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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[Tucker knows why these folks are different, because he's seen this kind of thing before. These people are much less on edge, much more open, but there's no mistaking it; they're just like his family was.

But while his family looked at him like an outsider they no longer recognized, these wolves are treating him like one of their own. He takes the cup and drinks, smiling despite himself. Yeah, this is nice.

He sees the shadow out of the corner of his eyes, and he reaches for the familiar comforting weight of his revolver- but it isn't there. Being unarmed makes him feel uneasy, makes it hard to enjoy the festivities, but he can't shake the feeling that something is deeply wrong.

Then again, that's just sort of his natural state of being. Maybe it's nothing?]

[When the attack finally happens, it happens with precision. This was planned and executed by an organized force. Shots ring out, snapping into the air like a thunderclap and several of the wolves drop on the spot, dead before they hit the ground.

The panic sets in. It doesn't quite register at first- it's delayed, but soon enough, comprehension dawns and people start screaming. Families try to find one another, fathers reaching for their children to pick up and carry away. Several of the wolves start shifting on the spot, tearing through their clothing, gnashing their teeth as they try to locate the shooters. They're targeted next, though they don't go down quite as easily once they've shifted, and the second volley is not as effective as the first.

They're wearing uniforms- the attackers, that is, and once one of them finally comes to light, shouldering her rifle for a handgun so she can more efficiently disperse of the panicked werewolves at closer range, the uniform looks almost familiar.

Her hair is silver, braided tightly back, and she carries herself with a ruthless efficiency, lifting her weapon and shooting a nearby partygoer through the skull. She advances calmly on one of the wolves who has already shifted, her intention as clear as day. Others start to similarly emerge from the shadows- three or four of them in all, one of whom looks... well, it's difficult to make out who he is in the light of the fire, but it shouldn't be difficult to put two and two together.

It's chaos, it's panic. Tucker might want to find some cover, lest he wind up like the already-dead wolves on the ground.]

[If there's one thing that can reliably be said about Tucker, it's that no one has ever had to tell him twice to run. The second things go from party to chaos, he's back in his usual mindset. Find the exits. Get out.

It was nice spending time with this extended family, so much like his own save for their openness. But when the shit hits the fan, he's glad they're not really his. He doesn't have anyone whose hand he needs to reach for, or anyone whose name he has to call. It's just him, his first priority, just like it's always been.

He doesn't shift, he doesn't take time to figure out what's going on, he just ducks behind the nearest shack. If he wants to make a break for it, he'll need to know where the shots are coming from, so he edges forward until he can barely see the roiling panic of the crowd. Some are standing their ground, some are running blind, but Tucker's eyes hone in on the few that are moving slowly and methodically. The killers. A small part of him resents them for shattering this peace, but most of him's concerned with far more utilitarian goals.

There's not much over out there, but if he bolts while the hunters are still concerned with the little village, he could probably make it far enough before- wait.

He recognizes one of those faces. Rome? Despite himself, he watches for a few more seconds.]

[Rome is one of the smaller of the four- joining him is an impossibly large man that seems to dwarf everyone around him, and two women, one taller than him with close-cropped hair, and then the woman that had revealed herself first with a rather thin frame.

It's just begun and already the worst of it seems over. Bodies are scattered on the ground now, women and men who didn't have the option of fighting back. The faces of the soldiers are impossible to read in this light, but before Tucker can get too far into making them out, someone grabs him from behind, reaching a hand to cover his mouth quickly so he can't cry out in surprise.]

-shh.

[It's Rome, of course it is. Now that he's here in front of Tucker, the similarities to the man with the rifle is eerie. They look maybe five or six years apart, slightly different hairstyles, different decorations on the same uniform.]

I'm going to get you out of here, [he whispers, his gaze flitting up toward the carnage.] Don't do anything stupid.

["Don't do anything stupid". Welp.

That hand on his mouth turns Tucker's fear into instant panic. He's in control of himself enough not to shriek or flail at first, but he's also experienced enough bullshit not to trust Rome- either Rome- implicitly. He needs to get this guy's hands off of him, everything else can wait.

One hand goes up to Rome's wrist, the one attached to the fingers that are over Tucker's mouth. He tries to wrench that hand away while simultaneously shoving roughly at Rome's chest. If the hand on his mouth doesn't move, he'll try to bite it.]

