Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

[hadrielmods]

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.

Comments

Bakura | open to all

[stealer_ofsouls]

ooc:Dreams are in comments. I always open with prose, but I'll match whatever format you desire. Plotting post is here or you can hit me up at sometimesamuse.

For Delight, don't feel obligated to stick to my exact scenario; I will happily customize the game/scene for you, just let me know.

Rage & Sorrow | content warning for genocide

[stealer_ofsouls]

It's nighttime, but the darkness only serves to throw into sharp relief that fire that rushes through the town. The buildings are brick, mud baked in the heat of the sun, hardened and laid as dwellings for a simpler people in a simpler time. This is ancient Egypt, a small village in the middle of the dessert. It's a not always a quiet place but its everyday chaos is nothing compared to what now unfolds.

Screams fill the air — women and children yes, but men's voices as well. They are filled with confusion and with fear; fear is the greater of the two, so thick that the air is practically saturated with it. A woman stumbles into view, her face streaked and dirty with her tears, blood running down her leg as she tries to flee. She's cut down from behind by a soldier's spear, the point bursting from her chest like a sick parody of a flower surrounded by the petals of her blood. She never stood a chance.

She's not the only one.

The soldiers are merciless and indiscriminate; with swords and spears they slaughter the villagers, giving no regard to age or sex or physicality. The few who try to fight meet a particularly brutal end, but from the organization of the soldiers and the pitifully inadequate response of the villagers, it's clear that this is a surprise attack — and clear as well that the soldiers are enjoying the killing. The fires rage unchecked, smoke and flames forcing residents from their hiding places and onto the blades of their attackers. Screams for help and cries for mercy are all ignored by the soldiers and by the priests standing in the center of the village. In fact, it's the latter who seem to be directing the efforts; a man dressed somewhat more ornately than the others calls out orders and directs the bodies to be dragged to a stairway, one that leads to a basement of sorts. Here and there words like sacrifice and necessary are heard over the commotion.

Can there ever be anything necessary about such brutal slaughter?

Amidst all the terror and confusion there's a small sob, cut off almost as soon as it sounds. A child, brown-skinned with pale silver hair, crouches behind the corner of a building that's more rubble than structure; his hand presses tightly to his mouth to muffle his sounds. He's small, maybe four or five years of age, and his eyes are wide as they're glued to the scene playing out in front of him. He cannot look away. That he's thus far escaped the notice of the soldiers is something of a miracle — or perhaps a curse. Soot and dirt stains his face and his tears make trails through the mess. This is his home, these people his people, and there is nothing in his small frame, none of the rage or fear or sorrow, that can stop the killing.

The child bites his lip, hard, to hold in the next sob. Blood trickles in a thin stream down his chin, and he cups his hands over his ears to try to block out the sound of the screams. But his eyes never leave the scene, riveted to the horror of the carnage, and his tears continue to fall.

---

Above the town is a cliff, a ridge of sand and rock jutting sharply against the sky. On it stands a man. He is dressed in a deep red robe over a linen shenti, with simple sandals to protect his feet from the sand and rock. His arms cross over his muscular chest as he watches the scene unfold below him and his expression is fierce, caught somewhere between anger and anguish. The light of the fires below throws his features into sharp relief and highlights in lurid detail the scar running down the right side of his face; miraculously it spares his eye but makes ruin of his cheek instead and that fact combined with his expression gives him a fearsome visage indeed. Yet more importantly the fire also shows that he has the same hair as that young child hiding in the rubble; his eyes are those same eyes — though they burn now not from tears or from soot, but from barely contained rage as he lives out once more the genocide of his village.

[puzzlingly]

And next to the man in red...?

Yes, you guessed right. There is Atem, there is the great Pharaoh staring in complete distraught at the scene below him. The fires intensify his fear, the horror and the grief on his face, mirroring his counterpart to perfection in the complete opposite way.

His knees give in, for as strong as Atem might be, he cannot take this. The pain down his stomach, down his chest is way too much to bear. The agony, it only reminds him to the time the spirits of these people took over him, how they violated the sanctuary of his body trying to reach for his soul, to tear it apart. He feels sick, he doesn't know what to do with all the vile down his throat, so he swallows and swallows, trying to keep his breathing even -- he can't.

