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 | Flat

Daine finds herself in a sunny courtyard, the lawn a smooth expanse of green grass. Beside her, an overlarge wolf shakes his head, looking dazed.

"Oh," says the wolf, blinking at her with tawny eyes. His fur is a mottled blend of cream, grey, and brown, but there's no trace of copper fire about him.

Daine frowns a little, puzzled. "You're not a proper wolf," she guesses, though she reaches out a hand towards him all the same.

"… No?" The wolf sounds confused, or perhaps a little disappointed. He pushes his muzzle beneath her hand without hesitation, and Daine feels a little thrill of pleasure. Whatever he is, it feels right, having him here. "I suppose not," the wolf allows with a little sigh, and Daine blinks again as she realizes that he's speaking aloud, like a two-legger, and not just in her mind.

"Do you have a name?" she asks. "I'm--"

"Veralidaine," the wolf finishes. "Yes, I know. My name is…" he pauses thoughtfully, head cocked a little to one side, "… Coromotto." It's hard to tell if it's a recollection or a decision, but the wolf seems happy with it, so Daine just shrugs.

"Well, it's nice to meet you," she says, burying her fingers in the thick fur around Coromotto's neck and grinning as the wolf's tail wags.

He feels different, somehow, a sensation difficult to parse. Where is he? The architecture is that of an older world, or perhaps only a preserved one - this is not America. It's not Mexico or Chile, either. It looks European. Perhaps English.

Gus stands slowly and takes in his surroundings. He's standing in a green courtyard, an enclosure flanked by several elegant structures, the nearest of which appears to be a chapel.

There is something on his shoulder.

"Goodness," it says.

Gus startles, but cannot quite see what it is. It feels reptilian. "Hello?" he says softly, unsure.

"Oh, hello," says the creature in a quiet voice, a female voice. She moves her strangely-jointed limbs and crawls delicately down his arm. He shifts so he can see her properly, guarded, and yet somehow not as alarmed as he feels he should be. She is familiar. Strange.

"Gustavo," she says, sounding surprise.

"What?" He blinks at her. She is a chameleon, he can't recall ever having seen one this close before, but the species is fairly recognizable. Her skin, bright, speckled green, is fading curiously to scarlet, matching his shirt.

"You're Gustavo," she informs him. "I know you." She cocks her head from side to side, protruding eyes questing this way and that. "My name is Cosmia," she says after a moment.

"Cosmia," he repeats.

"Let's go inside," she says.

He'd been thinking much the same thing. He steps inside the chapel, keeping his arm steady so she doesn't lose her grip. The chapel is empty, quiet. It does feel safer in here.

"Who are you?" he asks after a moment. "What are you?"

"I'm not sure," she admits. "But... I feel like I've always been here. With you."

He stares at her, then reaches out with his other hand to touch her head. Her skin is rigid and rough, but it feels comforting all the same.

"I feel it too," he says, bewildered.

Edited 2014-03-28 21:15 (UTC)

"Oh, for fuck's-"

Johnny cuts himself off, but only because he realizes he's in a library, and it's quiet, and he has no desire to draw any attenton to himself. Shelves tower over him. He's sitting on the floor for some reason, hands buried in plush carpeting. The library is grand, huge, with an old and academic atmosphere, not a building he's ever been in, one he doubts he'd be allowed into under normal circumstances.

But these aren't normal circumstances. He's dreaming again - it's starting to get familiar now. And he doesn't like it. Dreams aren't safe. Bad things happen in them, almost every time.

"Don't be scared, Johnny," says a small voice beside him, just as a soft nose touches his hand.

So much for keeping quiet. He lets out a loud and rather inappropriate string of syllables and staggers to his feet, whipping around to see...

...a rabbit.

Why is it always rabbits?

"The fuck?" he hisses. Is he going crazy again? "Did you just..."

"I talked!" she squeaks. She wiggles her nose nervously. She looks up at him, shuffling a little closer. "Johnny?" She's talking. The rabbit is talking. "Do you know me?"

"I don't know, are you related to the last rabbit that appeared in front of me?" says Johnny drolly, but at the same time...

Does he know her?

"I think my name's Novatiana," she says.

