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.]

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"Oh, yes," Daine says with an overly solemn nod. "It's as hard to believe as mine for wolves."

Coromotto pants up at her, sharing in her amusement. Then, to Aly and the crow, he says, "I'm Coromotto."

"Let's!" agrees Frank, and steps over to the pile, trying to determine how to extricate one barrel without causing a gin avalanche.

"Hmmm," he says.

"We're not sure how to extricate one barrel without causing a gin avalanche," Gertrude confesses to Sadie and Augustine.

Sadie pauses for a moment, lost in the mental images conjured by the words 'gin avalanche.'

"That sounds like the best kind of avalanche," Augustine says, sounding a little wistful.

"Yes," Sadie agrees. "It's the barrels that complicate things." She eyes the pile, then says, "Do you suppose we ought to go for the top one?"

So it is, as he'd expected, the same sort of thing as the chimaera, albeit on a wildly different scale. Zagreus does not put the bunny back on the ground, but he does support it on his other arm, half cradling it rather than dangling it like a snack. He'd begun to expect the chimaera might not have the best impulse control, though he couldn't imagine why he might feel that way.

There's still a lot about this business that doesn't make sense, even for a dream. Poor Johnny seems excessively distressed, even for the fact that a monster has captured a part of his spirit, or whatever these things exactly represent. He hadn't even done anything, just picked it up after Alecto gave it a good scare. "What if I don't?" It isn't even a threat, he's honestly curious about this state of affairs. Though given that that curiosity would probably lead to some type of no doubt immensely ill-received experimentation, it may as well be a threat. Johnny has such impeccable timing, he'd just been starting to wonder.

Alecto, disappointed that the bunny is no longer being precariously dangled, starts to flank Johnny where he kneels, though unlike with the bunny she does not engage further, snake-like tongues testing the air despite the presence of at least two perfectly good noses. The monodirectional rumble of a big cat's purr sounds distinctively hungry.

"Hmmmm," says Frank again, eyeing the top barrel.

"Frank Linda Ronstadt Regan Doyle, don't even think about it," says Gertrude out loud, apparently in response to some internal debate. "I am not that strong."

"No, of course not, Trudy, you're right," admits Frank. "I don't suppose rolling it down would be a very good idea." He gives it a good think for a moment more, scanning the room with truly distressing sobriety, then snaps his fingers. "I know what let's do!! Trudy, be a dear and bring us one of those empty barrels, would you?"

Gertrude rushes to the task, rolling an empty barrel over with ease. Frank pries off the lid and places it beneath the top barrel. "I call this Frank Doyle's Theory of the Transitive Power of Gin!" he declares, and opens the spigot.

Beautiful, clear gin rushes from one barrel into the other. Frank watches delightedly, and Gertrude can't help but lap at the stream just a little.

There's a boy on the floor. A man? A young man, at any rate, and younger-seeming for his posture, hunched over-- something. Prior to this dream, or shared psychic experience, or whatever it is, Charley wouldn't have had any guess as to what it was he's hunched over, but at the moment, she just bets it's another one of these not-quite-animals.

She's all for being cautious-- he looks like he's in a right state, and she doesn't want to spook him-- but Horatio apparently has no such compunctions, and he launches himself off her shoulder to swoop down onto the carpet in front of Johnny.

'Are you all right?'

Charley, any opportunity for subtlety now thoroughly nixed, emerges from the doorway where she'd been standing, though she doesn't, for the moment, feel the need to add to Horatio's question.

"Oh, Frank!" Sadie claps her hands together in undisguised glee as the gin is neatly transferred from one barrel to the other. "That was brilliant!" As the previously empty barrel continues to fill, she throws her arms around her husband's shoulders in an enthusiastic embrace.

Noting Gertrude's behavior, Augustine attempts to get at the stream as well. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the dog's height advantage. He tries to jump up to it, succeeds only in getting some gin up his nose, and has to turn away to let out a mighty sneeze. "Bother," he mutters, licking his muzzle. "We'll have to get some bowls, too, when we find that kitchen."

"Angeron," he replies, nodding from Aly's shoulder.

"Trick!" adds her Darking from around her neck, as if afraid it's been forgotten.

"Yes," Aly agrees, touching them both gently with her fingertips. "Angeron and Trick. I'd never forget you."

Nova squirms indignantly and Johnny feels another wave of violation roll over him as Zagreus holds her closer. No no no.

"Let her go," snarls Johnny viciously, feeling an uncharacteristically proactive fury boil up inside him. His fingers curl into the carpet as though seeking out a weapon. None is to be found. (None except, perhaps, the building itself, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.)

He's wary of Zagreus' three-headed monster stalking him, but that doesn't stop him from making the only move he has to make, which is stupid, but at the very least it might buy him a few seconds. He propels himself forward, lunges at the chimaera and seizes it by the goat head, which seems like the least imposing of the heads, all things considered.

In a simultaneous burst of vengeful energy, Nova jerks her body around such that she can fire off a powerful kick right into Zagreus' jaw, dislodging herself and bouncing back to the floor, where she immediately scrambles back behind Johnny.