[He pulls back when it's somewhat clear that Tucker isn't going to start screaming everywhere, and rests back on his heels, pointedly not looking at the bloodshed that's happening fifteen feet away from them.

Rome's expression is difficult to read as always, and Tucker doesn't quite know him well enough yet to know when something is off, but something is off now and he's unsettled enough to hesitate, brow furrowed in unease.]

It's alright. You're alright.

[It doesn't seem alright.]

We need to move.

It is definitely not alright.

[He's whispering, but it's harsh.]

What the fuck is going on here?

[Of course, he isn't going to pause their escape attempt to demand answers; even as he asks, he's looking for a good way out.]

It's a-

[It's difficult to explain. Rome doesn't even know if he could make Tucker understand any of the reasoning for it, much less why it's dealt with so harshly.

He hesitates there, uncharacteristic, before turning to lead Tucker back toward a row of shacks, away from the gunfire. Some of the partygoers are running in the same direction, but they haven't been pursued yet.]

-an extermination. This is a wild pack. [His shoulders are tense, but his tone is rather forcibly detached. This is the reason he was given.] They turned a civilian. We don't tolerate foreign entities making monsters of our people.

[The last sentence sounds more like he's quoting someone else then saying it for himself.]

[Tucker follows, but he's waiting for that explanation. And when it comes, it's sort of like being hit in the chest with a bag of bricks.]

An extermination? Like they're fucking cockroaches?

[He feels like his voice is maybe too loud, but it's hard to contain it.

He has two things stuck in his mind. The first is an image of a fire seen through the trees, and sitting around it are a dozen kids, playing and growling and rolling around. They're his cousins, probably; some of them could be his brothers and sisters. He remembers how excited they were to meet strangers, how one of them, wolf-shaped, gnawed playfully on Harlan's shoes.

The second thing is a voice, almost more in his head than his ears. "If you cannot make them leave peacefully, I will be forced to destroy them. They are dangerous."

Those kids were his family, even if their parents didn't accept him anymore; he would've still been one of them, if not for some stupid twist of fate. Maybe they were dangerous, but shit, his moral compass doesn't exactly point north, either.]

They're not monsters, they're people. You're one of them, for fuck's sake. What's wrong with you?

Keep your voice down.

[He moves again, tugging them inside of one of the houses and closing the door behind them. It's seemingly empty, but there's no lock on the door- why would there be one? Rome looks over the inside of the one-room shack, frowning. A bathroom, a closet, both with curtains over the doorways instead of actual doors. Not much cover to be had.

He doesn't look at Tucker.]

I am. [Rome agrees quietly, closing the windows and then the curtains behind them.]

We are all subhuman. The difference between us is that I know my place. They didn't accept theirs and this is the consequence.

[Most of the clamor has died down outside. Rome pauses, withdrawing his own gun and presses himself to the wall, peering out of the window from his position next to it, looking through the slat between the curtain and the wall. His focus is trained on the few inches of visibility it offers him, razor sharp, ready to spring into action if need be.]

I follow orders. It's what I was made to do.

Subhuman? Fucking really? [He does keep his voice down, but it's no less sharp.]

People don't have "places", that's bullshit. [As he rants, he moves over to the doorway between the main room and the bathroom, pulling down the curtain and sliding the rod out of the top. Violence is never his first instinct, but he doesn't want to be completely unprepared.]

Who decides that shit, anyway? Who died and made humans the kings of the fuckin' universe?

[He puts his back to the wall behind the front door, curtain rod at the ready.]

And while we're following orders, here's one: don't.

[He listens to Tucker without ever taking his eyes off of the pathway in front of the shack. The stragglers are starting to attempt their escapes and subsequently be hunted down, meaning that the shots are fewer and farther between, but they're no less indicative of death.]

You're not like me, [he finally says, though even that seems weak.] Neither is Morgan. The wolves in my squad were altered at birth- our development was never human. We lack intelligence, morality, and emotional complexity.

[Rome finally looks at Tucker, for perhaps the first time since they were outside, since before he dragged him away. There's something to it- envy, maybe, guilt, something deeper that even Rome himself would deny he's capable of. But it's there.]

We're attack dogs, Tucker. We look human- we speak well and dress ourselves, but we will never be more than animals.

[Tucker can read people like nobody's business. He knows from that look, from the tone of Rome's voice, that what he's saying, he believes. That does very little to mollify Tucker's anger, but it does redirect it somewhat.]