Johnny starts to back away. She is familiar somehow, like he's known this rabbit forever, even with the talking and everything. But that doesn't mean he wants to be near her. In fact he feels like he wants to get away. "Nice to meet you, I guess," he says, shuffling back. "I'm, uh, gonna have a look around if that's okay."

"Yeah," she says slowly. She seems jittery, more fidgety than the average rabbit level of fidgetiness. She takes a little hop towards him but then stops as he continues to back off. Like she can feel it too. The aversion. Or at least his intent.

"Johnny?" she says, sounding a little shrill.

He can feel a little bit of an ache in his chest, like something slowing him down, or pulling him back, but he ignores it. It feels too much like what Zagreus did to him before, and even as this invisible draw hurts him, he wants to feel it snap.

He turns sharply, and that's when it hits him - the pain, harder, sharper, unlike anything he's ever felt in his life. He drops back down to his knees, shaking and sobbing, already in tears, how did that happen?! And all he wants is the stupid rabbit, wants her back. He feels like she's being ripped violently away.

And then it subsides.

"Johnny, don't!" Novatiana has scampered toward him, desperate and frantic, her voice trembling. "Come back! It hurts when you... when we..."

He doesn't let her finish. He scoops her up in his arms and holds her close, pressing her to his chest. She's warm and her heart beats rapidly, almost in unison with his. It feels so good - so new. Like he's holding a part of himself. He's never felt this before.

"I'm sorry," he says, feeling terribly ashamed.

"I know," she says.

He curls over, holding her, momentarily unaware of his surroundings.

Edited 2014-03-28 21:15 (UTC)

Well, this isn't too bad. It's all a bit posh, but it's a familiar, old sort of posh. Is she back in the Ununited Kingdoms? Could she be so lucky?

She moseys down the corridor in which she's found herself, taking in the old stonework… and then she feels an odd ache in her chest, and a small voice cries, "Wait!"

Jennifer turns sharply, one hand drifting to her chest. The corridor is empty. But that can't be right. It doesn't feel empty, and there was that voice. "Hello?"

"Jennifer?" It's a male voice, and she'd guess it was Aglet if its accent didn't match her own. Her eyes search the hall, and then there's a flash of sunset orange high along one of the stone columns. A moment later, a tiny form detaches itself from the stone and glides down toward her, thin tail windmilling in the air. She lifts her hands to catch it, an automatic, instinctive gesture, and a small lizard lands on her outstretched palms. The ache in her chest vanishes instantly, and she and the lizard let out twin sighs of relief as she draws him closer.

"I'm sorry," she says uncertainly, because has the feeling that she should have waited for him, a vague, persistent guilt. Never mind that she didn't know he existed until just now. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he replies. The two odd little wings that he'd extended are folded back close to his sides, and he looks like an ordinary lizard, grey and mottled, like lichen on wood. "Yes, I'm all right, now." He tilts his head to fix one beady eye on her, and asks, "You?"

"I think so." Jennifer examines the little lizard, fascinated. "You knew my name."

"Of course," says the lizard, crawling up her sleeve to her shoulder. "I think I've always known you," he confides.

Jennifer nods. That makes sense - more than it probably should. "I don't know your name," she admits, face flushing in embarrassment. She should know it.

"Astyanax," says the lizard.

Yes. Jennifer nods again. That's right. "Any idea where we are?"

"Not a clue," says Astyanax, though he doesn't sound particularly troubled by that fact. "Shall we find out?"

Jennifer smiles. Time to go exploring. "Let's."

Spike finds himself in a richly decorated hallway, all stonework and high ceilings. It's not familiar, but if he had to take a guess, he'd say this definitely isn't anywhere in New York. He's staring up into the carvings above the strangely large doorway when there's a bark behind him, shortly followed by a female voice calling his name. Not Spike, but William.

He turns, confused because he doesn't recognize the voice, but he's sure that he should recognize it. Which is about when the friendly-looking black and white dog jumps up to rest it's forepaws against him. "William," it says, in an accent that reminds him of his mothers, "would you like to go outside? It's a lovely day."

"No." Outside? It takes him a moment to remember that he even could go outside. He backs away, not liking that this felt right, and then not liking that backing away feels even worse. "No. No more talking animals. I'm done with talking animals for at least a year. A lifetime. Nice to meet ya. Come back never." He takes the remaining steps to open up the door from the hallway and slips through, shutting it before the dog can follow him. She shouts for him through the door, but he doesn't respond.

