hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dreamwalker

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Event Log: Dreamwalker

Who: Everyone!
What: The Dreamwalker event
Where: In your comfy bed and your sleepy head.
When: May 16th-26th
Warnings: Good dreams, weird dreams, bad dreams, straight-up nightmares. Please remember to tag for warnings in the header if things are going to be bad!

Have you been having trouble getting a good night's sleep? Tossing and turning, unable to rest those tired eyes? Or maybe you don't sleep at all, and never have. Not to worry! For a little while, you'll have no trouble at all falling asleep - in fact, as night falls, you'll find yourself overwhelmed with exhaustion whether you want to sleep or not. Lay down and rest your weary head, friends. Everyone could use a little extra sleep.

But what will your dreams bring? Something happy, images of a perfect day? Something hopeful, something you've wanted for a long time? Maybe you'll dream of anger, of the face of your worst enemy. Or maybe - just maybe - you'll have a horrific nightmare, and wake screaming, covered in cold sweat.

Not before others have time to see it, though. As you sleep, as you dream, the other residents of Hadriel, friends and enemies and people you've only met once, might find their way into your dreams. Or you might find your way into theirs - and then have to deal with someone's else's nightmares, or hopes, or anger. For the next ten nights, you'll find yourself either a host or a visitor, and no matter how you try you won't be able to stay awake once night falls.

Sweet dreams, Hadriel. Don't let the asshole fear gods bite.

► This log covers May 16th-26th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► You can't die in the dreams, but if you somehow manage to trip and fall and kill yourself getting out of bed, please report it on the death post.

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As someone who has no idea what a casino, a G-man, or even a slot machine is, Carlisle finds this scenario just awful.

"Okay," he reminds himself as he ducks beside one of the slot machines, trying to stay out of sight and out of mind so he can concentrate. "This isn't real. This is someone's nightmare, and if you concentrate hard enough, maybe you can wake up."

The machine beside him continues to jingle and jangle with the rest, the images on it spinning, coins clanging loudly in the payout tray.

"Desth, that's loud," he remarks, covering his ears. "Focus! Just wake up. You can do this, right? Right. Focus."

Coins start spilling on the floor, lightly thudding on the carpet next to him. Carlisle curls up tighter, trying to shut out the noise.

"Focus." He presses his hands to his head harder, as though the pressure would relieve him from the constant, unbridled noise. "Would be easier to do that if everything wasn't so loud, but not a problem. Just- just close your eyes and focus."

He squeezes his eyes shut, but shutting out the machines is no easy task. The clanging seems to get louder in his ears, as though purposefully trying to strip away any moment of respite he finds.

"Still not a problem," he grumbles through his teeth. Clang clang. "In fact, I'm feeling very wake-upish right now. Going to do that any moment."

The clanging continues, louder again, booming enough to feed the headache forming behind his eyes. He only staves it off for another five or six seconds before he caves to his frustration.

Carlisle shoves himself off the ground, grinding his teeth. "Can't anyone shut these machines up?!"

He might be feeding Rage in that second, but Fear's turn will come. Carlisle just doesn't know it yet.

Firo can't believe it's happening. They'd greased all the right palms, kept an eye on any suspicious customers... How could this all go wrong? Could the other Martillo places be in danger? He has to warn them!

Not as bad as the rest, but still unsettling, is how none of his nemeses even seem to take any notice of him. What is he, chopped liver? He's the goddamn manager.

Well, maybe he can make that work. Try to find his guys, see if he can get one of them to slip out and send a message. But he can't find a single picciotto around here. And it's hard to think with the machines getting louder and louder and louder--

"Hey, what the hell're you doin' back there? This isn't the time to mess around!" He grabs for Carlisle's arm. How exactly it would be this guy's fault that anything is being set off is something Firo doesn't consider. He's a convenient scapegoat.

The hand on his arm startles Carlisle out of his fuming -- he's surprised, as well as relieved, to see said hand belongs to Firo. Of course, that relief is gone an instant later as Firo's accusation sinks in.

"Wh- Messing around?!" His face scrunches, irritation at his inability to focus because of all the clang clang clanging and ting ting tinging from the machines driving him mad. "I'm back here trying to think, and these infernal contraptions won't shut up long enough for me to do that!"

