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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[ Look, this is the best and least complicated good thing that he's had going on for a while, large-scale. Lup hanging around Taako is kinda what he expects. The seven of them don't have to be tripping over each other on the deck of a spaceship to be close and spending time together. And thank Pan for that, honestly, because Mookie's a 24/7 focus job and Merle doesn't have time to worry about not-healing his work kids.

Mookie, who's basically the combined runoff of Taako, Lup, and Magnus to Mavis's combined Lucretia, Dav, and Barry, shrieks with some emotion that is either pleasant or unpleasant, it's hard to tell?? Probably pleasant, because this is a chill-ass dream where he knows his many aunts and uncles, and also he's not crying.

"You'd only be teaching me how to destroy you!" Mookie shouts in his characteristic lisp that I don't want to phonetically type out.

Merle's taken to laughing too, in the meantime, because he's not a saint and it's hilarious when people do this kinda shit. Provided he knows them well enough to know they won't actually to his children. Other children, ehhhh. Maybe. ]

Lemme see your degree in cosmetic surgery first!

[This place is... oppressive. It's almost like it's hard to breath, and hard to focus, and Rhy looks so heartbroken.]

Left to go where?

Lup hates the feeling of just sitting around, but it's clear that he needs to do this, so she backs off, moving to press her robe against the back of the woman's head, keeping her neck stabilized. Doing what she can to keep her safe.

Each moment that she doesn't respond is another nail in the coffin, Lup's shoulders drooping the longer this takes, the more uncertain this stranger's outcome is. But suddenly, just in time, the woman coughs, she breathes. The relief there is tangible, Lup choking out an awkward laugh as tears spring to her eyes. She keeps her robe pressed to the open wound, hoping to ease the bleeding until real help can arrive.

"Holy shit, you scared us. Fucking hell."

[ Let's get it out there first thing. Thanks for not immediately, instinctively decking a child in defense.

Secondly: Merle loses his shit laughing for a few seconds when he turns around, and nobody can stop that. It's too good. This content is too good, and he hopes that somewhere out there there's a spell that can let Lucretia see it, so he can commission a painting of it, specifically. But he guesses he can come to a buddy's aid. ]

What are you gonna do, press charges? [ He's funny, dammit! ] C'mon, Mookie, that face is your Uncle Taako's bread and butter! Can't mess up his bread and butter!

[ To his credit, Mookie stops actively trying to murder Taako. "I just wanna wrassle 'im!" ]

Nah, nah. Nah, he's a big weenie like Angus. C'mon, how about you look for some pine cones? Or go try to climb Barry's leg? Huh?

[ Somewhere in the vicinity, Barry says "w- wait, what-?" Mookie doesn't look entirely convinced. But Mavis marks her page and closes her book, and gives Mookie.... a Look. The younger sibling herding look.

This gives Mookie the impetus to launch himself towards Barry, and he basically screams "CAN I TRY ON YOUR GLASSES" while he's latching onto a denim-clad knee. Barry may be the first victim in a nerd pile-up. Mookie will probably inevitably return for round two when he gets bored. Pan help us all. ]

This castle Fingon never saw in life, but it does not take long to guess where he is. The minds and hands who built it are familiar, after all, and its stonework echoes more familiar fortresses like a younger sister does her elder.

He turns toward the courtyard, hoping to find a familiar face, only to be greeted by the Light rising in the West. A light once as familiar as his grandfather's face, one he had thought just as unlikely he would see again. It is as breathtaking as Valinor at the morning of the world. And yet...

Somewhere up there, it occurs to him, hidden in the glow of the jewel, is his niece's boy. A nephew he has never seen, entrusted with the last memory of the Trees.

Fingon is not entirely sure how he feels about that, to be honest. Holy the Light may be, but most of those lives have crossed the path of the Silmarils do not seem to have been improved by the experience.

Ephemera laughs suddenly, hands resting on Chica's shoulders. She's breathing. She's going to be okay. Her eyes are half-lidded and there's a rattle when she breathes, like there's something broken inside, but she's alive. It's enough. "Your makeup's fucked up," he tells her, breathless.

God, she's alive.

