hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dreamwalker

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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.

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In a way, both Rey and this Gregory aren't too far off from the kind of synths from Nick's world. No one had anticipated how much of a threat they'd be; no one would have believed they could be so human that one couldn't tell when their own family was replaced. However, those are the ones under orders, synths who are tools for the Institute. They raid small towns, leave a wave of destruction where there'd once been a peaceful community. The strip the world for parts like one might strip a machine to salvage another, and no one knows just why.

Synths who had supposedly escaped with the Railroad and chosen to live a different life are far more rare, and with reason. And as for synths like him, there aren't any -- not that he knows of, anyway. Overall, synths can't be trusted, but it's not usually the synth's fault for that so much as it is their masters.

"It's whatever shapes us, in the end," he notes, watching the rain outside the window, the distortion from the droplets on the pane making the already unfocused view no better. "You weren't kidding when you said synths were the real threat in your world. In mine, it all traces back to the people pulling the synths' strings. The ones who go against their programming are usually escaping the bad guys."

"No, people are the real threat, even where I'm from. And the synthetics want to be more like-human. Nothing more dangerous than that."

Rey had seen their desperation in that prison she had escaped from. The people they had dissected in order to learn more about them and what made them tick. She had seen things that would give normal people nightmares, if not for the fact that she's already had plenty of her own to start.

Her fingers curl through her hair as she shakes her head. "Back home, I was one of the 'bad guys'. Did a lot of terrible, unforgivable things. Hurt a lot of people, including my own brother."

One could easily argue that it was really the one who had been pulling her strings that was the bad one here, but Rey can't easily pass off blame to absolve her of her guilt. Many of those things she did, and no amount of remorse will be able to undo them.

This moment, the one she is in right now, is just a reminder of that fact.

He sighs. She's right in that the people behind the machines are the threat, but he can't say he agrees that synths who want to be human are, as well. The two of them come from different times, though, different worlds; that's hard for Nick to remember sometimes when they're stuck in a cavern city, both on equal footing, both as trapped as rats in a maze. Different worlds, different synths.

It sounds like the ones in her world want to be human and take out humanity in the same fell swoop, while those where he's from -- the "liberated" ones, at least -- just want to coexist, not be shot because they were made rather than born. A part of him knows synths are the enemy of the Commonwealth, but he feels for those who desperately want something more. He's wondered plenty of times about what he'd do if he had the chance to be human -- truly human, not just one of those fancy, bioengineered synths. If someone could wave a magic wand over him and turn him into a real person, would he do it?

He doesn't know. He can't quite recall living as anything else but the mechanical copy he is, and taking that away from him would ultimately be stripping away a part of his identity. People liked knowing what he was -- it let them keep an eye on him while reassuring them that he was telling the truth, on their side as much as a Protectron or a Mister Handy. He has reasoning, judgment, compassion -- all the good of humanity, minus some of the benefits of actually being human. Outside of Diamond City, he still got occasional looks of suspicion, glances from everyone suspecting him of being something far more sinister than he really was.

That isn't to say they aren't justified looks, as the world is full of dangerous synths. There are synths out there who'd have been happy to peacefully coexist with humanity, but given that they were so lifelike in the first place, it was hard for them to prove what they were without putting themselves in grave danger. They were in a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation, and for as much envy as he has for them sometimes, he wouldn't wish their struggles on anyone.

But the fact was that they wanted to be better than what was expected of them from their former masters. They wanted to start fresh, no matter what they'd done in their brief lives. If they could make that decision, anyone could.

"Was one of the bad guys, but you're not now," he says, making his way to the couch and taking a seat next to her. "If you really wanted, you've got the chance to make something else of yourself here. Maybe even home, for as long as we're trapped."

Maybe someday Rey will realize that she ought to put her foot where her mouth is, especially when it comes to her bias towards synths. Ironic, considering what she is -- but then, she had her own bias about herself and her own state as a synthetic-organic being as well. She never thought of herself as something that merited its own rights. Even as a 'human' in the military, you taught to strip yourself of your identity, your individuality. To become part of a bigger collective. As a 'human', she was used to being dehumanized. Sometimes, she was still no different than a machine.

So trying to adapt to the civilian lifestyle, and then... whatever the hell sort of lifestyle this is, it goes against everything she had been trained to be. Completely contradicts all of what she knows. It's easy to lose sight of the reality of things: That what she knows is just plain fucked up beyond all reason.