Hm. Firo looks over Carlisle's face, finally realizing that he doesn't seem to be lying--he seems pretty opposed to these things.

Instead of apologizing, he shakes his head and corrects, in a half-distracted but exact tone, "They're slot machines."

He frowns, almost looking pained for a moment. "My slot machines--these bastards are gonna wreck my place." He pauses and sighs. "You're gonna get arrested with the rest of us, you know. Wouldn't've thought I'd see you in a place like this."

The obvious reason why--the fact that they're from different worlds--doesn't even occur to him. Carlisle just doesn't seem like the gambling type.

And Firo is right about that: Carlisle might not be the pinnacle of a good clergyman, but he is certainly no gambling man, especially when it comes to matters of his own well-being.

"Wait, arrested?" he asks, incredulous. "But I haven't done anything! What would I even be accused of?"

"Ask a judge that stuff--how should I know?" Firo's hardly the kind of person who pays attention to laws--he just knows that they usually run counter to his purposes. "Anybody who sees you here is gonna think you're just as guilty as the rest of us."

Damn it, he needs to tell the other Martillos. Hardly even thinking, he grabs for Carlisle's arm. "Come on, we gotta get out. They could be raidin' the other joints, too." His eyes dart around for some sort of gap in the crowd, a way they could slip out.

And there's that hand on his arm again; Carlisle doesn't make an attempt to pull away, though he does eye Firo's hand as though it were completely and utterly unwelcome. Given how he is regarding physical contact, it probably is.

"Other joints? There are more of these horrible, noisy places?"

"Horrible?! Hey, you--" Firo's tirade is cut off (or postponed) by a crashing sound as one of the cops flips over a card table. Firo tenses--this is a cue for them to go, as agonizing as it is to leave his place.

"Come on!" That unwelcome hand tugs on Carlisle as Firo tries to drag him towards an unassuming little door in the back.

"It's not a horrible place, you know. Plenty a' people come here every night to blow off steam and try their luck."

Carlisle hardly gets a word in as Firo gives his arm a pull -- his feet move automatically, just trying to keep up with the rest of him as he follows along.

"Right, they come here and this happens. Sounds like a fantastic time if I ever heard of one."

Firo growls. He's hardly in a mood to be a good salesman, but he can't let his place be slandered. "It's not usually like this. This crap goin' on right now is a raid--normally it's just fine. It's a real classy joint."

If Carlisle follows--and Firo intends to keep trying to tug him along--he'll find that beyond the little door is an office. There's not much in it aside from a desk, some booze on the shelves, and some more cards and chips. If he hasn't already pulled away, Firo'll release him now to start feeling along the wall.

He indeed follows along, even without Firo pulling him, though he's not entirely sure where they're going. This doesn't look like more of the same, but rather a dead end of an office.

While waiting for Firo to finish fumbling along the wall, he puts an ear to the door, trying to discern if they're being followed. It's hard to hear over the sounds of the machines outside, but the voices are getting louder.

"I think we're going to have company," he mutters.

"Shit! How close?"

The exit isn't working, he realizes with alarm. He pounds on it harder, and it finally springs open to reveal a passage in the wall. The voices are even louder now, loud enough that Firo can hear them on the other end of the room.

He waves frantically at Carlisle, "Come on, right through here!"

The tunnel is slightly slimmer than a normal door. Shorter as well, enough that the average man might have to stoop a little.

Carlisle is about to reply with a 'very close,' but there's a bang on the door. Okay, they're in trouble.

Thankfully, Firo gets their escape route open, and with those voices on the other side of the door sounding anything but pleasant, Carlisle is happy to follow Firo's orders without question for the moment. He darts for the tunnel, having to stoop quite a bit -- he's unfortunately taller than the average man, so it's a bit too short for his stature. He's not about to complain though, given it's either that, or face the people chasing them.

"What now?" he hisses in a whisper.

Firo lets the panel swing shut behind them. No way to go but forward now, and he starts feeling along the wall as he walks. “This takes us through the wall and into the alley outside. After that, it’s not too far to Alveare. That’s where the others should be.”

“Just stay close and don’t make any trouble, all right?” A smarter gangster might simply ditch Carlisle, but Firo doesn’t even consider it. He doesn’t wonder why this guy who’s plainly not from his world is here; he just thinks that Carlisle will probably get lost without him.

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Event Log: Dreamwalker

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