hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dreamwalker

Entry tags:

Event Log: Dreamwalker

Who: Everyone!
What: The Dreamwalker event
Where: In your comfy bed and your sleepy head.
When: May 16th-26th
Warnings: Good dreams, weird dreams, bad dreams, straight-up nightmares. Please remember to tag for warnings in the header if things are going to be bad!

Have you been having trouble getting a good night's sleep? Tossing and turning, unable to rest those tired eyes? Or maybe you don't sleep at all, and never have. Not to worry! For a little while, you'll have no trouble at all falling asleep - in fact, as night falls, you'll find yourself overwhelmed with exhaustion whether you want to sleep or not. Lay down and rest your weary head, friends. Everyone could use a little extra sleep.

But what will your dreams bring? Something happy, images of a perfect day? Something hopeful, something you've wanted for a long time? Maybe you'll dream of anger, of the face of your worst enemy. Or maybe - just maybe - you'll have a horrific nightmare, and wake screaming, covered in cold sweat.

Not before others have time to see it, though. As you sleep, as you dream, the other residents of Hadriel, friends and enemies and people you've only met once, might find their way into your dreams. Or you might find your way into theirs - and then have to deal with someone's else's nightmares, or hopes, or anger. For the next ten nights, you'll find yourself either a host or a visitor, and no matter how you try you won't be able to stay awake once night falls.

Sweet dreams, Hadriel. Don't let the asshole fear gods bite.

► This log covers May 16th-26th.
► 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!
► You can't die in the dreams, but if you somehow manage to trip and fall and kill yourself getting out of bed, please report it on the death post.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Talking is the last thing on Rey's mind. Not another moment goes by that she would want to even hear his damned voice. She doesn't want his excuses or empty promises, with only words that have no meaning either.

"Shut up! Don't want to hear what you have to say..."

Less talking and more punching his fucking face in would be nicer.

There's something very predatory about her stance. She's seeking an angle to tackle him to the ground from. Shouldn't be too hard. It's a small room, and he may be pretty big. But you know what they say about the bigger they are...

The longer Nick is in this dream, the less he seems like himself, this new form of his becoming more apparent to him: those hands aren't he only things strange to him now, his voice is less and less his own with every word. Whoever this person is that Rey's seeing him as, Nick doesn't like it.

He watches Rey carefully, and seeing what she's trying to do, slides around the bed, putting it between himself and her. It might not help much if she pounces on him like a wild animal, but at least it's something.

"Rey," he says in that voice that isn't his, "this isn't real. It might have been once, or maybe it's a damn nightmare, but this isn't real. Talk to me."

Which is more maddening -- his voice or the fact that he's still trying to fuck with her head? Rey can't decide. At least, that's the only thing that makes sense in her mind. Make her question her own reality. It wouldn't be the first time her father's tried to wriggle his way into her brain and make her question her perception.

But... Wait. When did that happen? Was that before or after he woke her up? Rey can't remember. Everything's so disjointed. Nothing is moving the way it ought to be. Her blood boils. Her eyes sting. Her vision blurs.

All that's there is a blinding red hot ire.

Adrenaline pulsing through her veins, she uses what strength she can muster to grab the bed between the two of them, hoisting the entire goddamn piece of furniture over her head. Can't hide behind that anymore, can we?

"Done talking," she growls as she hurls the bed towards Nick. Better duck or dodge, dick.

He may be tall -- or this new, dream-given body of his is -- but even he can't help but look up to the bed as Rey lifts the entire thing over her head, rage powering every muscle in her body. The mixture of surprise and quiet horror on his face is hard to miss.

It's not enough to catch him off his guard, however. He dodges the bed that comes flying at him, but smacks his head into a light dangling from the ceiling -- he swears loudly as he keeps backing away from her, inwardly wondering just when he shot up another foot. He might look like someone completely different, but the skin doesn't fit him, his coordination shot just enough to show that something might be wrong.

Not that Nick expects Rey to notice, or even notices himself in that moment, aside from the throbbing in his head from where he hit the light. For all he knows, she can't tell the difference between who he really is and who this dream has turned him into.

He keeps trying, though he's quickly running out of options; he gets the feeling that fighting back when he's suddenly not himself is a bad idea. "It's Nick," he insists, again with the wrong voice. "I know I don't sound like me, or hell, look like me. But this is something the gods are doing. I don't want to fight you."

And seeing how vicious she can be without a single weapon to her name... yeah. He absolutely does not want to fight her.

The bed crashes to the wall where he had been, breaking apart as it hits the floor. She doesn't even flinch, more focused on the fact that she just missed her mark once again.

What he says makes absolutely no sense. Is this another one of his mind games? Perhaps he's just trying to confuse her. She never really expected her father to try and pretend to be someone else to save his own skin; he'd have much better lies to tell, in any case. So why this...?