"Lup, take a picture. I need this shit documented. The day she wasn't ready to model a fucking runway."

Chica wheezes.

Then, deliberately, she gives him the finger.

[The man turns towards her, looking utterly surprised at the intrusion, and the twins take the moment to take a few, measured steps back, freezing in place the moment the scene shifts back towards them as if they hadn't moved at all. They don't look scared, exactly- nervous, sure, but not scared. This isn't their first run with this. Isn't the first time things have gone wrong.

Still, he sputters at her sudden intrusion, as if his blood pressure wasn't already high enough from this.]

You listen here-- nobody steals from me and gets away with it! Now you're even more fucked, kid, if you think I won't take all of you--

[He moves further towards them, and Lup breaks her arm from Taako's grip, starting to run towards his right side, and Taako breaks left, both of them knowing he can't get them simultaneously- and go directly for the knees, intending on dropping the guy quickly.]

Lup makes a soft noise, like she may just burst into tears over this sweet reunion, but finally scoots back just enough to give the two a moment together. It's just so damn cute.

It's a dream so when Lup searches her pockets, she finds her phone, pulling it out for a quick picture, precisely as Chica is flicking her brother off. It won't last, not when they leave this dreamscape, but the woman still flicks her screen to show the image off, laughing at the sudden lightness in her chest. It's not her moment, but she can't help but join in, sitting back on the sand, finally letting herself breathe.

"She still looks hella hotter than you, dickhead."

The what?

[She can't quite wrap her head around it. He's explaining, but none of it is sticking, because most of it sounds like someone narrating fucking Forensic Files, and it's like her mind doesn't want to accept that this is legitimate.]

Is this... That thing possessing you did it?

[He laughs a little as she nudges him, eyes shut, grin wide. She's right to see the happiness in his step, the way he swings his hip back in time.]

Uh, not if it's on me, goofus.

[Said in the distinct tone of 'there's no way you're getting this back.']

What took you so long? Doesn't look like you did somethin' crazy with your hair or anything. I mean, I get it, letting me be the star of the show or whatever, but I almost had to leave and come find you. What a bummer that would've been.

SORROW

It's not a nice place, really-- but it's fitting, probably, to be under the Buckingham bridge for this. Construction work was being done there, but little white candles provide enough light to see by, illuminating the area with a warm yellow glow despite how dark it is. Amid the construction debris, the crates and timbers and corrugated metal fencing marred with graffiti, a space has been cleared. A small table has been set up on the left side, just a piece of wood held up with cinderblocks and lit with more candles. In the center of it, there's a helm with big curling horns like a ram's and a bottle of liquor and several paper cards that have notes written on the inside. The contents of these notes are similar-- i miss you and i'll never forget you and

you were a big bright shining star in this shithole of a town

other such sentiments.

Further in, there's an alcove made by the metal fencing, and a fire has been set up there, burning behind a stack of stones and a round wooden shield. In front of that, there are a few rows of benches, all as equally ramshackle as the table, barely more than planks on cinderblocks. If they'd had a body, it would've been a funeral pyre, maybe.

The place is empty, except for one person sitting on one of the back benches. Gren sits and stares into the crackling fire, shoulders slumped a little and-- though maybe it's just the way that the shadows cut sharp lines on his face-- looking a little on the haggard side.

The silence is broken only by the sounds of the fire consuming its fuel and the steady hiss of summer rain.

DELIGHT

[Gren will see the visiting person as Holly in this dream, his best friend and owner of the bar.]

A TV has been set on the corner of the bar, turned to a channel that's showing a Mexican telenovela. The main female lead swoons dramatically on the screen, overcome with grief and anguish over being unable to sway her father from his plans for her arranged marriage. Despite all her protests, poor Sofia will be married to wealthy Roberto whether she likes it or not, despite her true love for the poor but otherwise devastatingly handsome Diego.

Gren is sitting at the bar, drinking a lukewarm beer and watching the whole of this drama as it plays out onscreen. He's smoking a cigarette that, by the smell of it, doesn't contain much tobacco at all; after taking a particularly long drag on it, he passes it along. Can't be selfish with your kush, puff and pass is just good manners.