This room is huge, some sort of dining hall, but something is keeping him from exploring it just yet. He leans his back against the door, not exactly sure what to do.

Edited 2014-03-28 22:45 (UTC)

Gabriel appears in a library when he's pulled into the dream, books in front of him and a large window behind with mid-day light steaming in. There's also someone else. He turns and sees...a griffin. It's body is as tall as he is, but great golden wings extend beyond that to rival Gabriel's own. He pauses for a moment, because it's more than just a creature. It's as if the rift has taken a piece of his Grace and given it a body.

"Hello, Gabriel." Its voice rumbles out like a purr, and his name is pronounced in Enochian rather than the English translation.

Gabriel smiles despite himself and lifts up a hand to rest on the creature's deadly looking beak. "Hey there."

Edgar finds himself sitting on a small bench in a conservatory full of lush, green plants. A large, fuchsia blossom about at eye level on the bush opposite him catches his eye. Without looking away from the bloom, he instinctively reaches down beside the bench to lay a hand on Almondine's neck. Just as he subconsciously becomes aware of the fact that his hand should have already reached Almondine, his fingers come into contact with something warm and soft. At the same moment, a pulse of sensation - pleasant but unsettling in its unexpectedness - races through him.

Swiftly pulling his hand away, he leans over to look down at Almondine, only to find a cat there instead. He blinks at the cat (and it blinks back), and the thought races through his mind that his dog has been turned into a cat. /Almondine?/ he signs.

A nudge against his opposite side draws his attention, and he turns to find Almondine on the bench beside him, watching him with a questioning tilt to her head. Edgar sighs, relieved that Almondine is, in fact, still a dog. The absurdity of having to worry that his dog could be turned into a cat is not lost on him, and he smiles as he turns back to the cat that is not his dog.

/Hello,/ he signs to the cat. He holds out a hand, tentatively this time, for it to sniff.

The cat gives the hand a confused and slightly insulted glance before returning to staring at Edgar. "Hello, Edgar," it says in a distinctly female voice.

Edgar blinks. /You can talk,/ he signs, expression blank. His dog is not a cat, but cats can talk. Of course they can. /I - what's your name?/

The cat tilts her head as if pondering, or weighing his worthiness to be told her name, before replying. "Merewenna." She lightly springs onto the arm of the bench and settles there before gently laying a paw on Edgar's arm. The same sensation he felt before spreads through Edgar and he stares at her in wonder. "And you are Edgar." That head tilt again. "I think we belong to one another."

Edgar can't explain why, but he knows she's right, and he nods.

The TARDIS' foray into the telepathic current is slow and careful; she still hasn't entirely recovered from her struggle with the rift and can't afford to take any chances, but she'd sensed a conglomeration of minds and became curious, eager for a distraction. So she doesn't manifest immediately, instead feeling out the dream, then deciding that it seems stable and the minds within it mostly content.

When she settles into the dream, she appears in a small courtyard encircled by several large doorways leading into the maze of buildings beyond. The sun is shining warm and pleasant on her skin and a breeze is tugging at her hair, only then it's not the breeze but a noisy puff of air. She turns around to look into the face of a tall, bulky unicorn, fur shimmering golden, with a mane and tail so blonde they're almost white. Immediately she recognizes it as a version of herself, having crossed her own timeline more often than is proper or safe, but something isn't right about that impression. When she reaches out telepathically, it's like touching a mirror; there isn't anything there but herself at this moment, only a reflection. How very strange.

The TARDIS and the Unicorn look at each other wordlessly for some time, both assessing the situation. Then the Unicorn waves its tail idly and declares, "We ought to explore," in the complex tongue of the Time Lords, carrying connotations of the relative future in the unknown. The TARDIS finds herself a little surprised to hear Gallifreyan spoken aloud, but she supposes it makes sense - it's the language of her programming and her nurturing, though not exactly the one she used to communicate with her own kind. Not that terribly much about this makes sense to begin with.

"Perhaps there is someone here who knows the meaning of this," she replies in agreement, since telepathy is apparently not an option with this odd manifestation of herself. The Unicorn nods its head and follows as the TARDIS enters a door at random.

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?'

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.

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."

"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."