When he says he doesn't want to fight her, she could laugh. All that comes out is a manic bark between her teeth at the thought of her father actually getting his pristine hands dirty, disregarding all the other nonsense he just said.

"You couldn't fight you way out of a paper bag. That's what your little toy soldiers were for." It was why he brought her back, wasn't it? Had to be.

Rather than waiting for his answer, she charges to throw him against the wall with all the force of a furious bull seeing red.

She charges for Nick at full force; however, having exhausted just about all his non-violent options for dealing with her, he's preparing for her assault this time. Some people just don't learn any way but the hard way.

"Sorry Rey, but you're asking for this!"

It's true that he's no expert in hand-to-hand combat, but he's dealt with his fair share of raiders before, men and women charging at him the same way she is, desperation in their eyes as they swing at him with a lead pipe, a wrench, or whatever weapon they've managed to get their grubby mitts on. The answer is always the same: try to redirect their blow and get them on the ground. It's easier to deal with someone there, make them see reason.

So as she closes the gap between them, he prepares to grapple her in return and throw her to the floor. He can deal with trying to knock her lights out if he manages to knock her down at all.

Edited 2016-05-22 07:13 (UTC)

What she was expecting, not even Rey entirely knows.

Now, what she wasn't expecting was for the asshole who currently looks like the man who created her to toss her down like a sack of flour.

It's not the strength that stuns her, or even the impact when she hits the ground. Neither of those things are surprising to her. No, it's the sheer principal of the matter...

Her father was just a punching bag. That's how this was supposed to go, anyway. Because he doesn't have it in him to surrender a violent bone in his body. The fact is, he can't -- and not just because of his stupid philosophies...

Either way, Rey lands hard on her back. Her mass almost shakes the floor when she does so. Her eyes are wide as she gaps up at the face bearing down on her now.

And in that moment something seems terribly off.

His eyes, which were once vibrant electric blues, she now as an odd shade of inhuman yellow. Not her father's eyes. Not Lucas' eyes...

The memories scramble. Facts she shouldn't know, she does. Such as the fact that her father is a pacifist and that, by all counts, his retaliation goes against everything he believes in. But she can't know that now, at this point in time, can she?

In that moment, she just lays there, flat on her back over the hardwood floor, medical tools and broken equipment and piece of furniture scattered throughout the room. But none of those things matter. Nothing matters, really. Except the fact that it feels like she's remembering a goddamned stranger for the first time.

...

What is happening here? She can't move. Can't speak. Just states at him, trying to make out the rest of his unchanging features. If this man isn't her father, then... who is he?

The moment she's on the ground, old instincts kick in, ones from police training that the synthetic Nick never actually received: he almost drops a knee on Rey to pin her to the ground, but hesitates as he sees the look in her eyes. There's shock, surprise -- no recognition, but it's something, and whatever it is, it's stopped her assault. He'll take it.

He stands to his full height, taking a step back from Rey . Though he gives her space, he doesn't take his eyes off her -- eyes he assumes, like the rest of him, aren't his own. He can't help that he wants to resolve this as peacefully as possible, even if it took some scuffling to get here.

"You ready to talk now?"

Edited 2016-05-22 22:33 (UTC)

For a moment, she doesn't answer. She just brings her shaky hands up, as if to shield herself from a blow to the head, but she's just staring at the back of her fingers. They're clean, unmarred... much like her her face, smooth and free of the scars that had maimed her flesh. Because she hadn't done what needed to be done yet. Because her 'father' had brought her back, mending her broken body and damaged skin.

"You said... Y-you..." She swallows hard, fighting with her own words; her whole body paralyzed from the waning anger transforming into confusion. "Nick...?"

She's trying. Trying to remember. To put the pieces of this messed up puzzle together.

His brow knits, concern lacing through him so tangibly that it knots in his gut, so visibly that he couldn't express it any clearer if he tried. It's outright anger he has to force back, vehemence against the gods for making her live through this nightmare.

And for making him live through it, too. Or hell, if this is some kind of messed up memory of hers, for putting her through it again.

"That's right," he says, kneeling to get closer to her level. "You know who I am. We -- you and me -- we've been through a lot. You've been through a lot."

And if the gods have anything to say about it, she'll have gone through a lot more before the night is over.

Well, she knows his name because he had just said it, as she's still trying to figure out what goes where inside her own damned head.

Still unmoving, she touches her cheeks, wishing that the scars would somehow reemerge now that she senses something is wrong. But they don't. A small sound escapes from the back of her throat, her palms sliding over her eyes so that she doesn't have to look at this man wearing the rest of her father's face. He still, unfortunately, carries that bastard's voice -- though the more he speaks, the more his intonation starts to unravel to her ears. Become someone else.