(FUBAR.)

"A lot people are dead because of me. What right do I have to get that chance while they remain dead? Who says that I even deserve any of those things?"

Sometimes it's hard simply to breathe, let alone experience feelings of laughter and joy, knowing all of the things that she's done.

Her hands slide over her face. Her unblemished, perfect-looking face. A face she also has no right to keep, and will later make sure that the scars she left on the world reflect on her own skin. And even that doesn't feel like it's enough. So long as she lives, it never feels enough.

Though it does give Nick a timeframe for when the presumed mixture of nightmare and memory may have occurred, it is admittedly odd to see Rey without those scars; he's gotten accustomed to them, and to see her face so unmarked is almost like looking at a different person. Then again, given he's now seven feet tall and a lot less synthetic than usual, he supposes he can't say much for the feeling of talking to a stranger.

"We've all got our demons, Rey. And some of those you're facing, they aren't even yours. Punishing yourself won't bring back the dead, and you know it."

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes still on her. He can hear the remorse in her voice -- it's a quality that separates her from some of the filth he's met in the Commonwealth, people who'd kill for a few caps and never feel anything for it. They might not deserve another chance just yet, but she certainly does.

"The best you can do is keep going. Leave a place better than when you came to it. You can't change what's already happened, but maybe you can make it up in another way."

He's not completely wrong, and he isn't even the first one to mention something like that. Even a woman named Faye, who one of Rey's old selves had undoubtedly wronged, had accepted her for being an entirely different person now. That her past lives were just ghosts living inside of her head. They don't much belong to her any more than Nick owns his imprinted memories, all things considered.

Yes, she may be a different person now. But who is that person supposed to be, exactly? A killer? Protector? Soldier? Civilian? All of the above and et cetera?

Her fingers curl over her forehead, bones tensing and shoulders curling inward as she struggles with the logic that Nick presents. Or is trying to. Got to give him credit for the effort...

"I thought I was making up for it, by taking myself out of the equation. I didn't... I didn't see any other way. But all I did was fuck everything up. Again. And it'd hurt my brother."

And her father, technically. But hey, fuck him.

Nick's eyes narrow as he keeps watching her. He doesn't like the sound of 'by taking myself out of the equation' one bit. There's nothing he can do about it now though, much like there's nothing she can do to change what she's done. What he can do is make sure she doesn't do anything like that again.

"Well, he's not here, now is he?" Nick remarks. "He's not in this room, and he's not in Hadriel with us. So stop worrying about hurting him and start thinking about yourself for a change. And if you need help doing that, well... you know where I am."

"Yes, I do..."

There's a moment in which Rey casts him a sidelong glance, but then she sees the man who created her instead, and anger boils in the pit of her stomach all over again. The same rage that bubbled over in this point in history, in which she had assaulted him for the sole violation of bringing her back from the dead. Such a heinous crime.

Guilt follows that rage, and Rey shifts her head, casting her gaze off Nick.

"It's... really hard to talk to you when you look like that," she confesses. "No offense, but I just keep wanting to smash that face in."

No offense, technically. Since it's not like it's Nick's face, after all.

"Oh." He clears his throat and gets to his feet, a hair embarrassed that he'd managed to forget what he looked like for even a second.

"Sorry about that. Not often I find myself in a completely different body. Guess it's better you'd rather smash his face in than mine."

Despite everything, Rey scoffs.

"Honestly, your actual face already looks like it's been beaten to hell as it is. No need to wreck it even further."

Is that Rey being a smartass? Why yes, yes it is.

A smartass is better than the alternative if you ask Nick. He glances back to her over his shoulder.

"I suppose it has seen better days. Better nights than this, too."

She did try to hurl a bed at him only a short while before, after all.

Mind, Lucas isn't exactly an unattractive man. But when you've such a negative association with a person, it's doesn't matter how pretty their face is. Hell, Rey can hardly even stand her own at the moment, and she doesn't have to be the one looking at it.

"Think I prefer it on its days, for better or worse." Yes, Nick. Rey would rather look at your ugly mug than her father's pretty one. That's just how things go.

She heaves a sigh, folding herself so her forehead rests over her knees. This way Nick can't see her face, and Rey doesn't have to look at his.

