an unspeakable relief to have it there, where it belongs. She cups one palm over its fuzzy little body, carefully, wanting to keep it close but not wanting to crush it. Her other hand grabs the back of the nearest chair, and she stares right through the polished wooden table while she tries to catch her breath. Shiva, she's shaking. What in the hell was that?

Charley's never been to Oxford, but she knows enough to recognise the sort of place she's in. Dreaming spires and verdant lawns and all that-- and, yes, she nearly laughs, the little signs entreating people not to walk on the grass. And because, well, she can't not, she immediately takes off across the greensward in front of her. The grass is damp and dewy, and she can feel the wet tickle around her ankles. She's fairly sure she's dreaming, but it's an enjoyable sort of dream, so far.

An unexpected addition to the dream is the tiny bird that suddenly dive-bombs her. She shrieks, but, she finds, entirely out of surprise. There's no fear in her at all, even as she ends up on her rump in the wet grass with the little bird perched smugly on her stomach. It's perhaps the size of a jay, but closer inspection proves it to be a falcon of some sort, with the round head and hooked beak of a bird of prey. It's-- no, not it, he's a matte slate grey on top, almost blue in places, with a rufous breast and underbelly that looks soft as a dream to touch. And Charley does touch, feeling somehow that she has every right to do so.

Touching him proves to be a queer experience; she can feel the soft fluff of his feathers under her knuckles, but it's also oddly as if she were touching her own arm. The bird cocks his head down at her.

'Aren't you going to say hello?'

Charley blinks up at him, stunned for a moment, and then bursts out in delighted laughter. 'Hello! Do I know you? I feel as if I do, though I can't imagine how.'

'It is rather odd, isn't it?' agrees the bird, shifting on his tiny, sharp talons. 'I suppose some introductions are in order, though it does seem a trifle redundant. I'm Horatio.'

'Horatio.' Charley repeats the name with a slowly growing grin, and pets over his breast again with the back of a knuckle. The filmy third lid flickers over his eyes for a moment in pleasure, and then he hops up into the air (his claws prick through her shirt), wings spreading to take the breeze. He does a loop, apparently for the sheer pleasure of it, and then swoops back down to land on Charley's shoulder, nuzzling the crown of his head into her cheek.

'Come on, then! Are we going to explore or what?'

'Gosh.'

Charley's been doing some exploring, and happening upon the library and its current inhabitants, the word comes out rather louder than she'd intended. In the silence peculiar to libraries, especially, it echoes off the high ceilings, falling heavy and dusty in the stacks. The creature standing next to the slight man is-- well, it's magnificent. Lit up with the sunlight coming in through the high windows, it looks almost-- divine, if Charley hadn't given up all belief in such things a long time ago.

Her own daemon, similarly beaked and winged but much, much smaller, swoops in without any preamble, apparently with the intention of inspecting the creature. He only manages about three metres distance from her, through, before something deep down under her diaphragm tugs painfully, and she finds herself compelled to stumble after him as if she'd been pulled.

'Horatio!' she hisses.

Dana stretches, and finds herself sitting in an overstuffed chair with well-worn upholstery. In front of her are bookshelves, tall and imposing. Immediately, she is filled with terror: this is a library. Dana wants to gasp, but she stifles the sound with a hand over her mouth and sinks down lower in the chair, trying to hide. Librarians can hear far better than humans can, though their vision is based on movement. If she stays quiet and still, she can survive.

"What is it?" someone whispers over her shoulder. It is a tiny voice, filled with fear, and Dana startles and almost falls out of the chair. She turns her head sharply, glaring at whoever is foolish enough to speak, and finds herself confronted with a small creature with huge brown eyes, clinging to the top of the chair. It is trembling, clearly just as afraid as Dana is, its ears swiveling around like antennae. "Did you hear something?" it says. He says.

Dana shakes her head. "Just you," she whispers back. "Who are you?" Dana knows, somehow, that this creature is a who and not a what.

"Teotimus," he says, his head turning with short sharp movements as he looks around the library. "I know you, you're...you're Dana." he climbs down the backrest of the chair, still trembling.