"True love's fuckin' overrated anyway," he says, while on the screen, Sofia clutches at her father's hands and begs for him to change his mind. "Fuck, she can just lay back and think of Mexico or some shit for a couple of years and he'll probably have a fuckin' heart attack anyway."

Sage love advice, courtesy of the murderpotato. Really, he should go into counselling, he's a goddamn natural. He slugs back some of his beer and wipes the foam off of his lips with the back of his hand.

"That's the real fuckin' American dream, right? Marry rich, wait for the bastard to die and then do whatever the fuck you want."

Gren is clearly both a scholar and a gentleman.

"If you got the tits to carry that kind of thing, anyway. So I'm shit outta luck."

He plucks at his shirt right over his skinny chest and sort of giggles at his own joke, just the right amount of drunk and high to be in a good mood.

How easily you do what I could not, cousin.

[His own temper is calmed as well, under the influence of Maglor's song, there is a hint of sorrow in his eyes. He lost control of his army, at the last. He failed them in that.]

Look, even Gwindor seems calmer now. I told my guard-

[When I catch up to that fool it won't be Balrogs he needs to worry about is exactly what he'd told his men, before heading out to save the little idiot and the rest of his vanguard, but in the world of the dream what is and what was are blurred, and Fingon suddenly isn't quite sure whether or not that happened. Yet.]

Wait....

[Begging? Suffering? Nothing of that is going to happen here, not at all. While the Pharaoh is good with a sword and Bakura won't deny that fact, he's not good enough for this chance. It's obvious to the thief that he's going to press the attack; it's also exactly what he would do if their positions were reversed. It's for that reason that he's already dodging the blow, for that reason that Diabound's arm already moves to intercept the sword stroke.]

You didn't think it would be that easy, did you? You disappoint me, Pharaoh.

[And he manages to make it to the other side of that bridge, away from the chasm and onto slightly more solid ground — as solid as a half-built tomb can be, anyway. Still intent on pursuing him, Pharaoh?]

It's happening again. And again, like the other nights he's dreamed this same dream, nothing he tries stops the massacre and the destruction. It's why he's on the cliff, why he tells himself that the distance makes it hurt less. And he knows that it's a lie, but it's the only buffer he has between himself and the overwhelming rage.

But this time, there's something else.

It almost happens too fast; the figure moving below catches his attention just as it nears his child self. The thief has the impression of long limbs and a lanky build, of reaching arms before they're suddenly just gone. Eyes squint, peering into the night in an attempt to discern exactly what happens when the commotion right next to him causes him to take a step back in surprise.

Well, he was right about the physical impression: super long limbs! He's met very few people that physically tall. But already he's sizing up the man, even as he's ready for a fight — just in case.

"Who are you?" Which is perhaps not the nicest greeting to the person who just saved the dream-child version of yourself, but he's never been big on manners to begin with.

"Does it matter? You're just a figment of my imagination."

There's bitterness in his voice, wrapped around a hurt he's trying to deny he feels. What use is there to kill the Pharaoh? It can't change what happened to his people — and with his luck and how he's been forced to relive this dream over and over, chances are the Pharaoh would just come back with it.

He really, really doesn't want to deal with it if that's the case.

But he'd never say that, never dare admit anything close to a weakness to the other man. It's bad enough that the Pharaoh not only saw the memory, but that he expressed emotion for it. What right does he have to feel?

"What does a village of thieves mean to a king, anyway?" His only defense right now is his anger, his only weapon his words.

Edited 2017-10-19 04:27 (UTC)

"Do you really think so?"

There's the barest, faintest gleam of golden light at Bakura's forehead. It's there and gone in an instant, a brief suggestion of the outline of an eye. Arms cross over his chest — the movement is a little awkward for the presence of the Duel Disk — and that smirk is still firmly in place. For someone who's all long limbs and little muscle, someone who looks to be next to useless in a physical fight, he's pretty confident in the manner of intimidating poses.

Although that crackle of electricity is interesting indeed. What manner of man is this? Bakura had't paid too much attention to him during the duel — the opening moves had made it clear that it would not be a hard challenge — but now he takes note indeed. What an interesting contribution to his collection of souls this one will be!