"Fuck," she groans, pushing the heels of her hands harder against her eyes.

(Not being very helpful here, Rey.)

Any answer is better than her fighting him. Nick keeps watching her, and keeps talking, hoping to get through to her. It worked once, though he's not sure he knows which door to kick down this time. He gets back to his feet, taking a moment to look around the room now that she's not charging him like an infuriated rhinoceros.

"This is something the gods cooked up," he continues, keeping the silence at bay. She needs to sort out what is going on, but he realizes letting her get too wrapped up in her own head probably isn't wise, especially when that's what the gods want. They want to feed on emotions, and they're certainly getting them.

Not today, Nick decides. They'll get through and out of this together, somehow. He just has to figure out how.

"Where are we?" he asks, hoping she'll think on that and less on who he looks like and why she hates him. He needs to keep her from her rage, help her curb it.

His response makes little sense. But then, none of this makes any goddamned sense. Even the reality of it all is crazy, such as her being alive after all these years. Rey should be dead, with a bullet in her brain and a body that's been smashed up after plummeting from the top of a skyscraper.

Life is absurd. She should know this much. Her entire existence revolved around dying and coming back and dying all over again. And now that she's 'awake', she can't stop thinking about what it'll be this time. If it'll be her to pull the trigger, or someone else will get the lucky chance. Fuck knows she's pissed off enough people...

Rather than dwelling on the madness of it all, she focuses on something that actually holds some real logic.

"Old Chicago. This is... Your..." Hands still over her face, Rey releases a shuddering sigh. "My father's home."

The townhouse he had bought during the time of the Space Race over a century ago. More insanity in her insane life.

Nick casts a glance back to her. "Your father, hm." If there's any clue to be found in the fact that she attacked him, it's that Rey doesn't think as highly of her father as she does her brother. He has a few guesses as to why.

He steps over to the window, glancing at the street below. It's fuzzy, fragmented, out of focus -- the rest of the world might not even exist outside this room, Nick realizes. He can't help but be curious, though; there might be a way to help her elsewhere.

It's worth it, worth getting her out of this room that incites such wrath in her; getting her away from the person who does is going to be the tricky part. He makes his way back over to her and offers her a hand to help her up.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here. See what else there is in this place."

One doesn't need to be a detective to figure out that there is some tension in the family line. But, in Nick's case, it certainly helps.

Rey is reluctant to move, to go anywhere. It's a lot like her mind is being messed with all over again, and she doesn't trust herself to feel or think or do anything.

Though, on the other hand, it is probably more dangerous to do nothing.

Removing her hands from her face to find Nick's outstretched for her to take, she hesitates once more. While he seems to be bearing much of the same features as that reprehensible man, his eyes tell her something different. And not just in their color.

"I don't know. It... It isn't safe for me to leave. Never was."

Not back then, anyway, when Rey had lost her mind. Things are different this time, aren't they?

Nick keeps his hand there, the offer still good -- he can see it's still not his hand, flesh covering where he was so used to there being a bare, metal skeleton.

"You're not gonna be alone, if that's what you're worried about," he offers. They'd swore they'd keep an eye on one another, and he'd meant it, even if that means watching her back in dreams. They just have to last through the night, he reasons. The gods can't keep them asleep forever.

Well, they might be able to with artificial lifeforms like himself, ones who were in no danger of starving or dehydration. He had to hold onto the belief that they'd eventually wake up from this nightmare when morning came. They'd find a way through this.

It wouldn't be impossible to keep something like Rey asleep. She had been left that way for years at a time, before she would be inevitably woken up with new memories and a new life and, ultimately, a new mission.

But she gets where Nick is coming from, too. What he's trying to do. She can respect that, even, because it's what she would do in his place.

After a moment of consideration, she sits upright, bringing her hand over the top of her head. With her other, she slowly reaches out and takes his. It may look a lot like her father's, but she tries not to think about that so much.

She knows how this scene was supposed to play out. How she was supposed to hurt him, split his skull in two. Nick doesn't deserve that, though. He doesn't deserve any of this.

Choking back on her words, she can't think of a coherent response. So, instead, she just reaches out, takes his offered hand, and helps to pull herself back onto her feet as well.

"All right," she says once she's upright, more to herself than anything else. "All right. Let's get out of here."

The door is right there. At least this one doesn't have to be kicked down. It'll open just fine.

Nick nods in return, still trying to reassure her as he lets go of her hand. "All right. Let's go."

He takes a step for the door before turning toward it, and clocks his head into the dangling light a second time. He rubs his head, shooting the light an annoyed look as he continues to the door, reaching for the handle. "Not used to being this damn tall."

With that, he gives the knob a turn and pulls the door open, completely unsure as to what he'll see on the other side.