"I know you somehow," Dana replies, tilting her head. Teotimus looks at her, glances back around at the looming shelves, and then jumps the short distance onto Dana's shoulder. He weighs almost nothing, but Dana feels the impact like the drape of a heavy blanket. "Oh," she whispers, and brings a hand up to touch his soft gray fur. It comforts both of them, the feeling multiplied by their closeness. They sit perched in the chair, clinging to one another, and gradually the trembling subsides.

"I think," says Teotimus, climbing up onto her head, "I think this isn't a dangerous place." his tail drapes around Dana's neck, twitching as he looks around from the improved perspective. "I see light over there."

"There's no windows in the library," Dana murmurs. "The librarians would break them..." But then, of course, this isn't Night Vale. She remembers with a small frown; she is not home any more.

"There's windows," Teotimus affirms, peering over the chair. "And something else, look!" his whispering voice is full of excitement and curiosity. "It's beautiful."

Dana raises herself up, turning around to look over the back of the chair, and is astounded at the sight: A great creature with golden wings and a majestic feathery mane. There is also a man, and the beast rumbles a sound at him like thunder. Thunder that sounds the tiniest bit like Sumerian.

Teotimus clutches Dana's hair with his tiny, gecko-like hands, and they let out a single shriek.

When Sunshine lurches forward, Spike takes a step towards her, but Fausta rushes forward away from her spot at Spike's side. She rounds on Sunshine, looking up at her face to see if she's injured.

Meanwhile, Spike is connecting some dots. Sunshine must be connected to the stupid bee as much as he's connected to Fausta. Which means that slapping it halfway across the room was probably a very bad idea. He frowns at the realization that he'd hurt her without thinking.

He pulls out one of the chairs, offers it to her, and Fausta asks "Are you alright?"

Edited 2014-03-29 04:50 (UTC)

Lyra is walking back from the river. It’s late summer and the sun is warm on her back through her thin cotton dress. The grass has grown lush and high, a deep emerald green and it brushes against her ankles as she strides through the meadow, ignoring the gravel walkway to her left.

A few dons walk nearby, deep in conversation, and they spare a moment to give her displeased looks but she has no time for them. She could have all the time in all the worlds and not have time for them.

Her skin feels itchy where the clay soil is drying in patches and streaks like war paint. Maybe she was the oldest kid at the banks of the Thames. Maybe the other kids don’t want to play with her these days. Maybe she’s not really a kid, not anymore. Does it matter?

She doesn’t know where Pan is but she can feel him somewhere in the area and that’s enough. Well, it has to be enough. Something was broken between them and who knows if it’ll ever be fixed. She promised Will forever, until their atoms could meet again but when you’re fourteen you start to realize just how many decades of being alone you have to look forward to and if your daemon isn’t really yours where does that leave you?

Lyra smirks to herself and thinks that she really is getting to that age Mrs. Lonsdale was always worried about. She doesn’t think she’s said a civil word to a single person since she got back and she definitely doesn’t feel bad about it. Not even a little bit.

She’s headed to her and Will’s bench. That’s where she goes most now, not just on Midsummer’s Day when she knows Will will be there too but any time she needs to clear her head and that is most times. She kind of likes to think that Will goes to the bench other times, too, that he and she might be sitting there at the same moment across worlds more than just once a year. Just because they have something that draws them together, that can never be separated.

At first she had to scare people away from her bench, but now everyone knows its hers. She doesn’t care what it is they say about her, even though she knows it must be pretty bad to get everyone in all of Jordan College to steer clear of a public bench. She’s always been a little bit notorious here and not much is going to change that.

When she sits she doesn’t do anything, just closes her eyes and talks to Will, tells him everything she can’t tell anyone else. All the useless fights and stupidity, how she wishes it could be some other way even though she made her sacrifice and her betrayal with her eyes open. And so did he.

When she talks to Will she keeps her hand in her pocket, clutching the Alethiometer tight enough to hurt. Today she takes the golden compass out of her pocket and begins to flick through the symbols just like she used to, with a kind of fluidity and thoughtlessness that can never be learned.

And that’s only the first odd thing that happens.

She hesitates at the offer of the chair for a moment, because that's how long it takes for her to override her irrational impulse to reject the offer just because it's coming from someone who hurt her. But it wasn't on purpose - not if Spike's expression is anything to go by. And while she doesn't think she's likely to forget the way that slap had felt, it doesn't hurt anymore. No permanent harm done?