In the edges of her vision, she can see it sneaking. Everyone else here seems to have an animal custodian here, but it makes Tris nervous. They act as if it's perfectly natural, having a crow nearby or a tiger. Some of them even regard her strangely for not having one. It makes Tris uncertain, unready.

She can't, won't stop. More than ever, she needs to leave this strange place with all of its trappings of benign academia. When will she smell old wood and books without associating it with chemicals and serums? With blood? With death? The scent makes her throat close as Tris fights the urge to cry yet again.

When she is safe, she can cry. Not now.

"If you keep running from me," a light, male voice says, "they're going to realize we can be far apart. Only witches and Divergents can do that."

"Wh-what are you?"

"Hecatarus! Your daemon. What else would I be?"

"My...My what?" Finally she gets a good look at him. Hecaterus has all the trappings of a gray, well-fed house cat, dyed in the fur with Abnegation colors. Then he speaks and Tris perceives long fangs, longer than would be on any tame cat.

But Abengation are not cats, they are not sly or self-preserving or predatory. This is a Dauntless creature, a Divergent creature, wrapped in Abnegation disguise.

Sadie steps into what ought to be the liquor cabinet and blinks in surprise. This is different, in a familiar sort of way. Why, it's almost as if she's back in London, and she looks around the room with an appreciative, if bewildered, smile.

"Frank," she calls over her shoulder, "did you remodel the liquor cabinet to resemble a small nineteenth-century collegiate lecture hall for my birthday?" Is it her birthday? Regardless, what a sweet gesture! She checks under the nearest bench, figuring that's where the booze must be tucked away, but instead of liquor, she beholds a fluffy arctic fox. It blinks at her, and Sadie blinks back, astonished. That's no fox. Why, it's clearly…

"Sadie!" says the fox as it - as he - rolls out from under the bench with tail-flailing enthusiasm. "Hello, darling!"

Sadie drops into a crouch, the better to take the fox by the forepaws as he plunks back onto his haunches. "What are you doing outside my body?" she asks, her tone playfully reproachful as she waggles the fox's paws in a little dance. "Sneaky creature!"

This is certainly a library, but it's not one Zagreus knows, or even one he's dreamed before, and that's saying something. It reeks of academia and careful organisation, though also of the typical warm bookish smells. The chimaera, seated on its scaly haunches, is much less typical of the inside of a library, though it wouldn't look half bad seated by the front door perhaps. Zagreus isn't alarmed; it's a dream, and though frightful it doesn't look incipiently violent. Well no, it does, by nature of being a large metaphor for destruction and wrongness, but other than that. The creature remains seated, with it's snake of a tail coiled around a foreleg, six disparate eyes watching him curiously.

"Tyger, Tyger, burning bright--No, hang on, that's not you at all, is it?" he addresses it. It had required something of the sort, but that wasn't quite right.

The chimaera looks equally puzzled, though perhaps that's just the preponderance of heads. "No, it's not. Zagreus?" It fixes him with a rectangular goaty stare, though the lion's head merely looks a bit discomfited. "Is that you at all?"

Not to be sassed by a mythological being, Zagreus doesn't bother answering. Especially since it--she, despite the mane, oddly--had nearly had a point. "I said it was my mistake. What are you called?" He isn't sure why he cares overmuch.

The thing appears to hesitate, and when it speaks, it uses the lion's mouth, though the voice and the forked tongue are the same. "I am Alecto."

"Maybe that's so," Zagreus says, though he isn't sure why a chimaera would even have a name, much less that one. Still, he feels an affinity with the beast, though there's something off-putting, too. "Well, come along then, Frightful," he chides, and after just a long enough moment of insouciant stretching to show that it's doing so of its own will, the creature follows on its mismatched paws.

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)

Cecil dreams himself in a grand old bell tower, the likes of which he's never seen in person. It's a beautiful place, full of that quiescent restful energy that some churches and obelisks seem to radiate, with checkered floor that looks ancient.

While he takes stock of his surroundings he becomes aware of an insistent tugging at his hair, originating from a light weight on his shoulder. He carefully scoops the creature up and examines it. IT'S ADORABLE. Shiny black eyes, and equally shiny black carapace, and delicate long legs shading into red at the tips, all eight of them. He can tell it's a mature adult, its cute beefy pedipalps have settled into their adult black color, tucked up against its mandibles almost coquettishly. It waves its whiplike tail engagingly as it peers back at him. It's a vinegaroon!