"You see, you've lost the game. And when the shadows are promised a soul, that soul does not escape."

[Newt notices the other kid right away, even though the crowd is thick and it's tough to see the audience with all the lights up on stage. This kid's different, somehow. It's like he's the only other person around with a face. Everyone else is hazy and they all blend together, which is why Newt doesn't feel super bad about bailing on his band obligations for a brief second.]

Hey! Do you play? Get up here! [There's probably a spare guitar or mic or some other kind of instrument off to the side of the stage. Clearly this kid knows what's up in terms of awesome music, so they may as well jam together.]

[Oh. Newt peeks around the Pons to squint at the intruder. He doesn't recognize this guy... Which means he's probably not important enough to get Newt in trouble. Cool! He stands, watching Merle carefully for a moment before getting back to tinkering with the wires. A visitor is fine, but he's gotta keep working.]

How'd you get in here?

[Newt knows he's not supposed to be here. He's interrupting something, snooping around in a place that doesn't belong to him. It's like when he Drifted with the Kaiju, and then with Hermann. It feels like his because nothing has been in his head that wasn't his before, but that doesn't make it his.

But he's here and he's not sure how to leave and the dinosaur lady he met a few days ago is just down the hall. He hears her fiddling before he sees her. Her grumbling is quiet under all the other noises of this place, but it's the only sound that doesn't set him on edge. It's familiar, if nothing else.]

Alphys? Where are we?

Law needs just a moment to make sure he didn't accidentally squish the terrified child, and in that instant he hears the voice and turns quickly, ready to defend with just his hands if he has to. His nodachi somehow never makes it into his dreams with him. The robed figure seems to be unarmed, though, and from the look on his face, most likely isn't reveling in the scene below them with glee. So, not helping out those soldiers.

Letting the kid go free, he unfolds and stands up at his full height, squaring his shoulders to face Bakura and give an honest answer. "No one of consequence. I just couldn't let it happen."

[The hangar is full, and Newt knows it's because the war is over. He thought it was the Kaiju War, at first, but after a moment he realizes this isn't the Shatterdome. He'd be up in the command center with Tendo and Hermann if it was, anyway.

But the war is over, that much he knows, so he's not overly concerned with which war. This is good, right? Good things are happening. And someone's talking to him.]

Not sure. [But then he considers her question and, hazily, he remembers something, though he's not sure where he's pulling it from.] Are they coming in one of the hovercrafts? It could take a while. We're pretty far from the Capitol.

You didn't scare me. I don't get scared.

[Ugh. He presses his weight onto the rabbit to hold it still as he reaches for the trowel again, not paying attention to Atem's attempt at staying peaceful. He's busy. Adults do this stuff all the time, anyway. They try too hard, like he's some delicate thing that needs coddling.]

Mom's gonna be done in the bathroom soon and then I'll have to go back in. I'll get in trouble if she catches me. [Sort of, anyway. He doesn't really get in trouble in the conventional sense, but the consequences to disobeying Mom's rules are still something he would like to avoid.]

Temperance. That's pretty.

[And familiar. Is this the woman with the fox? Temperance is hardly a common name.]

A little over nine years. It sucked, but... [He'd dealt with worse. He realizes, though, that that could be an important distinction between his experience and hers.]

But you'll be alright. [Which he can say more confidently if she's the Temperance he knows. He doesn't know her that well, but he also knows her as Dr. Temperance Brennan. That sounds alright enough to him.]

[ They are the last ones. He isn't sure why it happened or what it means.

But he stands near her now, trying to remember. ]

Are you hurt?

[He doesn't know what she's feeling, not really. His parents never left him, they just never loved him. In the end, he was the one who left. This is a different story - something else, painful in a different way. He doesn't know what she's feeling, but he thinks he can understand some of it.]

He's not all you have left. You have yourself.

[That probably won't be comforting, but it's what he has to offer. For a very long time, all Adam ever had was himself.]

If he doesn't come back, you'll still have that.

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Page 37 of 104

Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

bless this mess

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i mean out of context it sounds ominous but HELL YEAH

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Gren | OTA

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omg i love this! you are awesome!!

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it's scary that they can share this experience

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