That's bullshit, too. Did they tell you that? [Of course they did.]

Listen, if a kid raised in the jungle by goddamn apes is still a person, then so are you. My family- [Nope, too personal.] Just because you get treated like an animal, it doesn't make you an animal. That's not how things work.

[And suddenly, a more practical thought.] How allergic are you guys to silver?

A child raised by animals is still a human, [he reminds Tucker quietly- though now is neither the time nor the place for this sort of moral discussion. There's footsteps outside.

Rome's gaze flits toward Tucker for a moment at the question and he already has an uneasiness in his stomach with where it's going but he answers anyway, truthful.]

It causes tissue necrosis with prolonged contact. Internally, an otherwise nonlethal application will kill in a matter of minutes.

[The footsteps seem to stalk near one of the walls of the home, though it isn't near the door yet. Rome's eyes turn back toward the window, standing at the ready. Whoever it is, isn't in his line of sight yet, he doesn't have the information he needs to act just yet- but soon.]

[Tucker gives Rome A Look for that "child raised by animals" comment. Come on dude that was so not the point of his argument. But whatever, they don't have much time.

Tissue necrosis sounds promising, though he's not sure he can manage "prolonged contact". Still, worth the minimal effort. He reaches into his shirt and pulls up the Saint Christopher medal that's always hanging around his neck. It was a gift from someone who had no idea what he was, but he's always found the irony kind of funny.

Shapeshifters aren't allergic to silver, but werewolves sure are.

Tucker snaps the chain with a brief jerk of his wrist, and quietly wraps it around one end of the curtain rod. He'd prefer not to lose it, but his life is far more important, and any edge in saving that is pretty priceless.]

[It's distracting all of a sudden, and Rome looks toward the chain, watching as Tucker moves to tie it around the curtain rod. Even in the dream, he can feel it, and while he's too disciplined to flinch away from it, he doesn't like the fact that it's in his proximity at all.

He's so distracted by it that he misses the footsteps in front of the shack and only notices them when they're partially outside the door. Rome's eyes widen slightly and he moves, startlingly quick compared to his earlier stillness.]

Hide-

[He grabs at Tucker's wrist, trying to tug the other man back behind the second curtain, the one not currently laying in a pool on the floor. The bathroom, he thinks? It's small and cramped but they can both fit and be hidden from view when the door is finally kicked open to reveal- Rome, the younger one, hands bloodied from the recent slaughter. There's a dark expression on his face, and behind him is the woman that they'd seen earlier as well, with the silver braid.

Neither of them look particularly happy.]

[Tucker's already moving when Rome grabs him. He goes along, ducking behind the curtain into the bathroom. He shoves himself into a corner, only able to see through a tiny sliver of light between the curtain and the doorway.

He waits, watching Rome and the woman as they search the tiny dwelling. If he can avoid it, he'd rather not try to fight them, but at this point, he might not be able to. They've sort of brought the fight to him, and they're between him and the exit. Though wasn't there more of them? He keeps a mental note not to bolt without looking first.

For now, he remains entirely still and silent. He even slows his breathing, knowing the range of wolf hearing is greater than most.]

[Thankfully, the search isn't very thorough- more for show than anything. Rome isn't sure how he feels about facing himself, watching a scene play out that he remembers from a different angle. If it came to blows, could he pull the trigger? How could he deal with the idea of killing-]

-she's not here. [The woman finally says, her gaze piercing as she glares toward dream-Romulus. She clearly isn't happy about this, whatever it is, and Rome avoids her gaze as best he can. Her tone is accusatory:] You hesitated.

[It's cramped in the bathroom. Rome can feel the push of the silver at the end of the curtain rod hampering his senses. He tastes it in his mouth, metallic and cold, but he forces stillness. He would, of course, rather Tucker not see this, but it's not like they could just go out there, guns blazing. For one, they'd have to kill Rome- another version of him, at least. For two, Fenrir would likely kill them both in an instant.]

She- Captain, she was a child. [The dream-him finally says after a long pause. It sounds weak, even to him. His voice raises slightly and he turns toward her.] It's likely our superiors didn't know-

[What happens next is a whirlwind- a loud sound, a slam that shakes the entire shack as Fenrir takes a forearm to the front of Rome's shoulders, fist against his collarbone as she shoves him back against the nearby wall. She's shorter than him, smaller, but when she leans in and speaks, the imbalance of power between the two werewolves is clear. Her voice is a low growl, not to be questioned.]

