hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

Entry tags:

Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

Who: All characters participating in the event
What: The event log for the Dreamwalker part 2 event
Where: In your dreams
When: October 14th-20th (the second log will go up on Oct 23rd, please keep the two weeks of the event separate!)
Warnings: All different kinds of dreams falling under the umbrella of Delight, Rage, Sorrow, and Hope.

This time, the weird stuff doesn't happen when you're awake- as a matter of fact, your waking hours are the normal ones. That's because you're forced to sleep by some unknown entity, getting more and more exhausted by the moment as night falls. Better make sure you're always around a soft pillow.

Once asleep, it doesn't get any less weird- your dreams will be influenced by one of the four gods that make up the first week. Something to make you smile, something to make you angry- or something that reminds you of your deepest regret or most vulnerable hope, they're all things that you're dreaming about now for some reason, no matter how hard you may try to pull away from them.

To make matters more complicated, there are others intruding on your dreams who definitely don't belong there, and while they may seem like manifestations at first, it becomes clear that these others are actually the consciousness of other members of Hadriel, getting some top quality exposure to your angriest, happiest, most sorrowful moments. Hope it doesn't get awkward when you see them tomorrow...

► This log covers October 14th-20th.
► 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!
► If you die in dreams you don't die in real life, but if you somehow die in real life anyway, please let us know here.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Maybe it’s the static you hear first or maybe you become aware of a faint, electronic haze. It’s the dull hum and blurry pixels of screens as one by one hundreds blink awake in the blackness that surrounds you. Some small like a cellphone or others massive like a billboard. They are incoherent at first, projecting nothing but a stuttering flickering mess of black and white until finally the feed starts. From an awkward angle Dr. Lee Rosen’s face looks out at you, frown set, the wrinkles of his forehead deep with determination. He’s recording his message from something small held within his hand. A camera pen. He begins to speak. Loudly. Firmly. And his message echoes in tandem from each screen, building and building in volume until at the last there is a violent shudder and the screens shatter and dissipate back into blackness.

The next time you become aware of yourself you will find yourself dressed in white hospital pajamas. You are behind bars in a sterile looking room of white walls, white sheets, and a small sliver of a window that looks out on a rec yard for your fellow inmates. Guards are posted along the fence and at the doors, and doctors weave their way through, taking notes now and again.

Welcome. You are now yet another inmate in the psych ward of a prison in upstate New York.

Now and again a nurse or a security guard might pass by. If you try and tell them you don’t belong here, that there’s been a mistake, they will most likely pass by as if they didn’t hear you. Or perhaps they will pause only to tell you that it’s all in your head and to remind you that your mandatory session with the resident psychiatrist is in an hour.

If you make the mistake of telling them anything about your life, perhaps in some desperate attempt to make it clear to them that you are definitely not supposed to be here, they will tell you none of the places or people you are talking about ever existed. That they are all figments of your imagination.

Here your only reality is bars.

You might notice at long last that in the cell across from you is the same person you saw on the screens at the start of the dream. He is arguing with a nurse who is threatening him that either he calm down or they will have to sedate him. His knuckles are white as he grips at the bars. The nurse repeats himself, “Sir. You have to calm down or we will be forced to intervene.” In response Rosen slams the heel of his palm against the bars and angrily stalks back to the far corner of his room. But he doesn’t remain there.

Instead he paces. Glaring at anyone who passes by and biting roughly into his lower lip. Now and again he runs his fingers roughly through his hair, digging his nails into his scalp before making an exasperated sound in his throat.

But all of it is pointless. There are still bars and you are both still imprisoned here.

Edited 2017-10-14 17:06 (UTC)

SORROW (SPOILERS)

"I'm never going to see my son again."

You're crammed into a containment cell with at least a dozen other people, their expressions running the gamut from sad to terrified. You're cold and hungry and don't remember how you got here. The man who spoke is sitting on the tile floor, head in his hands. Drake crouches next to him, gripping his shoulder. His voice is gentle and his eyes are determined when he replies. "Hey, you gotta try to calm down a little bit, buddy, all right? We're gonna find a way out of this."

The man shakes his head, despairing, voice hitching as he continues. "He thinks I killed myself. He's never gonna get over it."

Drake presses his lips together for a moment, draws breath to say something else when a door slides open in the hall outside the cell -- men in scrubs and lab coats come into view, struggling with a man -- or something that used to be a man -- at the end of a dog catcher's stick. They're forcing him along using jabs from a cattle prod and he's thrashing and snarling and frothing at the mouth, trying to get at his captors. They shove him into an adjacent cell.

"That's the guy they took yesterday... what did they do to him?"

A lab tech turns away from his previous rat and addresses the people in your cell. "Now, which one of you freaks wants to try cure version number three, huh? Eenie, meenie, miny--"

"Moe." Drake stands up and steps to the glass, squaring his shoulders and tilting his chin high. He can't let anyone else be taken away, turned into whatever that monster across the hallway is. He has to protect these people and maybe, just maybe, buy them enough time to be rescued. "Three's my lucky number."

"Look at you. The brave one."

"Why don't you put the cattle prod down? We can have a brave-off." The tech hesitates, looking him up and down, and Drake nods knowingly. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Get down on your knees." Drake obeys and the tech calls out to his teammate at a control panel. "Door." The glass of the cell slides away and another tech hooks the loop of the stick around Drake's neck, tightens it and drags him to his feet. "Come on, let's go."

You can follow Drake and the techs down the hall, into a sterile-looking exam room. They don't seem to notice your presence as they direct him onto a steel table, fasten straps and cuffs around him to keep him contained. His expression is stoic and unreadable and he lies perfectly still as they set up an IV pole, pushing his shirt sleeve up.

"Cheer up," a woman in a lab coat says as she taps the inside of his elbow, "You're getting the cure."

Drake ignores them, closes his eyes, and they don't even bother to swab his arm when they slide the needle into his vein. Like they know already that it won't make a difference. The drip started, the tech steps back, and Drake's eyes open. His gaze locks with yours and you can see he's not afraid. Instead, there's sorrow in his eyes. The knowledge that this is it for him -- he'll never see anyone he loves again, and he didn't get to say goodbye.

You can watch the light in his eyes fade away. At which point, the techs will turn to you, holding restraints and needles.

Do you want the cure too, rat?

HOPE

You're walking the streets of Hadriel, Drake at your side. He's got a bag slung over his shoulder and he's smiling, eyes bright and hopeful. It'll take a moment to get your bearings but you'll realize that you're headed for the colosseum and as you get closer you realize you're not the only ones -- other figures merge into your path, all also bearing luggage. Drake seems to know them all, clapping this fellow on the back or leaning in kiss this woman's cheek. Some of the faces are familiar from around the city, people that are actually close to Drake in real life -- Ephemera, Lup, Brennan, Henry -- but others are more elusive to your memory. Maybe they're just faces Drake's mind is supplying for him to have friends in the dream. Anyway. You're going to the colosseum.

In the center of the arena, instead of new arrivals or the monster of the month, there's a glimmering curtain of light. And you know, instantly, that it's the Door. People are here because they're going home.

Drake's not. Which is why this dream is hopeful.

He drifts away from you to talk to his friends, and you can't make out what they're saying but you can tell it's not goodbye.

「Dreams in comments. Will match format. General description of the dreams here. PM or hit me at

h_o_r_a_k_h_t_y if you've got questions or wanna plot something.」

An overwhelming warmth is the foremost obvious sensation that whoever enters this place may feel. It fills your lungs, it spreads over your skin. Maybe it is a little too hot for you liking, or maybe you just enjoy it immensely, it's dry and yet gentle, somehow, either way, it is a great change from the cave you've been stuck in for who knows how long.

The second thing, is the fact that you are suddenly blind. It is fleeting however! Please do not be scared! This blinding light is nothing more or less than something you haven't seen in a long time, again, depending on how long the Demons of Hadriel had been keeping you in. Yes, my friend, that's the sun, shining on the bluests sky you have ever seen contrasting perfectly with the golden dunes underneath. Yep, you have guessed, you're in a desert...

Hell, no wonder why it is so hot, right?

But where the heck are you even? As you roam apparently aimlessly through this desert, you start making out some shapes and you suddenly realize you're inside a rather large building made of sandstone, in a open area surrounded by columns beautifully decorated. Wait, are those symbols engraved in the columns... hieroglyphs? Well now, if they seem familiar to you, it might be pretty obvious where you are now. If not, well, it doesn't really matter.

What does matter is that sound that reaches you from, huh... somewhere rather close. It's but a rustle followed by tinkle of metal. It's when you see them, these apparently empty pots along the way, large enough to reach your thigh (if you're not a midget anyway!), and yep, the sounds definitely comes from one of them...

Do you dare to look into it?

「You cannot move.

No matter how much you struggle, you cannot escape. You soon realize you're enchained from your wrists, from your ankles and from your neck... The chains are heavy.

Two armored man drag you through a corridor then through a doorway, finally reaching a room. Perhaps if you weren't in such distress, you'd notice it is one of the most overwhelming rooms you've ever seen. Its extremely rich decorations are only there for one thing, to show its owner wealth and power.」

Bring in the prisoner!

「The prisoner? Oh, right, that's you.

You're forcefully thrown before a group of people, dressed in rich robes and wearing golden jewelry, and behind them... behind them there is a throne, as spectacular and grandiose as it could be expected, and sitting on it, there is this rather young man, dressed in an even more pompous fabric than the ones before you, he's wearing gold almost everywhere and over his head rests a rather elaborated crown. As small and young as he might seem, as ridiculous his hairstyle might appear to you, the way he looks at you, it makes you cower.」

(ooc! There is an important (and pretty cool) factor you must consider if you want your character to be judged.
From the Y☆G☆O wiki:

"The Ka are spirits that reflect the nature of the person that they come from. They are fueled by the energy of the soul, the Ba. The strength of the Ba determines the strength of the Ka. A person with a good soul will have a spirit or good Ka, but a person with an evil soul will have a monster or demon Ka."

From the manga:

"Anger, hatred... those negative emotions create monsters in men's souls... Eventually those Ka will take over that person, making them commit crimes [...]."

It's completely up to you to decide what kind of soul your character has, evil or good. Shall it be evil, it will be dealt with, however you have the opportunity here to think what kind of monster/spirit your character can have. What does it look like? It's basically a mirror of their soul.)

Edited 2017-10-14 17:10 (UTC)

(ooc: "tentatively" because we can do other closed starters if you want c: hmu at punnyinpink @ plurk or via PM to this journal)

Edited 2017-10-14 17:26 (UTC)

Delmar clutches his hands over his eyes at first, squinting fussily behind his knuckles. Even in just his pajamas and bare feet he feels overwhelmed with the heat and the dryness. Is it fire again? No..it's the wrong kind of heat.

After a moment he dares to peek out from behind his hands, and as his large brown eyes adjust to the light, he is confused to find structures all about him. Elegant silhouettes that have escaped from photo books and magazines. He's seen such things before, but never outside of a photograph and never without the added rot of time.

Here they are pristine and magnificent.

In the way one does not initially question things in a dream, Delmar sets out to explore without stopping to really wonder how it was he got here to begin with. Instead he runs his hands along the walls, feeling at the carvings and the strange characters engraved along the columns.

He only pauses when he hears the muffled rustling. Was that...? He waits until he hears it again. Yes it was definitely something moving....

With timid steps he approaches a pot, peers in, and finds nothing. No, not that one. Maybe the next one....?

[There's a teenage girl standing in the kitchen as a college-age boy drives off in a car. The colors in the kitchen seem dull, the light so bright it washes out some of the details. With her long, dark hair and grey sweater, the girl stands out. In fact, her sadness is why everything appears the way it does.

For a few seconds after the sound of the car's engine has faded away, it's silent. Then comes the distinct sound of someone who is fighting back tears.

Then, in a shaky voice, the girl says,] He's coming back, right?

[Because this is a dream, it's clear that he's not. But does the girl know that? Is she asking that in some last-ditch hope to deny the truth? Or does she really believe her brother will come back for her?

Will you help her believe the lie, or will you tell her the truth? Or maybe you'll help this fifteen-year-old avoid a terrible fate.]

Edited 2017-10-15 18:40 (UTC)

[OOC: Placeholder for individual dream stuff! If you need to hit me up, take a gander at my plotting comment or contact me personally if you'd like to do something special. PMs work, too!]

Edited 2017-10-14 17:43 (UTC)

Uh-oh, whoever is in those jars can hear those shy steps coming closer, and in their attempt to hide themselves just a little more, they shift and make even more noise as if making themselves a little smaller would help any to keep them concealed.

Yeah it doesn't work that way...

The moment this small child looks up from the inside of those pots, he finds a rather weird face looking down at him (Ra... he's so PALE!). Oh, but hey! Doesn't he look familiar? He might look different, somehow! Like what's with this little guy wearing all that jewelry anyway and that little crown! Wow, fancy much? But that hair, it is a given, isn't it?

Little Atem looks at the stranger for a moment, his violet-ish eyes wide open in surprise. This old man is definitely not who he was expecting to see at all, and yet, his little brow furrows, as if he were trying to discern something in that face. Is that some recognition in his eyes? Who knows.

"Who are you?" The child does not speak too loud, he's not sure if he came to get him, he's not about to give his cover up. Maybe this old man is just a spirit passing by, it would explain why he's so pale.

Delight

The sky is red and the clouds fluffy, more than a thousand feet below. You're standing in a pelican drop ship as it teeters from side to side, fighting the atmospheric pull. Below you is a green planet, everything shrunk down to toy-land size.

Ephemera laughs, helmet off, as the ramp lowers. One by one, the armored soldiers next to him jump into the atmosphere, and fly.

"C'mon! What're you waiting for?"

Rage (cw for torture, violence, off screen sexual assault)

The first thing you smell is gasoline. The second is blood.

The warehouse is blackened and cold, industrial lighting flickering on and off. You can see the stars through a hole in the ceiling where, some time in the past, an artillery shell struck home. This is a warzone, but the soldiers here are not fighting. They're standing in a circle around a group of prisoners, all of them bound with mag cuffs. All of the prisoners are in full armor.

As are the soldiers surrounding them. Ephemera and his teammates.

Ephemera himself is down on his knees, helmet and gauntlets off. He's several years younger and unscarred, though someone has wrecked his hands. Stomped on them with armored boots and snapped most of the little bones there. There's blood on his face and he's crying furiously while one of his teammates sets his broken fingers, one after the other.

Next to him, the twins - a man and a woman with kind faces - are trying to put their armor back on. It was cut off them with a blowtorch. Neither of them speak.

But they do laugh. They giggle as their commander smokes a cigarette, an axe in hand, and watches the prisoners. They laugh as Ephemera screams getting his fingers set, as the prisoners beg for their lives.

They're covered in gasoline. Soaked in it.

And all the while, Ephemera's commander works on his cigarette. Taps the ashes onto the ground, scraping them out with his boot.

Ephemera staggers to his feet, tears running down his face. Hands swollen and red. "Light those fuckers up!"

The commander takes one last drag. Exhales.

And drops the cigarette.

They go up like dying stars.

Hope

You're on a beach, gray sand crunching under your feet and the ocean spray not far off. Industrial buildings dot the coastline. It's not a very nice beach and the air smells like engine oil more than salt, but beggars can't be choosers. And this isn't about the beach. Not really.

What you're here for is something a little further out, splashing through the surf. Look closely and you'll see Ephemera dragging a soldier in red and black armor out of the water. Her helmet is off and her blonde hair, once perfectly controlled, is tangled into knots. She's beautiful in a harsh sort of way, and utterly limp in his arms. Look closely and you'll see blood at the back of her skull.

She's not breathing.

Ephemera drags her out of the waves, cursing. He doesn't notice you. All of his focus is on the soldier. And though he's begging her to wake up, to breathe, he takes the time to lay her down gently.

"C'mon, c'mon, sis...."

She won't breathe. Ephemera glares at you suddenly. "Help me get her armor off! Fucking help me!"

Edited 2017-10-14 18:00 (UTC)

[OOC: Plotting comment over here!]

Oh. Hello there small pointy child.

Delmar blinks down at him owlishly, having momentarily misplaced his voice when faced with the oddness of finding a child in a pot. At last he answers, his words somewhat hesitant as he too struggles with that distant sense of familiarity. "Well, I'm Delmar."

That hair...

"Who are you?"

"..."

Okay, that's pretty weird, enough to have Atem stand (he barely reaches the rim of the pot) to take a better look at him.

"It's me! Atem, the prince!" Like man! How do you don't you know these things? Everybody knows!

Sorrow (cw: bigotry, slurs, crime, poverty, prostitution, starvation, hopelessness)

Dust Town.

Just a moment in the area and it's made obvious that this is the seedy underbelly of the great dwarven city towering above. Here, massive halls and brightly gleaming armor give way to grimy hovels and beggar's rags. There are no shouts from merchants hawking their wares, or town criers relaying the latest news. Instead, the sounds permeating the area are mournful pleas for food or coin to buy such, ragged and incurable coughing, or the slurs of the guards who seem more interested in keeping these desperate people in their place. An interesting fact: one and all, those of the neighborhood sport a face brand. The guards do not.

As Aren makes her way through the neighborhood, daggers on her back and wearing leathers that certainly don't match the quality of the guards, but protect her just a little bit. At least in theory. The brand on her own face and the sneers of guards as she passes make it clear that protection is paper-thin. "Get out of my face, brand." "Stand back, I don't want to catch any of your diseases." "Vermin." When it's not a guard spitting at her, there are occasional mutters from a fellow 'brand' about her being 'one of Beraht's people', but she ignores this, ignores it all. This is the only life she's ever known, and it will never change.

Rage (cw: violence, likely gore, betrayal)

Ostagar

"The plan will work, Your Majesty."
"Of course it will. The Blight ends here."

Aren should be traveling with Alistair to the Tower of Ishal to light the signal fire for Loghain's troops. She did, in her waking life, but here and now she stands with her commander, Duncan, and King Cailan as the army awaits in the dismal night for the approach of darkspawn troops. The air is thick with tension and the incense that a Chantry sister is waving, and there is little noise other than the barks of mabari much like her own (absent) Barkspawn. Everyone knows this is where they break the darkspawn forces...or are broken in turn.

In time, it becomes clear that this is one of those latter circumstances. Later, in the desperate clash that ensues, Aren looks up and can see that the signal beacon is ablaze. This is where Loghain and his men are to move in and strike...except they don't. She watches helpless, as his army marches...away from the darkspawn, away from battle. The forces left behind cannot stand against that onslaught alone. Aren, separated from king and commander, tries to reach them but intervening darkspawn she must fight and defeat in the mean time ensure that she's only arriving in time to see the Ogre crush the life out of the king, producing a massive spray of blood. Duncan, the first person outside her sister to show her real kindness, falls soon after avenging him.

And something in Aren snaps. She can't reach Loghain, can't drive a blade in his heart like she so desperately wants to, but she can take down the Hurlock who just cut her mentor down. Unleashing a scream of rage, she charges, heedless of danger and ignoring the very real fact that there's no way the battle can be won now. She wants blood.

Sorrow (cw: implied battle, gore, corpse defiling, dead mabari)

Ostagar again. The site is far different from the other night, for those who witnessed it during battle. Now it's daylight, revealing collapsed tents, charred structures, darkspawn 'architecture' and scattered corpses. Some of those corpses are intact, while the darkspawn evidently had 'fun' with the others. Mabari aren't excluded in this number, a few of the great beasts sprawled by their masters. The deafening clash of the previous night's battle is replaced by an eerie silence.

Aren continues walking and doesn't stop until she comes across the sight of King Cailan's blood-soaked, crucified corpse set up on the bridge leading to the Tower of Ishal. She shudders but forces herself not to look away as that lump in her throat forms, her hands forming fists and her knuckles turning white. This is what came of believing the Blight would end so quickly, or being caught by forces outside their control. A logical part of her knows that there's only so much she could have done, but it's hard, too hard, to justify that to a corpse.

The voice that emerges from her is unsteady, rough. "...he needs a pyre, I have to give him a pyre. Not this." Duncan, too, if she can find him.

Edited 2017-10-14 18:18 (UTC)

There it is.

It almost feels like a small headache as the true surreality of the situation begins to dawn on Delmar. It is the danger of becoming self aware within a dream.

"Atem?" A blink. Two. Before a shake of his head. "No. Atem is this big." He holds up a hand yea high.

[Starters in comments; plotting is here and hit me up at

cancerously for added plotting!]

sorrow;; there is very little left of me and its never coming back

[At first, there’s only darkness. You’ve definitely found yourself in a room, a floor under your feet and an open area surrounding. It stays like this, for a moment or two, no light, or sound, until--

A light flickers on. It’s the dim glow of a backlight, a screen right next to your head, displaying a line of text.

ENTRY NUMBER 1: This is it... Time to do what the King has asked me to do. I will create the power to free us all. I will unleash the power of the SOUL.

The room it shows is hardly remarkable, the edges of it fading off into more darkness. Sounds are also finally coming in from far away; something shuffling though the darkness. The intermittent noise of metal hitting metal. And very, very far off, the distant tones of rushing water.

If you look around the corner, you’ll find Alphys fiddling with the closed door, seemingly lost in thought as she works on an electronic lock, grumbling under her breath as she types in combinations and pushes.]

hope;; theres no meaning to the words, but we still sing these songs well

[The sun is shining through the Barrier.

Or… it would be, if the Barrier still existed. Now, it’s just one long, long hallway, the sun at twilight shining down and painting the entire thing a faded yellow-gold. For once, the pulse of magic that was present here for thousands of years is still. The cave, polished to smooth stone at this end, becomes rougher and rougher as it goes to the exit, until the sun blinds out a view of what’s beyond. It’s peaceful, and quiet, the only sounds the wind that passes through from the outside, but even that feels warm and inviting. It’s a perfect scene. Alphys herself is standing, seemingly alone, hands gripped together and looking towards the exit, unmoving.

If you get closer, you might see that she looks absolutely awed.

She’s not stirring, yet, like she’s waiting for… something.

Maybe it’s you?]

Sorrow

[The dream comes to you in flashes. You are an observer. There are many people present, most of them dressed in strict gray uniforms, but only Maketh - eighteen years old and standing very still - can see you. The other officers walk around you without acknowledgement.

You are standing on the bridge of a star destroyer. The Kalu. Below you is a red planet. Monitors display a city - small, but well dug in.

The Empire wants this city. You understand this intimately. The citizens don't want to give it up. And they have a shield generator strong enough to hold back a ground assault, though none have been launched. A sand storm is coming.

You understand this as well.

The officers are muttering amongst themselves, trying to solve the problem.

And young Maketh Tua, only just out of the Academy, speaks up.]

Drop a warhead. The shield won't hold. And the storm will prevent any distress calls from getting out.

[It's said promptly, and she stands very tall. Pleased with her logic.

There are six thousand people in this city.

One of the officers smiles.]

Cadet. What an excellent idea.

[And the dream changes.

The warhead falls.

Maketh stands alone on the bridge and watches the city below her go up in smoke.]

one for sorrow

The whole world's a step away from sepia tones, and it all goes on close to forever: the sun's just starting to think about dipping down toward the horizon, the endless wheat fields below it a golden brown rustle in the breeze. Where the crops end, the dry grasses of the pasture begin, hemmed in by a barbed-wire fence. And then the weathered barn, worn grey and smooth by Kansas winters, and then a farmhouse marked by the spindly shadow of a rusting weather vane. A baseball and a pair of mitts lie abandoned near the front door.

It could be a Grant Wood painting--just grab a stern old couple and set them up with a pitchfork someplace. But there's a sense of unreality to it at the same time. Touch something, and it's not quite possible to feel it in your hand. You can grab a stalk of wheat, but you can't feel the itch of wheat kernels and beard against your palm. Run straight into the barbed wire, and you won't bleed. And the apple pie cooling on the window sill is never quite reachable, no matter how you stretch. A breath full of cinnamon and allspice is as close as you can get.

Maybe most importantly, there's no one here but a teenager in an old jacket. Come early, and he's running toward the house, yelling "Ma! Pa!" in a voice strangulated by surprise and longing. Come later, and he's more listless, walking around with his hands in his pockets or sitting at the butcher-block kitchen table, looking at his surroundings wearily. In either case, he's so focused that he's easily startled.

two for ~~joy~~ hope

Where Evan comes from, superheroes don't usually bother with capes or big logos on their chests. But every once in a while, that's exactly what the world needs: a tall, muscular superhero who wears his underpants on the outside.

Are you in trouble, fair citizen? Maybe there's a car hurtling toward you--who knows what it was thrown by. Maybe you're falling through the stratosphere, and the ground's coming at you a lot faster than you'd like. Or you're tied to some train tracks with a locomotive rumbling toward you. Never fear! Genesis, the greatest superhero who ever lived, is here to save you from peril and certain doom.

Or maybe you're a superhero, too. The greatest superhero in the world wouldn't be all that great if he was selfish, and anyway, it's a dream of hopes and happiness; super partnerships, super friendships, they're something to hunger for, too. What's justice without a league of other heroes to work with?

seven for a secret never to be told

It's hard to know whether the dreams are the worst part, or if it's the waking up that really kills you. After spending all night longing for things you can't have, after seeing other people frightened or angry or happy beyond belief, in the morning it kind of feels like people saw you naked. Or you saw them naked. The fact that Evan barely knows anybody here only makes it weirder to look them in the face after what they might have seen.

Which makes for potentially awkward conversations back in the waking world, especially if these dreams have served as someone's introduction to Evan. He'll be all around Hadriel, still trying to be the smiley guy and doing a slightly worse job of it than usual.

Edited 2017-10-14 18:26 (UTC)

"... No I'm not."

Hold on, pal, he, somehow manages to climb out of that pot, and actually stand on the edges, it looks a little dangerous but he's actually rather skilled at the art of hiding in pots and, coming out of them, most of the times.

"See?" Now, onto more important matters if you please! "Are you a good spirit or a bad spirit?"

[Starters in comments; plotting is here and feel free to hit me up at

cancerously for expanded plotting/questions!]

The first thing Drake's aware of is the fact he's wearing armor -- he recognizes the feel of it, the weight, the way it supports him as he sways uncertainly. He looks down and sees that it's black with green trim, just like Ephemera said he'd paint for Drake if they ever got him armor. He smiles a little at that, lifts the helmet he's got gripped in one hand and looks at it.

"C'mon! What're you waiting for?"

He looks up, squinting a little in the wind that hits him from the open back of the drop ship to see Ephemera grinning at him broadly.

It's a jump.

He hasn't been trained for this and knows from previous conversations that if you don't land just right you go splat. So he looks a little wary as he watches the other soldiers leaping into free air, leaving them alone.

"Where's the training wheels protocol?" he jokes, peering into the inside of the helmet where he can see an HUD lit up.

Delmar's hands immediately come up on instinct to brace the child. "C-careful! If you fall you might hurt yourself! Please, let me help you get down from there."

He'll answer your question in a minute, whoever you are, safety first!

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Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

Rosen | Rage | OTA

Drake Holloway | OTA | cw: human experimentation, death (SPOILERS)

Atem

delight | ota

rage | ota

Dr. Temperance Brennan | tentatively closed | will match format

no subject

• sorrow | closed (adam, richie, harlan)

Rey.

no subject

Terrence Ephemera/Sharkface | ota

lup | open (late game TAZ spoilers abound)

no subject

no subject

Aren Brosca | Open

no subject

Alphys | ota

sorrow (CONTENT WARNING: mentions of suicide, body horror)

hope

Maketh Tua | ota

evan sabahnur | open

no subject

taako | ota

Delight

no subject