Is this what his uncle had done for the good of all of Egypt? Had it truly be worth it?

No, no of course not. But he cannot go back in time, he cannot fix it, and it makes it all worse.

He cannot take his eyes off the child. It's impossible, for him, not to know who he is, it's the worst part of it all. The look on his face urges him to reach for him, to take him away from that terrible place. But the shame is way too much him to deal, he wants to run away instead, leave this place, leave his memory behind, forget it all over again.

Atem does not need to look up to know he is there, beside him, and that his attention, for now, it's not focused on him. He can feel the rage, the pain and his lust for vengeance coming from him, he can almost taste it in the atmosphere and it makes him want to throw up, it reaches for his heart and crushes it without any mercy.

And Bakura he... has every right to it... He always did...

[stealer_ofsouls]

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.

[puzzlingly]

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.

[stealer_ofsouls]

"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.

cw: suicidal ideation

[puzzlingly]

Atem feels himself being lifted, forcefully onto his feet, high enough that the tip of his feet barely touch the ground. And he meets those eyes as he grabs from that unkind arm holding him still, and he can feel himself going back in time again. How many times will they play this game? How many time will they meet until it's the last?

He hears the words and cannot but agree. He's right! He cannot just tell him so, the words are still stuck down his throat. Apologies, threats even, all lost under the smoke of that town he never saw, not like this anyway. And no matter how far they are, he can hear him, he can hear the muffled sobs of the child, of the man in front of him.

There is an incredible amount of remorse in those eyes, pleading for something he doesn't deserve. But the Pharaoh looks away a moment later, not out of shame, however, he glances over the abyss down them, locking eyes again with the Bandit.

"Drop me..."

It's a raspy, pitiful sound what comes out of him, imploring and pathetic.

"Drop me, Bakura..."

[stealer_ofsouls]

Have they stood over a cliff like this before, hands fisted in cloth and threatening to let go? Have they ever stood so close, period? Have they ever stood close enough for the thief to really see the emotions flickering through those deep amethyst eyes? Regret and sorrow and anguish are written there, plain as day, like the Pharaoh has a right to share in his suffering.

It disgusts and angers him both.

"You don't get to have it so easy." He shoves Atem away from him, not over the side of the cliff but back and into the sand and rock. Why should the Pharaoh be granted an easy, painless death, the noble sacrifice he so clearly seems to want to be? Life doesn't work like that; life hadn't spared the innocent lives lost (or the innocence of a child lost) to the massacre.

He stalks over to the Pharaoh, one knee finding the ground near the other man.

"Where's your talk now, of justice and right? Can't you make those speeches without the souls of my people hanging around your neck?"

[puzzlingly]

Of course... He should have seen it coming, or maybe he did. Bakura wasn't going to let him go just as easy, no matter if his presence was what hurt his pride the most.

It is not hard at all to toss the little Pharaoh in such way, his small frame being almost perfect for the task, making him stumble over the land and make him scrape the side of his face, his arm, his leg. It hurts, but nothing would compare to the pain all this suffering brings him.

He doesn't get up immediately, propping himself up on an elbow and looking up at Bakura again. There goes the little speech and Atem drives a hand down to his chest, trying to find something that hasn't been there for a long time. The Puzzle did not come with him, it's been lost ever since he then, since that day. Atem bites the inside of his lower lip, hard, he's truly nothing without it... Just a regular man.

"What do you want, Bakura...? I'm here now, I'm alone." In every meaning of the word, "Wasn't this what you wanted?"

[stealer_ofsouls]

"What I wanted?" The laugh is cruel and with a touch of insanity; the child had not come out of that trauma unscathed. It takes a cruel life to make a cruel man and the thief has known nothing of kindness since this very night.

The ground is hard under his knees, the rock and sand warm from the day and from the fires, but he doesn't care. What matters is the Pharaoh, that detestable presence who looks up at him with such deep eyes. Why is he even here? To taunt the thief? To feel the emotions that Bakura has long since blocked out of himself? To be a beautiful little sacrifice, offering himself up when he knows it'll do no good?

"And let you ascend to the afterlife?" The words are growled out, angry and bitter. "A paradise my people will never know?"