You're too blind to see what this is, Hart. They're waiting for us to fail- your handler has his finger on the trigger. Do this again and I will not protect you. Do you understand?

[He nods, knowing better than to speak. Her fist eases slightly, but she still keeps him pressed back against the wall, keeps her tone even.]

You are going to find the girl and finish this. I will exclude your complications from my report. You will not falter again.

[It's an order, unquestionable. The dream-Rome gives her another small nod and she eventually relents, letting him up off of the wall. His captain stalks away without another word, casting a withering glance toward the curtain that Rome and Tucker are hidden behind. She doesn't see them- or if she does, she's not supposed to somehow in the fabric of this dream, and so she keeps walking.

Rome- the one in the room- rubs at the hollow of his shoulder for a moment, looking down at his firearm in a silent reflection of the conversation. There's little emotion to it: one moment he's considering her words and the next, he's steel, unexpressive and not dissimilar to the Rome who Tucker had first met the previous month or so. After another handful of seconds, he's gone as well, leaving out the back door in search of the girl who he had been ordered to hunt down.]

...we should move, [Rome finally says, opening the curtain to step out.] After a moment. So we can be sure that they're gone.

[Watching the tense exchange is an emotionally mixed bag for Tucker. There's fear, of course, since these people will try to kill him if they find him. But there's something else, too, a weird twist to his gut when the captain slams dream-Rome against the wall, when she tells him they're waiting for us to fail. He's not entirely sure what he thought was going on here, but this solidifies it.

Whoever's in charge of these two, they're literally treating them like animals, just using them as dogs to hunt down their own kind. Which Rome said, yeah, but Tucker takes everything he hears with a grain of salt, always assuming that the speaker is exaggerating, or twisting the truth for their own agenda. Sometimes they're just remembering things wrong, or talking from a perspective where they didn't see the full picture. Looks like Rome wasn't.

Seriously though, what the fuck. People in Tucker's world are shitty about werewolves too, but at least they don't force them to murder each other. (They do that themselves.)]

Yeah, sure. [Tucker moves out of the bathroom, keeping low, trying to see through the doorway outside. He figures that carrying around a shiny metal pole won't be the brightest idea outdoors, so he ditches it, shoving the St. Christopher medal in his jacket pocket.

There's something he wants to know.]

Was that real? Like, is this a memory? I figure it is, but I also know dreams do weird shit, so: is this really how this went down?

[He doesn't respond for a moment- he's listening outside, trying to ensure that they're actually alone, that it would be safe to leave soon. He thinks that most of the danger has passed, but it's impossible to be sure, just like it's impossible to know how long this goes for, if it will end as usual, or if it's different now that Tucker is here. Rome frowns, reaching for his weapon again, compulsively ensuring that it's loaded.]

Yes.

[It's a simple answer to a simple question. The gun is loaded, like he remembers. He rearms it.]

Normally I'm- not an onlooker. When I dream about it.

[He's the one doing the killing, just like he remembers. He's the one doubting the necessity of it, just like he remembers. He's the one who doesn't let his softer side get in the way of the slaughter- just like he remembers. There's a certain visceral misery to replaying the same steps over and over again, unable to change it, unable to know if it could have been different in the first place. He followed orders. He did what he was told. Questioning whether or not he should have changed things is the precipice to a very frightening sort of cliff that Rome is nowhere close to being able to scale, so he accepts it, like he always does. Moves forward, like he always does.

Dreams about it, like he always does.

Rome's jaw is tense and he peers out onto the street again from behind the curtain.]

It usually ends when I find the girl. I don't think it will be long now.

So what, you think we should just wait?

[He'd prefer that, honestly. If they can just sit in this weird hut and not have to run around and try not to get shot, that is vastly preferable. But before either of those options, he feels like he has to clear the air on something.

This isn't just a random dream, this is a memory. This actually happened. Which means Rome's bullshit explanation earlier didn't just come from dreamland. It's something he's actually had in his head, something he's probably used to justify this to himself a thousand times.

And that's fucked up.]

Hey, you do know this is bullshit, right?

[He puts a hand on Rome's shoulder, but he's ready to pull it away if Rome gets testy.]

Like I'm sorry this happened to you, but you have to know that. This is wrong. This is fucked up. What they did to you is super not kosher.