"Tris," she replies, because it's simply what you do. Hecaterus tears his gaze away from the other cat and buries his face into her chest. The way he rumbles isn't quite a purr, but it's reassuring. He's part of her, but not identical. It seems to be her daemon's job to flow around her and fill the hollow places. He is strong where she isn't, steady when she sways.

"What is this place?"

"Wha," blurts Johnny inelegantly, startled by the sudden talking bird. Novatiana darts her head up to get a better look and immediately squirms out of Johnny's hold, sniffing curiously, but guardedly.

"We're okay," she says, only a little suspicious. "Who are you?"

"Naturally!" says Frank. "Allow me, little fellow." He bends down, brimming with chivalry, and lifts Augustine up to give him a better liquor-tasting vantage point.

Edited 2014-03-30 05:21 (UTC)

Horatio hops forward, eyes fixed on the rabbit's, careful not to spook her. If she allows it, he'll nuzzle his head up against her face in a greeting, careful not to flash his rather impressive little beak.

As for Charley, she takes the opportunity to speak up, stepping into the boy's line of sight before she does. 'That's Horatio. And I'm Charlotte. Charley to my friends.'

The implication of course being that she hopes he might be counted among such. She's only just met him, of course, and this is only a... psychic projection thingy, but she's optimistic by nature.

Julian has always been fascinated by dreams. He had kept a journal when he was younger, trying to keep track of his dreams and figuring out if they meant anything. It was all in fun, though he doesn't have time to do much of that anymore. But this dream is vivid, yet surreal. He doesn't feel like he is dreaming, but simultaneously knows without a doubt time he is. He is fully dressed, wearing his usual Starfleet issued uniform and where...? "It's a library," Julian says slowly as his gaze slides over his surroundings, dim though they are. Old books, lined on the shelves, and he leans in close to glance over their titles, run his fingers over the bindings carefully. Where is the medical section? These volumes look unfamiliar, the authors, the titles, and it could be quite the chance to explore and read and study... that wouldn't be a waste of a dream, would it? Not if that's what he wanted to do in his dream.

He is fairly sure, at least, that this is a dream after all. Or at least, he hopes it is. There have been times when he thought he was dreaming, and instead was trapped inside his own mind as someone used his body, or in a game, or dying, or..."Calm yourself. It is a dream. Not one like we've ever had before, but a dream nonetheless," Julian thinks to himself before the anxiety can fully set in. Except that it isn't he himself speaking, in his own head. The soothing voice is soft and near his ear, external, and distinctly female. That is somehow himself and not himself, his thoughts but not his thoughts. He turns his head to find a small fennec fox curled around his shoulders, and wonders how he had missed the weight of her, the soft, warm fur against his neck, this entire time.

"You..." he begins. "You are me. A part of me." He doesn't know how, but despite his immediate confusion, even a hint of fear, he understands somewhere deep within a place he cannot reach that this... creature? Animal? Spirit? is part of him. Shouldn't be too hard to believe. This is a dream and dreams are meant to be strange and wonderful and even frightening. He puts a hand against his chest, as if sensing that somehow, a part of him that used to be only his own, inside himself, is now not missing, but different somehow.

"Yes. I think so, anyway. I am Agamede," she says with him somehow already knowing, and as Julian lifts a hand to touch her fur, he feels a jolt within him confirming that she is his and he is hers and somehow they Are. He hears other voices somewhere, in this strange library where a part of him has come alive, and knows he isn't alone here. "No need to be frightened. It's only a dream, after all," she whispers, fur against his neck, as if she knows what he is thinking. No, because she knows what he is thinking.

"True," Julian says. A dream where he can somehow talk with his subconscious mind in the shape of an animal and explore a deserted but not deserted library. It is a dream, so why not accept it? He feels secure with Agamede near him. Any hesitation or fear seeps away and instead he lets an excited curiosity take its place. It is his natural state. "Let's see what this is all about then. As long as we're only dreaming."

Edited 2014-03-30 05:30 (UTC)

"And Secret!" says a little voice near Daine's wrist. The darking pokes out its head, and Coromotto gives it a curious sniff.

Introductions complete, Daine turns her attention to the numerous shelves. "Find anything interesting?" Raising her eyebrows, she adds, "Maybe there's something here that explains why we've got these companions, now."

Nova decides to allow the offered greeting, giving Horatio a little nuzzle in return before darting back a bit.

"Oh," Johnny looks up at the woman, scoops up his rabbit and gets to his feet. "Hi. I'm Johnny. This is Novatiana."

"I've decided," declares Novatiana, "you can call me Nova. That's a little easier, right?"

"Sure," says Johnny, bewildered. He looks at Charley and Horatio. "So, uh. Hell of a dream, huh?"

Johnny Truant, Master Conversationalist.

Sadie could scarcely being to describe the feeling that wells up within her as Frank so courteously lifts up Augustine, allowing him to lap at the gin. It almost brings tears to her eyes. Her fox, sensing the swell of emotion and in a better position to act on it, leaves off gin sampling so he can turn toward Frank, tuck his muzzle beneath the man's chin, and inform him, "We love you, you know."