So she sinks onto the chair, then lets her hand drop so the bee can crawl up onto her shoulder. Each little prick of its legs is a small comfort, and she sighs. Fausta's concern is somehow more palatable than Spike's (maybe because the dog didn't do the swatting - go figure), and Sunshine manages a small smile for her benefit. "Yeah," she says, "I'm fine."

"We're fine," supplies the bee.

Sunshine isn't really thinking about the intricacies of the connection between Fausta and Spike - isn't really thinking anything except that there's a sweet dog in front of her who looks so worried. Reaching forward, she gently brushes her knuckles down one of Fausta's silk-furred ears.

Oh shit. How much did he have to drink last night? Bobby looks around in confusion. He's in the sanctuary of a chapel, which is weird, because as much as he and Joanne have had some weird benders before, neither of them is the kind of drunk to get spiritual at 2am and break into a church. He hopes, anyway.

Come to think of it, was he with anyone last night? Jeez, was he drinking alone? How the hell did he end up here?

He gets up, and hears a skittering sort of sound in addition to the creaking of the wooden chair. The scrape of little clawed feet on the carpet.

"What the hell," he mumbles, and starts to look under the chair when a bird flutters out from under it and onto a brass candleholder.

Bobby stares at it. "What." He is living in the setup for the world's stupidest joke.

The bird stares back, light from a high window glistening off its reddish, vibrantly-spotted feathers. It's larger than a pigeon, definitely, and much cleaner looking, with a black and red head and a patch of blue on its neck. It blinks its beady eyes at him.

"The hell are you," he asks snidely, ignoring for the moment he's talking to a bird. "Some sort of chicken?"

"No," the bird says coldly, and puffs up its feathers. In seconds there are a pair of...little horns sticking out of its head, and the bright patch on its neck has grown into a terrifying electric blue...~~vulva~~ thing.

Which is about when Bobby yelps and staggers backwards and knocks over the wooden screen that separates the sanctuary from the rest of the space.

Jodie is lost, and in more ways than one. She doesn't really know where she is - doesn't even remember how she got here - but that's a small matter compared to the talking animals she seems to have collected.

For as long as she and Aiden have been here, she's had a weird little ferrety thing following her around, bouncing at her heels. He's informed her that his name is Fridolin, but that's about all the concrete information she's been able to get out of him. She hasn't had the heart to try and chase him off, though. She can't even bring herself to try.

She's not the only one with a hanger-on, either. Aiden's acquired a large dragonfly that glitters in the sun with a bright, metallic sheen. It - she - seems to be following him wherever he goes, though when the entity is close enough to Jodie, the dragonfly perches on her shoulder or in her hair. The dragonfly is far less chatty than the ferret thing, but she's told Jodie her name: Monessa.

So, two talking creatures are following her and Aiden around mysteryville. What a day.

It's with no appreciation at all for the irony involved that Jodie singles out the teenager on the bench as a good person to approach, precisely because she doesn't have a talking animal hanging around. Time for some recon. "Excuse me," she says, lifting a hand in greeting. "I think I'm lost?"

Cosima and her daemon, a ring-tailed lemur named Palinouros, have quickly progressed past shock and wonder at his appearance and into fascinated study of their apparent connection. They're plainly somehow connected, but on a level Cosima has no proper words to describe. Almost metaphysical, for lack of a better term. It quickly became plain that they can feel each other's emotions-- not so clearly that it could be called mind-reading, but there's a definite vibe-- and it seems that Palinouros can't go more than a few yards away from her without it hurting both of them.

This they'd discovered when he'd scampered up one of the elaborately carved archways and leapt into one of the trees lining the path; they'd both cried out, and he'd fallen out of the tree entirely, Cosima rushing over to scoop him up like a reflex. Almost immediately, they'd set to trying to describe between the two of them the sensation of distance; on some level it had been physical, but really it'd felt more like the pain of extreme emotion, like what they imagined heartbreak to feel like, the internal tension of real terror, or the onset of tears.

They're so caught up with each other and their theorising that they hardly notice where they're going, or who else is there, until suddenly Palinouros, who's balanced on her shoulder, hisses in her ear, 'Holy mother of-- Cosima, look!'