[puzzlingly]

The laugh chills him to the bone, apparently, it always has, but he's never shown it. And today it is no different. After recovering his memories, Atem finally remembered why he hated it, why it scared him, and now there is a taint of sadness added to the many negative emotions that mere laugh makes him feel.

That insanity, it started here.

Should Atem let him know that he will probably never reach the afterlife? That he's stuck in a godforsaken place, and with him, of all people?

"Then what? What is it that you want from me?" Does he even know? Atem's voice finally seems to be recovering its bite.

[hot_mes]

Considering just the other night Law had found himself in a weird desert palace scenario, walking into a similar scene jars him for a moment. What's this? Atem again? But there's no time to stop and look around for the weird hair that would confirm it, the rest of the action around him freezes him in his tracks.

It's not that he's shocked. It's not that he would never imagine this kind of violence and inhumanity happening. It's that he's been through the exact same thing and he's sure he's finally free of that nightmare. If so, then whose is this one?

Before the trauma can come back, he hears the little noise and turns sharply. Yeah, that's a kid, just like him. No, no, no one else. Not like me. At least, unlike that day, he's now an adult with an ability to act. His attention turns to the soldiers on horseback, and his rage mingles with that of the dream host. He could destroy them all, but what would that little kid witness if he did? So instead, he summons a Room large enough to encompass the whole village and then breaks into a run, lunging to grab the boy even as his wrist twists and they teleport well outside the range of any spears.

What Law doesn't know is that the adult version of that child is right behind the spot where he lands.

omg i love this! you are awesome!!

[stealer_ofsouls]

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.

it's scary that they can share this experience

[hot_mes]

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 best and worst kind of bonding

[stealer_ofsouls]

They're both a little on their guard, it's plain enough to see. But considering that this stranger seems to be taking a protective stance toward the child, Bakura forces himself to relax. What threat is he to his young self anyway?

"It already did; that could never be changed." Will this man be able to connect the dirty child with the grown man in front of him? The thief knows not. The child, for his part, shivers between the two men, prompting the thief to shed his outer robe and drop it around the small shoulders.

Another scream leads him to glance at the scene below even though it's not like he doesn't know what's happening, not like he hasn't replayed this night in his memories for centuries. But still he looks, and what he sees pains him.

"There are kings who did not care, yet someone of no consequence does."

too right

[hot_mes]

It's true that both of them seem to have the same hair, it's entirely possible they're related. Law decides to save his conclusions for a moment, until he has more evidence. He snorts angrily under his breath. "Kings never care," he growls. "Not when they can escape the responsibility."

And when they do, why do they always set the towns on fire?

He turns to gaze down at the scene below, the better to have this talk without making eye contact. "If it already happened, then does that make this a memory?"

[stealer_ofsouls]

"No. They don't." It's refreshing to find someone else who thinks so. In his world, in his existence, the Pharaoh has always been the figure considered right and good and just. Dissension against that opinion is rare indeed, and this stranger's candid manner is refreshing in that regard.

It perhaps says something that it's easier to watch the scene below than to look at each other to ask and answer that question.

"It is." The child has decided that he's as good as his rescuer, apparently, and has pressed himself to the thief's leg. With the robe wrapped around him, he looks like an overly large red cloth lump. But Bakura pulls the hood of the robe over the child's head, to block out the view of the massacre below. "One long since dead."

But never buried, oh no. Memories like this one never fade.

[hot_mes]

It's for the best, really, Law's not that cuddly. He glances aside as if to verify that the kid is safe, and sniffs a small noise of approval at the way he's hidden from view. Definitely safe, in more ways than one. Maybe it's only just for this one time, but he'll escape having to witness the horrors.

"What did they want?" he wonders darkly. "Land? Resources? Someone piss off the wrong warlord?"

[stealer_ofsouls]

Cuddly is probably not a word one would use to describe the thief either, but it's a special circumstance. He's not even really sure what to do with the dream child; sure he has been spared some of the horror, but considering that this is just a memory-dream, it changes nothing of the past.

Then again, the past does not define the future, and the man on the cliff isn't one whom Bakura would have dreamed up himself. Strange. But everything over the past few days has been strange: waking up here, slipping away from people and creatures alike, seeking out a place where he could observe and gather information while trying to plan his next move. He hadn't anticipated getting lost in a network of caves that twisted and turned worse than any tomb, nor had he anticipated the things found therein. Now on top of it are these dreams, twisted replaying of his memories among other scenes he doesn't understand.