In the wake of everything that's happened, a very strange and almost alien noise is stifled when Rey brings her hand over her mouth. Given how Lucas had centuries to get used to his size, it isn't often (or ever) that she ever got to see him make certain predictable blunders such as hitting his head on lights and doorframes. So there is something comical about seeing it now.

She shouldn't laugh, though, she knows. Especially when so few things can get such a reaction out of her.

"Apologies."

No, she's not really sorry, except perhaps for the fact that Nick has to be the one to deal with it.

The door leads down an empty corridor, opening up to a living room. The townhouse is rather spartan in appearance, with minimal furnishings and next to no decorations. No paintings or portraits on the walls. No books or reading materials or computers or wallscreen anywhere in sight. It's almost a shock that anyone were to reside here at all.

"Suppose the place hasn't quite been 'lived in' yet," Rey remarks, slowly remembering how things were at the time after her awakening.

While Nick can't say this is what he expected from a dream or a memory of Rey's, he reminds himself that it could be far worse. She could still be trying to tear him apart.

He crosses through the corridor quietly, keeping his footsteps light in case someone else is around, some other character from Rey's past who'd be better off forgotten. It's a challenge, given his new form -- getting himself low to the ground when he's suddenly seven feet tall is not something he'd ever expected to do, and it shows as he nearly catches himself on another light and the doorframe as they step into the living room.

The furnishings are utilitarian, at best. Rey just couldn't have nice things, could she? "I see your father wasn't much of a decorator," he utters to her as he looks for where they should head next.

Yes, she definitely could be. It's hard not to nearly laugh again when he almost makes the same mistake at the door. Good on Nick for being quick to learn better.

Any hint of mirth slowly fades once they make it farther into the townhouse, as she glances around the living area. Everything is as she remembers it, and she tends to remember things pretty damn well.

"He moves around a lot. Doesn't tend to stay in one place for very long." There's a reason for that, too, but it's not something she feels like going into. Too much terrible history.

She steps around him, moving into the nearly empty room. Rey finds herself almost disappointed when she doesn't see her brother anywhere in sight, but is also grateful all the same. She doesn't want to see how this place would twist him.

For now, she doesn't go anywhere. Just traces her hands across the arm of a couch. "This was home for four years," she says with a somber look. "It's... strange to see it all like this again. After everything that's happened."

As Rey takes her time to take in the room, Nick lets her, hoping that the moment of reflection will help her see that this is in the past. It can't hurt her anymore, not unless she lets it eat away at her -- not that Nick would have personal experience with letting the demons of the past get to him, of course.

"Was there some significance to this place, Rey?" he asks in the stillness, his voice still low. "Some reason you'd dream of this place in particular? Or was it the gods' choice about what goes on in our heads?"

They shouldn't dawdle too long, but he can help neither his inquisitive nature, nor his desire to aid her. It's easier to soothe the latter if he understands where she's coming from, and why.

None of this is real. She's starting to see this now. The window depicts a hazy street below, almost a fog of blurred images passing by. At some point, it's begun to rain; little thin droplets stream down the glass.

The sound of soft padding is soothing. Calm. She can close her eyes a moment and drift into the memory that she's now fallen into. Think of a different time spent within these walls.

"Never had a home before. Not really." If her false memories didn't belong to a worthless street urchin, it was a poor soul from a broken home and a broken life. Not much of a home at all, to say the least. "This place was the closest thing I ever had to one, even if it was almost more like a prison sometimes. Still, it... meant something, for a while. At least, when my brother was around. He didn't live here, though. My father and brother weren't on very friendly terms."

Doubtful that she needs to explain why.

Nick looks down at his hands -- the hands of, presumably, Rey's father, a man she'd been driven to attack on sight.

"Your brother, Orion," he notes to himself. "I'm guessing that if your brother is as good as you say, and the two of you didn't get along with your father, then he wasn't worth the air he breathed."

Nick doesn't know the sordid details of what the man did, but given what he knows of Rey's past, of how she's been used again and again... it's easy to fill in the rest of the picture. He doesn't need to know all he did; all he needs to know is that Rey doesn't trust him. That's good enough for Nick.

Though knowing he's completely out of the picture would be nice.

For as much as she tends not to speak very highly of her own father, her shoulders slump at hearing Nick's words.

"Yes, but we had different reasons. I... was angry, for him bringing me back. I'd hoped to have stayed dead, at the time." She rests her hand over the back of the couch, avoiding meeting Nick in the eye and seeing the man's face who she had despised. "In truth, if not for him, I wouldn't even be here. And I hated him for that."

Dying is easy, but living is hard. That's what Rey used to always believe, and it's still true. She just has no desire to actively seek out the former as she used to.

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