[He has to know that. Right?]

Maybe.

[If this dream is like the others. If something isn't different now that Tucker is here.

He's not expecting the sudden contact but he doesn't quite flinch away- the other man is taller than he is and when they're closer like this, Rome has to look up to him. He's used to it, but it still sets off a small warning bell in the back of his mind. He hasn't forgotten that his acquaintance here is... well, not a werewolf per se, but similar enough and foreign enough that it skews his instincts sideways. He's good at repressing them, he always has been, but it's still there, a murmur in the back of his mind that amplifies when James touches him.

He's also not entirely sure what Tucker is trying to say- whether he's admonishing Rome or his superiors or both of them and he resists the urge to be defensive about it, instead forcing the sort of calm that's come to be expected of him.]

It isn't my place to judge what was done.

[He finally says, shaking his head.]

To me or to anyone else. I'm not... [he falters just for a moment here, struggling for the right word] ...I don't- have that. Whatever it is that makes you able to pass that sort of judgement, feel the way you feel. A soul, or a higher form of sentience, or whatever you'd like to call it.

[Slowly, Rome takes a step back, reasserting the distance between them.]

You're looking for it in me. It isn't there.

What are you even-

[Tucker has to take a second to collect himself. This is so unlike him, getting emotional about things, getting angry. He never gets angry, not really. He lets things roll right off of him, because they don't have anything to do with him, they're not his problem.

But this is somehow... personal. He can't help it. He's still pissed.]

Yeah, it is your place. You're the one who gets to decide how to feel about things that happened to you, or that you were there for. Shit, you can decide how to feel about stuff that's got nothing to do with you. That's the benefit of having emotions.

[Even animals have emotions. Which Rome isn't. He's not letting that one go, because if Rome's just an animal, then what does that make him? He's less human, even. He's not human at all, he was never human to begin with.]

You're trying to tell me you don't have, what? A conscience? Because I call bullshit.

[He points, vaguely, in the direction that dream-Rome left.]

You gave a shit. You didn't want to do this. I saw that. Now I don't know shit about souls, but as far as I'm concerned? Same thing.

Edited (ah yes, html fuckups) 2017-11-28 11:01 (UTC)

[He's quiet at that, turning away for a moment. What Tucker is asking from him is something that he's not quite willing to look for- if there's a semblance of humanity inside of him, if it's just as real and just as valid as everyone around him, then his handlers were wrong about him. About them. If he gets to decide how he feels about something, then a fundamental rule is broken, and then-

And then? What else were they wrong about? What other rules can be broken? It's a step from a very high precipice and Rome isn't willing to trust that there's a bottom to it, or that it won't somehow swallow him whole. He isn't ready to jump, he isn't there yet, and the idea of ever being there is more terrifying than anything else.

He doesn't know a lot of things, he doesn't feel a lot of things, but that sudden strike of fear is something he feels- that Tucker is picking at a thread interwoven in the fabric that makes up the core of his entire life, and that he's frightened of what would happen it if unwound.

Still, Rome barely lets on that he's struggling at all. The pause is longer than normal, he stares off for a moment or two as he recollects himself, and then he nods slowly.]

Maybe.

[That's all he'll grant him. Rome opens his mouth to speak again, but before he can, a piercing, terrified shriek echoes over the campground- not close, but amplified by the dream, the kind of sound that can't ever really be forgotten once you've heard it.

He tenses at the sound, recognizing it, and looks back toward Tucker.]

...it's over. You're going to wake up now.

[He swallows hard. Just as loud, as if it's happening right next to them, comes the sound of a single shot. The world starts going black at the edges.]

You're only dreaming.

[Maybe. It's better than nothing.

The scream makes Tucker's heart beat faster, but the gunshot seems to freeze it in place. He can feel consciousness slipping in, dragging him back from the dream. He only has seconds left.]

Don't forget. Think about it.

[And then he's jerking awake, pushing himself upright, but everything's at a slightly wrong angle. Oh, right, he went to sleep his other form.

He glances over at his phone on the table beside the bed, thinking of firing off a text at Rome. He can still feel a weird tug in his chest, a mixing of anger and sadness. But then, he's never been great at talking about emotional stuff, and outside of dreams, he barely knows the guy. Despite Tucker's command, there's a chance he doesn't even remember.

Another time, maybe.]

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Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

well this got sad

rip future us

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