Overall he's come to the conclusion that wherever he's ended up, he does not like it.

"The lives of the people to fuel their magic." A shiver runs down his spine involuntarily, and the hand against the child's back presses him closer to Bakura's leg. It's almost surreal, to have his younger self seek comfort from him like this.

Delight

[stealer_ofsouls]

The day was wearing on toward evening, though the city lights assured that night would be anything but dark. The fall air was crisp and the occasional breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees dotting the park. All in all it was a pleasant evening, perfect for a walk — but this was the Battle City tournament, and the entire city of Domino was its playing field. For a duelist like yourself, a simple evening walk could invite a challenge at any time.

Really, you should have avoided the park entirely.

Your challenger had certainly appeared unassuming; dressed in a simple tee and dark jeans, duel disk on his skinny arm, he looked like any other teen competing in the tournament. Perhaps you'd even laughed as he challenged you in a small voice. But as you drew your opening hand and the holographic projectors warmed up a strange, dark fog descended around you. Perhaps even more strangely, your opponent seemed somehow more sinister than a moment before; his movements sharper, his eyes crueler, and his voice much more commanding in tone.

His deck ripped yours apart. And every time your life points decreased, it felt as if a part of you was being ripped away as well.

Finally, the duel ended — but as you handed over your ante, your rarest card and your locator card, the darkness swirling around you only seemed to get worse. Surely it's just your imagination and it's not actually getting darker? You look up at your opponent, those cruel eyes and that mouth twisted around a cruel smirk as his lips form two words: "Penalty Game."

[mttbrandlegs]

Mettaton didn't understand the rules, he understood practically nothing of what was going on. Perhaps that was what had made this challenge so unexpected and perhaps...even innocent. But as it had unfolded, it became clearer and clearer that he had been set to lose.

Even with how adaptive he was, the rules of this card game had tripped him up, and the loss had come embarrassingly quickly. More worrisome than the blow to his pride however, was the fact that Mettaton, being a monster, knew the feel of magic. Humans were dangerous enough, but with magic at their disposal, much less magic that caused such pain to even as unique a monster as he...well...

He plays it rather close to the vest when he offers the spoils to this cocky victor. Those words though...they cause Mettaton to hesitate. He's not frightened; it would take more than that.

"What do you mean 'penalty game'? I assure you, if you intend to escalate this past harmless sport--"

Harmless nothing, his SOUL still ached and his limbs felt heavy from the strain of finishing this strange duel out.

"--then I will defend myself. That is your only warning."

[stealer_ofsouls]

"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."

[mttbrandlegs]

Mettaton still isn't scared, but given the tone of the situation, he is apprehensive. The wind is...unnatural. Eerie.

Cold.

But he doesn't flinch. Instead, a small crackle of electricity moves along his fingers, visible in the encroaching darkness which surrounded them both, but mostly it was him, wasn't it? The penalty was not on the winner, right, but the loser.

For a brief moment, he recalls shocking a small human child, threatening them with insane pyrotechnics and tile puzzles. He remembers what happens to those that lose, and the price they pay, and his apprehension grows. Because when did a simple card game become something so dire?

"It will be your problem soon," he hisses, and again, the small bolts dance across his gloves, conducting along his segmented arms. It's as good a threat as any. "Do not mistake me for someone who goes down easy. Let's hope, for your sake, that you can back up those silly little words of yours."

[stealer_ofsouls]

"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."

[mttbrandlegs]

"Then stop threatening and take action, or are you nothing but a bad attitude and pathetic posturing?!"

Mettaton is, perhaps, impatient for his own demise, but where has subtlety earned him any points? When has he ever escaped the pain of defeat and the price he must pay? If he was to suffer, then he expects it to happen already!

But, if Bakura seeks to delay it, then he should have expected what comes next.

Mettaton lashes out, thrusting his segmented arm forward and attempting to strike the pitiful human down with his electrical magic. Hie bares pointed fangs, looking like the monster he was for the barest moment. It's his last rebellious move, before the shadows begin to creep around his ankles, seeking purchase against the metallic surface.

He won't show fear. He's done showing fear.

What a hypocrite, to think he's fearless.