"Well hi! What are you doing out of the desert? I haven't seen one of you guys in ages," and he couldn't sound more pleased, if also a bit wistful. "And why are you my soul? That's a little weird." He says it like the little arachnid ought to have known better. But he's not mad, how could he be? Not at this cutie.

"I don't know why. Just wanted a vacation I guess? I'm Mehitabel." the whip-scorpion answers in a cheerful and melodious voice, and Cecil is visibly startled, which feels kinda rude. Of course the soul-scorpion can talk, duh Cecil, what were you thinking.

"Well uh. Neat, I guess," and hey, it kind of is, though he questions the legality of external soul housing. "Let's see what's downstairs," Cecil suggests, and replaces the vinegaroon on his shoulder, where she grips his hair once more.

Edited 2014-03-30 22:12 (UTC)

Even when Yuri still had dreams of going to college, he'd never set his sights as high as the kind of school where he finds himself now. He takes in a deep breath as he smells the air, looking around at the green lawn from the open window of the classroom in which he finds himself. It's beautiful in an old fashioned kind of way, if kind of deserted -- is it summer? -- and Yuri has to remind himself not to be bitter. Going to school wouldn't have mattered much anyway with the way things turned out, and if he had been away at college Erik might have been taken by the rift without him.

Not that his older brother being around had done Erik much good anyway.

A skittering sound from behind a under a desk startles him and draws him away from his maudlin thoughts. It sounds way too big to be a rodent and kind of too small to be a person, but somehow he doesn't feel the least bit worried about what it might be as he goes to investigate. Stooping, he spots something fluffy and white entangled in the legs of a chair, and a smile erupts across his face. "Well, what are you doing here, boy?" he asks.

"I'm not a boy, Yuri," replies the dog, pausing in her efforts to extricate herself and giving him an insulted, hurt look. "Um...help?"

"Oh! No -- no, of course you're not. Here, let me --" Why does it feel like he should have known? Yuri gently manipulates the dog's legs, pressing long fur down flat to help her squeeze through and get loose. She gives her whole body a shake as soon as she's free, and Yuri helps smooth down some fur that's pointing the wrong way. "What's your name?" he asks in a daze, wondering why he's not wondering why she can talk or where she came from.

"Penza," says the dog, and Yuri can't help but feel again that he should have already known that. "Come on, let's get out of here. I don't think I want to be alone with my thoughts in here."

"Me neither," agrees Yuri, holding the door open for her as they step out into the hall. "But I don't think going outside will help much."

"Tag!!"

A painted dog streaks by Andrew, thwapping his leg with her tail as she goes by. He laughs and makes a lunge for her, but she's much too quick for him. He'd obviously never catch her except for how she has to turn just a few yards on and dash back the other way. Both of them laugh raucously as she circles just out of his reach, then as she turns again he finally reaches his hand out in time to run his fingers down her back as she goes past. "You're it!" he informs her, and then he bolts, knowing she'll catch him again in just a moment.

Someone, it seems, is not bothered by the question of what his soul is doing outside his body.

Edited 2014-03-31 05:25 (UTC)

Peter's being stalked by a goat on a lawn at Oxford and he is not the least bit happy about it. Throwing the animal a wary look over his shoulder, he clambers over a short stone wall and drops clumsily down the other side, landing in a crouch. He's never been any good with animals, and he's pretty sure he doesn't trust goats even if he feels kind of weirdly like being followed by this goat is something he should be used to.

"Peter!" yells the (apparently womanly) goat he just left behind, making him freeze in place and turn slowly to stare at the wall now concealing it. "Come on, Peter, don't be a twat."

A person might be forgiven for seeing the magpie-shaped daemon first and her ~~human~~ Borrower second...if at all. It's unusual, after all, to spot a bird inside an otherwise abandoned dining hall. "Synechdoche," the bird is saying to the gap under a cabinet. "I don't understand it, either, but that's my name and I'm very sure I belong to you. It's the strangest thing -- I know I haven't been here with you, but I know I have. You know?"

"I don't know," comes a small voice from under the cabinet. He sounds doubtful, but he's at least not trying to retreat any further.

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(i'm sorry I wrote a small book)

(i'm sorry I wrote an even BIGGER small book)

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