"Oh!" Frank feels himself blush. He pulls Augustine closer for a nice hug, and Gertrude immediately shuffles over and presses her head against Sadie's leg, nuzzling happily.

"We love you too," she says.

Horatio's encouraged by the little nuzzle Nova allows, and in turn, Charley is as well. Accordingly, she grins at the pair of them, and Horatio, when he returns to her shoulder, bobs a little avian bow to Johnny's daemon, greeting her separately. 'Nova.'

For her part, Charley's more interested in the dreamscape itself, and she looks about them for a moment, taking in the splendour of the library, before she returns her attention to Johnny.

'Is this sort of thing common? The shared dreaming, I mean. The Doctor said there were some odd things going on here, all dimensional rifts aside, but this seems especially queer for all that.'

"Uh..." He glances around, not entirely sure what to make of her or her attitude toward the whole dreaming thing. He reflects that she is probably the most English person he's ever met in his life.

"Seems pretty common," says Johnny, "by which I've mean I've only been... in New York for like, not even a month yet, and this has already happened... I think this is the fifth time?" He makes a mental count. The first one, with the house and Zagreus, then Jurassic Park, then Jodie's nightmare, then the TARDIS'... whatever that was, and yeah, now here we are. Five times. Christ.

"I don't really know how any of this works," he says, somewhat apologetically. He hesitates before he asks the next obvious question. The way she referenced "the Doctor" made it sound like he should know who she meant, but... no such luck. "Doctor whooo?" he asks slowly.

Aly shrugs, "I suspect we're dreaming again. I've had so many waking dreams thanks to Kyprioth I've learned what it feels like."

It's a bit of a sad thing too, as she knows that waking will mean losing Angeron.

Two wide-eyed faces peek from behind the chair. Dana says nothing, staring at the man and the mythical, magical animal behind him. She cannot believe this is happening.

Teotimus cannot stay silent, clambering around on Dana's head, tail twitching in excitement. "Yes we're here!" he says, delighted. "Hello!" he waves one little hand.

Perhaps encouraged by his initiative, Dana clears her throat. "Is that-" she grins and feels the urge to laugh. "Is that a griffin?" She bites her lip; she can't help it--it's so unreal, this majestic sight, and she thought she learned in history classes that griffins went extinct eons ago, and something about the creature and the man it's accompanying seem so very full of light and mirth, and it's infectious.

Gus and Cosmia have taken to exploring their surroundings, avoiding people for the most part. It's come to their attention, gradually, that this is another of these "shared dream" experiences, the concept of which still rubs Gus entirely the wrong way, but there is simply nothing to be done. So they wander, keeping to themselves, keeping quiet. Their latest point of exploration is a grand old library.

"Perhaps we should look for Cecil," suggests Cosmia softly.

Gus tilts his head slightly, considering it. "I don't want to push him too quickly," he says. "One of his friends just came through. I'll have to be more careful with her around."

"He's still lonely," she reminds him. "You can still get through to him."

"Hush." Gus spots a young man examining the bookshelves, a small fox curled around his shoulders. He's wearing a strange uniform - vaguely familiar, maybe, but in a way that Gus is entirely willing to brush off.

He stands apart, watching the man for a moment, before he decides to approach. The last man he encountered was a bit of a wreck, but this one seems a little more put-together. He makes up his mind to be straight-forward, at least at first.

"Excuse me," he says, gently, not wanting to startle. "This might sound odd, but... do you know where we are?"

Sadie drops into a crouch beside Gertrude, the better to wrap her arms around the broad warmth of her and press a kiss upon the crown of her head. She can't help thinking that it's a pity their souls haven't always been on the outside like this. She could just snuggle up to Gertrude all day, and Augustine feels equally content to cuddle in Frank's arms.

And then the last of the gin makes its way into the second barrel, and Sadie reluctantly straightens with a sniff. ~~She has a head cold.~~ "It ought to be light enough now that we could tip it forward," she says, because there's no sense in leaving any behind.

He loses his balance but flails about, arms windmilling in the air, and somehow manages to stay upright thanks to this feat of slapstick. Bobby is immensely glad there's no one around to see this, although he supposes to an outside observer it would probably be hilarious.

"Robert, you look ridiculous." The bird doesn't have an expression per se, but it's clear from its tone that it's judging him.

He catches his breath, glaring right back at the demon pheasant. "Okay you're one to talk, fella."

"My name is Artio," the bird corrects him with a huff, puffing up its feathers but, mercifully, putting its neck-wattle away so that it looks more of less like a normal fat bird. "And they probably think you look ridiculous too."

"Wh-" he begins to ask, but the bird jerks its head off to the side, behind him, and he turns to see a man standing in the chapel. There's something on his shoulder, some tiny creature, and they both have the most dubious expressions Bobby has ever seen.

"Oh," he says, mortified. "Oh uh. Sorry about the noise."

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Page 6 of 17

Far Side of the Aurora Borealis

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