She looks.

They've wandered into what looks like a little chapel, all dark stone and the occasional bit of gold cutlery, the faint lingering scent of incense. And halfway down the aisle, there's a motherfucking unicorn. Not one of those delicate, doe-eyed unicorns that Cosima remembers from Lisa Frank folders and shit when she was a kid; this is a unicorn like a Clydesdale. Huge and gold and white and astonishing.

'Dude,' she breathes. 'That's--'

'Yeah,' Palinouros agrees, and then ventures, lifting his voice for the unicorn to hear, 'Hi?'

The dual shriek from the other side of the room draws Gabriel's attention and he drops his hand from his counterpart's beak as he looks in Dana's direction. The griffin gives him a nudge in the direction of the noise and Gabriel obliges, walking closer with the griffin padding along silently behind him.

"Hello? Someone there?"

Gus startles and turns at the sudden commotion. He could have sworn this space was empty a moment ago, but now an incredibly disgruntled man has stumbled into it, flailing and talking to himself.

Gus glances at Cosmia, who now seems to be mimicking his expression as well as his shirt color, her lizard features somehow perfectly droll. At her tacit agreement he inches a little closer.

Not just a man, he sees, but a bird, too. One of the most ridiculous birds he's ever seen in his life. Not high on his list of un-ridiculous men, either.

He doesn't say anything, just stands there, watching.

Aly's quickly gotten used to the glossy black crow on her shoulder who introduced himself as Angeron. At present, he's preening her short hair while she pokes through the various books and tomes. "Oh it's been so long since I've just sat and read. Isn't that awful?"

"Well you've been rather more busy with important things," he reminds her.

"Are you my soul or my mother?"

"If I were your mother, Aly-child, your duties would be the least of your worries."

It's been a little while since Gabriel arrived and so far he's been enjoying the whole experience. A far cry from some other dreams he's been part of lately. If anything, having this big piece of his Grace wandering about is comforting.

"I know," he answers her, as he picks up a book to read the spine. The creature behind him dips its head in greeting and brushes its wing against Gabriel in doing so. "We're both very impressive." He smirks and ads, "Have we met?"

'And with a fine opinion of yourselves, it seems,' Charley says, more than a little haughtily.

She feels slightly as though she has to make up for Horatio, who apparently has no pride at all, or who, at least, has decided that pride is of a far lower priority than fascination. He flits over to the gryphon and its man, dipping to land on the creature's back where feathers meet fur, bold as brass. 'What on earth are you?' he asks.

Charley shoots him a dirty little look. It doesn't feel entirely fair, having a bit of oneself flying around and acting against one's better judgement. 'I don't believe so,' she says, turning back to the man. 'I've only just arrived. In New York, I mean, assuming this is some sort of... psychic projection thingy. I'm Charlotte. Charley to my friends. And that little rascal is--'

'Horatio. I'm quite capable of introducing myself, thank you.'

Edited 2014-03-29 06:00 (UTC)

Likewise, Daine and Coromotto have become fast friends. They're having a grand old time exploring the old buildings that remind her - just a little - of the royal palace. Plenty is different, of course, but every now and then she'll round a corner and swear she's back in Tortall.

She finds Aly in one of the libraries - not the first one she's stumble across, but one of the cozier ones. It doesn't surprise her to see that Aly's also acquired herself a not-animal, nor does it shock her to see that it's a crow.

"Hullo, niece," she says playfully (after glancing around to make sure they won't be overheard). Coromotto rears up to put his forepaws on the back of Aly's chair, and snuffles at the crow by way of greeting.

"My goodness, but you are an elegant thing aren't you?" Biffy says, marveling at the creature in front of him who seems equal parts fox and wolf, with beautifully groomed fur and poise to match. It's as if he's just encountered himself as the creature he'd much rather be.

"Pleased to meet you at last. Call me Agnieszka," she says, bowing her dainty head. "I believe you would call me a dhole."

"No," Biffy says, stroking the perked ears. She's much too lovely for such a common sounding name. "Agnieszka will do perfectly."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 2 of 17

Far Side of the Aurora Borealis

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Re: (i'm sorry I wrote a small book)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject