hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

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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.

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Yeah, that works.

[That Laura's sticking close, that she's offering to help at all, it's some comfort even as Aren can't voice it yet. She can only focus on one thing at a time, and that's finding her mentor so she can burn him with Cailan. That's something that didn't get to happen before...but maybe it can change now.

They don't find him at the top of the hill, but a short distance from the bottom, Duncan can be spotted...or at least his head.

[In true dream fashion, Fenn's not sure if he just got here, down the hallway from the light, or if he's always been standing here, soaking up the feeling in the air and the warmth of this place. There's something significant about this moment. It's more than Alphys' expression. It's a feeling Fenn doesn't want to ruin by trying to explain. It seems sacrilegious to say anything.]

Are you waiting for something? [Maybe it should be "we" or "someone". Fenn's not good at being still and silent and enjoying the moment.]

Where I come from, there are no more dragons. [ Aside from these. ] They all died out or were killed years and years ago.

[ Drogon eventually lands on another grassy slope, and Dany slips from his back. She keeps close to him, resting a hand against his side, but peers curiously at Nah. ]

Would that my own dragons could speak. [ She says wonderingly. ] I can communicate well enough with them, but...

[ But, that would really be... something. ]

[Fenn is used to these discussions and decisions. It's the same song and dance in another setting, lulling and familiar even if it isn't at all. He can even hear his mother's voice in his mind, commending the decision. Another rising star making her mark. Proving her worth.

Somehow Fenn is now watching the distant destruction with her.]

Good call.

[This is not a heart felt statement. This is more something that should be said to cover up things that he shouldn't be thinking. The carelessly casual acceptance of things to mute horror, mitigate guilt, but it doesn’t reach his face at all. His face speaks more elegantly of horror and personal regret, the reluctance to fully engage a situation's tragedy.]

[ No one stops George. In fact, even Dany's closest advisors seem to welcome her, moving aside to let her pass and to sit near the queen. Dany herself smiles, laughing lightly at the comment. ]

It should be. Kings Landing has seen no joy since the Lannisters came. [ And before that, with the Usurper, but he's long gone. ] I hope you'll enjoy yourself.

[ That's the most important thing to her at the moment, that her people are able to relax and be happy with how things have changed. ]

[ Dany seems startled out of her grief by someone speaking with her. In the dream, she doesn't quite recognize the other woman as Margaery Tyrell, and instead clasps her hand in return as if she's the only solid thing left in the world. ]

You - You can see me? No one else... [ She trails off, looking around. It's true: none of the Dothraki seem to notice her at all. Even Jorah Mormont, who comes in to the tent every so often, doesn't look her way. ]

I don't know. [ Dany breathes. ] This... is the warlocks' doing. They mean to keep me here forever.

You haven't proven that you deserve anything but this.

[Oh, there is anger — plenty of it! But while the Pharaoh's anger burns hot and bright Bakura's is as cold as ice. He wants this — oh, so badly — and now that it's here, he can practically taste the victory. It thrills through his veins, sings in his blood and makes him bold. It is that boldness that drives the sword stroke, a hiss of steel against the Pharaoh's blade that's surprisingly gentle. There's no need for overwhelming power here; the conflict between the two of them could not possibly be solved by something as simple as a sword fight.

They're just playing with each other here; Bakura is flirting with the thought of killing his opponent like this, and he suspects that Atem must surely think the same.]

Shall I pass judgement on you, Pharaoh? Well, here it is: you don't deserve more than the void. No grand funeral, no wailing mourners, no afterlife. Just darkness and death, forgotten and alone forever.

[This place is a complete overload of color, sound, light, and smells. Fenn loves it. He has no context for when or where, but he decides if the mythical Judgement doesn't look like this, he's going to be utterly disappointed. It takes a moment to zero in on the quarter and the kids and the fact that he's being asked to move.]

Sure thing, I suck at it anyway. [This seems like a safe assumption anyway as he slides out of the way, staying close enough to watch what's about to happen.]

Nice shirt. [No sarcasm at all here. More places should embrace bright colors and loud patterns.]

A. Sorrow - No Turning Back
(cw: mention of drugs)

[Something about this particular dream is pretty obviously heavy. Even upon entering this strange liminality, it's clear. The colors are muted, the atmosphere feels almost...nonexistent, and the surroundings? They're almost devoid of any main features.

What is visible is metal walls; something like a spaceship. But the more one walks, the less like a ship it becomes--now the walls seem to blend into something of a home, with the decorations and such being an equally-muted, but still garish blend of pinks. There, one will find Mettaton sitting amongst unusual paraphernalia, including rock-shaped objects that are unusually malleable.

The robot looks incredibly aggrieved and not entirely in his right mind. There's too much relaxation in his limbs, except for about the facial features; there, he looks as if he'd be crying if only he could.]

I'm sorry...I am so sorry...please come back, don't leave me here. I didn't mean to abandon you.

[A voice rises from the darkness, and at just the right angle, any observer would see the face of a small goatlike boy being projected from a diminutive electronic device. The young monster has fresh tears streaming from his eyes, his nose dripping a little because he's such a crybaby, and Mettaton is so sorry but--]

You left me...now...now you want me to come see you, Mettaton? That's not fair. It's...it's not fair!! Why is it always me? I help you all the time, 'cause that's what friends do. But you don't. Don't you care about me, Mettaton? Don't you want to stay with me? Come back...please come back.

I can't.

[The robot says it lamely, but he wishes Asriel would believe it.]

"You promised..."

[He did. He can't even say a thing, because he did promise they'd stick Thisavrou out together, no matter what happened. They still had their homes in Kauto.

Mettaton is suffering from how much he wants to maintain that promise.]

B. Rage - Welcome to the Show
(cw: mentions of slavery and violence)

This is not a safe place.

You're surrounded by a screaming crowd, thrown out of a cage and into an open arena with dirt on the ground, rocks littered here and there. Other than that, not much to defend yourself with, and the dome-like enclosure will ensure that you can't fly out. Teleport? Not at all, there's ways to stop that.

You are here for one reason only--FIGHT.

And fight now, because just as you've been pushed into the fighting ring, so too has another. All seven feet of this person you may or may not know now approaches you, and nearly every inch of him is metal. Once lauded for his unusually kindhearted nature towards fans and friends alike (perhaps not family, but he had worked on it before), Mettaton was now very much different.

Scuff marks, scratches and cracks litter his chassis, and there's such an empty look in his eye as he marches towards you with purpose.

The closer he gets though, the more you realize something is very wrong. A prickle up your spine, a strange tenseness in the atmosphere, or...if you are so inclined and have the ability to discern Levels Of ViolencE...you'll find that this metal monster has such coldness in his SOUL that he might as well be dead.

Fighting is all he's good for. So without much warning, he rushes forward and once he's close enough, Mettaton performs a powerful kick to try and down his opponent--you.

It's just business, of course. Don't be so upset, he has to kill you, the collar around his neck denotes as much; he's a possession, not a person. He must follow the will of his owner. But...does he have to smile so heartlessly about it?

Well, of course he does. The uptick of his LOVE demanded it. He had hit the ceiling, as it were, and all that a LV 20 monster could do was FIGHT without conscience. Because if he can, then he has to. The only thing he can't do is feel...

He's not alone, and he's not unaware of that fact.

For a long moment the thief stands still and quiet, ignoring the bowed figure next to him — as if simple ignorance could dismiss the loathsome presence of the Pharaoh. He's not that lucky, of course. Why would he be? If he possessed any luck at all, it should have all gone to prevent this night from ever happening.

As it is, all he can do is watch. Everything he'd tried, everything, had no effect on the scene that plays out below. And why should it? It's already happened, this is the past. To affect it now would be to change his present, no? Even Diabound, as powerful as it is, hadn't been able to do anything.

It grinds on his nerves, this helplessness, and rips open his heart. But he does not cry; his tears had been used up by his four-year-old self on this very night.

Still, there is the Pharaoh at his side; his presence makes the thief seethe with rage. Who is he, to bow his head? Who is he, to to struggle to breathe past the horror of the scene below? Who is he, to feel grief? To know remorse? To taste the soot and sand on the air, to feel the heat of the fires, to hear the screams of the dying?

Who is he, this boy playing at god-king, to have the right to witness the fate of Kul Elna?

"Leave." The word trembles at the edges with rage barely held in check and the thief's hand tightens against his own bicep, fingers tangling in linen and gripping the muscle underneath.

「This is nothing but a fight of wills, not of steel. Atem knows it, he can feel it when he parries easily the blow that comes down at him, and for as angry as he is, there is a creeping cruel smirk that takes shape in his lips, one that never reaches those fiery eyes, they only reflect how much he hates the man before him. He didn't use to, Atem tried, so very hard to understand, to atone for his and his father's sins in the past, but this is not that place this is not the past, this is a place where he cannot question his hate, where he cannot control it, where it can be left loose and let it ruin him, completely.

But only Bakura, despite of being nothing but a memory (?), can make his soul burn in absolute despise like the fire of a thousand suns. He knows him better than Atem wishes he did, he pushes his button, the most tender ones. Forgotten... alone? It has the Pharaoh losing his cool.」

I never did anything to you--it was you who took everything away form me!

「The rage comes back at full force, giving him some strength he would normally not have, disarming Bakura of his blade in a swift, harsh movement. The blade falls and its sound against the bottom never reaches them. Atem advances, his blade aimed Bakura's throat, pushing him to the other side of the bridge.

The memories of his losses, his father, Mahad, his friends... he had lost everything, his life even, to this man...」

I will never forgive you, Bakura!

Edited 2017-10-17 16:14 (UTC)

[Gee, was that supposed to scare him? Drawing and quartering, huh? He gives a derisive little smile to the priest.]

Darling, don't threaten me with a good time.

[Sorry that it's not clear his limbs are detachable. That's not his fault, is it?]

As a matter of fact, however, I'm not aware of what I did at all. Perhaps one of you can enlighten me later? Since clearly the time is not now--better get to the business of the matter and judge. Sounds like that is what's on the docket, anyway, feel free to tell me if I'm mistaken!

[Want to put him on trial? Go ahead if you dare. Mettaton will play this game, even if he isn't entirely aware of the rules. But as any good celebrity knows, he doesn't push his advantages too hard, or try to turn the playing field until he has the advantage in the situation. That could put him in an unfavorable position, right? Don't lose the audience, Mettaton.]

The pathetic little Pharaoh is acknowledged, at last, and he doesn't have the strength to look up at the other. He knows what he will see, and no, he's not ready to face him. He is got more than enough dread to deal with without having to look up at Bakura.

But Atem cannot leave, he has tried, he knows where he is. Not after long nights had he finally become aware of it, he would be a fool if he hadn't realized it at last, that he's nothing but a plaything for these Demons, and he cannot will himself to wake and it feels wrong to be here, this ironically sacred ground is not for him to be in, especially, not him..

So, what can he do, ask for forgiveness? Hah! Please, not even he's that naive! He has tried, in the real, in the flesh, he literally offered himself to Bakura once (twice...), to satiate his hunger for revenge, and nothing changed. What could change in a dream, where emotions ran high and uncontrolled, where his soul was bare and completely alone.

The Pharaoh shakes his head instead, as an answer, not that he is not wishing it with all his being.

Edited 2017-10-17 16:53 (UTC)

[The blade is knocked out of his hand and that hardly matters; it's not like he'd had any silly attachment to a stolen weapon in the first place. His whole life is a collection of stolen objects and stolen moments, the natural balance to a childhood stolen much too young.

For that, he'll never forgive the Pharaoh.

Even so, when the smaller man presses his attack Bakura just laughs. He'll let the steel kiss his skin, let the red of blood wash over him. It delights him, energizes him like nothing else. The Pharaoh energizes him like nothing else, fuels his rage to a level of divine ecstasy. It brings clarity of vision and strength of conviction just as much as it brings excitement to his breathing and a flush to his skin.

His feet find the edge of the bridge, and behind him Diabound explodes into being.]

Forgive me? [His laughter is bright and wild, reflected in his eyes as arms fling wide.] It is you who should be begging forgiveness from me!

Fine?!

[this does not look fine. But, given no other options to actually help...gather information?]

A creature like that...it could take your head off in one bite.

[From one frightening dream of imprisonment to the next...

Napstablook is thrown out into the center of the arena, the deafening cries and cheers filling their ears. They immediately want to run away - hide, or get far away from wherever they've been dragged to. However, someone seems to be blocking their path...

Normally the sight of Mettaton would be a welcome relief. But there's a frightening expression on his face as he gets closer. And what's that around his neck...?]

m-mettaton...?

"Sounds like a plan," Drake agrees, claiming a spoon and helping himself to a little sugar before backing up to sit down at the kitchen table.

"So, weapons?" And they discuss that for awhile, what to use and basic safety when swinging at each other with actually sharp things, while they sip their coffee. It's weirdly domestic, but things are normal. He didn't screw things up the night before, he just has to watch himself from now on.

Eventually, the coffee's gone, and Drake sets his mug in Ephemera's sink and stretches one more time before resigning himself to the fact he has to face the rest of the world. Maybe Liv, if she hasn't already left for the clinic. What time is it, anyway?

He checks his phone and it's still early, but she was probably gone. He's oddly relieved about that, and there's the guilt again. No. No avoidance. Go home, get changed, get your weapons, he tells himself. After that, you can go visit her at the clinic. Plan something for dinner. Even if something tells him he's probably going to wind up back here later tonight, after Ephemera talks to Washington.

He'll be here. He promised.

"Okay. I'll meet you in an hour." That's enough time to get breakfast and his head on straight. Ephemera nods his agreement and follows Drake to the door to see him out.

They open it to see Ephemera's neighbor in her doorway, doing the same thing with her overnight guest.

W h o o p s.

[This sort of scene might work plenty well for a younger, more outgoing Brennan--but for the displaced ice alien finding himself among a pack of rowdy humans crowded into a small room lit with disorienting lights and filled with booming music, it is confounding at best, highly stressful at worst. Maybe the gods are simply delighting in the irony of having him visit such a scene; it's about the only way he'd be able to figure this making any sort of sense when looking back on this particular shared dream.

In the now, Glacius has finally managed to extricate himself from the noisy throng of people after having one human too many bump clumsily off his icy armor as they attempt what he thinks might be some form of dancing. Casting a quick look around, he quickly heads over to the bar, not because he wants a drink but because it seems like one of the few places free of the frenetic, uncoordinated movements filling the stage. His ears are ringing thanks to the obscenely loud music, his nostrils burn and his mind is hazy from the stench of alcohol filling the place, and the flashing lights leave flickering floaters and afterspots in his vision.

Trying to recollect himself, Glacius hunches over at the far end of the bar and squeezes his eyes shut, massaging at his temples and shaking his head; only when he raises it a few moments later does he spot Brennan heading towards him. He can only guess what she wants based on the context of the dream, and so he raises a hand and quickly prefaces the interaction.]

-- Hello, I-- look. I do not wish to become inebriated, or partake in any particular substance, and I think if I were to try to dance I might knock a whole clump of you over, so I think it is best if I just stay here for now. [At this little end of the bar, away from the group, as far away as he can get from everything currently transpiring. He's... not exactly in his element, and he knows that it is showing. He also does not particularly care at the moment; he just wants to find a nice quiet spot to hunker down, maybe liquidize and retreat into some cool dark crevice if things are going to keep up this way for the foreseeable future.]

"I mean—" There's that cruel grin again, the one that taunts at the edges, the one that reflects the hardness in his eyes. Long fingers easily pocket the anted items, giving them hardly a thought. They're not what's really important. "—exactly what I said."

A wind blows through the space, tendrils of mist clinging to its edges. Its chill doesn't appear to bother Bakura at all. "If you were so foolish to mistake this as harmless... Well, it's not my problem."

Immediately upon walking in, Taako knows something has gone entirely, horribly wrong.

He's not the fighting type- sure, he's gone into battle plenty of times, and it's not about him being against combat. It's knowing that the best offense is a good defense, and the best defense is to get the hell out of dodge. He's a ranged spellcaster, and especially after Wonderland, his HP isn't the best- stepping somewhere covered in blood and viscera? He shouldn't be here. He should never be here.

It takes him a moment to even recognize the woman standing across from him, but it hardly matters with the announcer and crowd deafening his ears as the ground shakes from their feet. He is not good here. He is the fuckin' opposite of good out here right now.

But she moves, and he knows he has to do something.

Thankfully, he's got a fairly incredible dex score and he's quick to the punch, and in a second he disappears, blinking into temporary invisibility to get the hell out of the way. He only has six seconds to move and ten feet to do it in, so he moves as far as he's able, before dropping suddenly back onto this plane and shooting off three red hot rays of fire out of his staff. Two veer off course almost dramatically, obviously cast in haste, but the third is heading straight for her.

Edited (what's html i dont know her) 2017-10-17 18:07 (UTC)

The memories come back to her in a flash that only dreams can grant: their false lives, her false family, the brilliant son who broke the rules because-- She never did find out why. Perhaps he never felt challenged. Perhaps in their false life, she was distant, too involved in her work. Brennan vows right then to never be too busy for Christine or Booth or anyone she loves.

As for now... she knows the false Brennan's story, but not the first woman's, so it's her she addresses.

"Is your son... Is he like he was in the false world?"

Because if he is, then perhaps she can begin to understand why they were made into a family by their abductors.

...you don't fuck around, that's for sure.

[Aren watches all this with raised eyebrows, the dwarf woman doing her best to stay away from the flames. Just because her gear makes her immune in the waking world doesn't mean it'll hold true in this dream. And she'd like to avoid being singed, just in case.]

Why were they stupid enough to be your enemies?

"Leave!"

It only takes two angry steps to bring him right next to the Pharaoh. It only takes a breath to lean down, to fist his hands in the linen of his garments and drag him off his knees. The thief — the self-styled Thief King — should be glad to see his nemesis so, shouldn't he? It should delight him to see the other man prostrate on his knees but instead it brings him nothing but anger.

There's a crash from below as a roof gives in, a building collapsing in on itself. It sends a whirl of smoke and flames into the air though only harmless sparks are carried to the cliff. One sizzles into Bakura's cheek, nothing more than a super heated piece of sand really, but it's like he doesn't even feel the tiny burn. He's too intent on the Pharaoh, on this trespassing, to care about anything else.

(He tells himself he doesn't care but how can he not, with his village burning down over and over, and him forced to watch...)

"You have no right to be here. None!" The words are hissed out, sibilant and choked by the rage that threatens to close his throat. Even his hands belie the emotion, shaking where he grips the Pharaoh's clothes.

Edited 2017-10-17 18:45 (UTC)

Light from distance sources gives a moonlit glow on everything. Blinking red lights flash from different places. And the gold glimmers with every small movement, even in the dark environment. It's a substance that isn't even around; It's too weak to be practical or valuable.

His silence now is because there is no answer. There is no way to help.

He won't find humans any faster than Kyrii can. He won't find the Net Terminal Gene...

"...Can't."

[Abigail shakes her head at that word.]

There was no justice for me, being born to a father who would twist his love for me in such sick ways. There was no justice in forcing a child to find victims for her father in order to survive.

[She looks around the room and back to him.]

And there's no justice here. You have so much here, you can't judge someone who had nothing and think that's fair.

[She gestures to her chains.]

There are no chains on you for wanting to kill me. Will you die for my soul to rest? And then someone else to die for your soul to rest? What kind of justice doesn't let souls rest until everyone is dead? None. There is no such thing as justice. What you are serving is your need to feel powerful.

[She can almost see her father and Hannibal when she looks at him now.]

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Page 30 of 104

Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

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Mettaton, OTA | will match style!

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HERE! FOR! RAGE!

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