"If this is supposed to be some damned nightmare, I really just want to wake up right now."

Better than worrying about flying off the handle when she sees her father all over again.

As much as Nick appreciates that his face is preferable to that of her father, the fact is that he still looks like the man, and they're still trapped in the dream.

He has one more glance at Rey to make sure she's all right, then turns from her, watching the window again. He'd rather keep her from having to look at him for too long.

"Did anything like this actually happen?" he asks, knowing he's pushing the envelope, but wanting to help. "Maybe if we can figure out how it ends, we can get out of here."

"How it ends..." Rey almost laughs, but what she makes is a bitter scoff. "How it ends is me ripping my father's skull in half."

And she'd rather avoid doing that when she knows now that it's Nick, not her father.

What she says also opens some other questions, though. She sighs.

"He, unfortunately, gets better. Being able to put himself back together from shit like that and all." Casual shrug. Not too weird. Her life isn't weird at all.

Though she can't see it with his back turned to her, Nick grimaces anyway -- Rey's method of problem-solving when it came to her father was grisly, to say the least.

"Guess some folks just can't stay dead," he mutters to himself. "I assume we're not going see if that's how this ends this time around. There's got to be another way, even if it's just to wait until morning."

Rey's problem solving skills leave something to be desired, to say the least.

"Probably runs in the family," she returns darkly. Just how many times had Rey herself died only to be revived, and experience pain all over again? A lot. "I can think of another way. But you're not going to like it."

No speculation. This one is fact.

Nick crosses his arms, turning back toward Rey, but keeping his face turned from her. If she's thinking of splitting his skull open, he's not exactly warm on the idea.

"I'm listening."

No, he's not. He can't. Because Rey knows that the second she reveals to him what her plans are, he's going to object.

She looks down at her shirt. Like her face, it isn't bloodstained as it should be. It's wrong. This dream, or this memory-- it's all wrong. And she has to make it right. At least restore some of the natural order of things.

Rey stands up, and moves towards the window. The city streets and towering buildings outside remains a blurry vision, with black shapes moving up and down the walkways. She pauses before the scene, taking it all in.

That's when she reels her fist back, and throws her knuckles against the glass. It shatters, as does parts of the rainy world beyond this prison.

He's motionless as he watches Rey cross the room, save for his eyes watching her; it's not until she reels back that he tenses, ready to stop her if he objects to this solution as much as she thinks he will.

And then she slams her fist into the window, cracks trailing up the glass that remains in the frame and onto the horizon beyond. The streets and buildings fracture, distort as the nightmare buckles from her influence upon it.

His brow knots as he casts his eyes back to her. "Rey?"

Pain wrecks through her whole body. As the glass breaks, a piece of herself does as well. A gash appears in her forehead. Stab wounds in her chest and stomach emerge.

"Yes," she says through clenched teeth. "This is how it's supposed to go."

Sort of.

As she hurls her fist into the window a second time and breaks more of the glass, so does her own skin, blood pooling down her white shirt, now ripped and bloody. Whatever is happening, it seems that she's connected to her own environment that she's now destroying.

The black hole in her little universe reveals itself more through the cracked pieces in what had once been a window overlooking Old Chicago.

The glass from the window breaks more beneath her fist, shattering and splintering up into the frame of the window and the ceiling above them. Nick takes a step toward her, his eyes trailing to the blood that's staining her shirt. As she breaks the world around them, it seems she's breaking apart of piece of her mind, as well.

Rey was right. Nick doesn't like this. "Rey!"

This wasn't exactly part of the plan, but it's happening now. There doesn't seem to be any going back, given the physical state she's made herself.

As she goes for one more blow against this place, her legs go numb. She loses feeling in her limbs, cracked with red veins coursing under her skin, under her perfect, pretty face she hates so much. She crumbles to her knees, her hand grabbing the windowpane but not stopping her fall.

Rey opens her mouth then, but all that comes out are chunks of blood. That, and some glass, coupled with teeth.

Dream world does not like being fucked with, it would seem.

"Shit." The world seems to shift beneath Nick's feet. It could be vertigo from suddenly being seven feet tall, but it's more likely the fact that everything around them is crumbling, the dream only as held together as its host... and considering said host is spitting up chunks of glass, blood, and teeth, it's easy to see it's not going to hold together for much longer.

That might not be so bad for Rey, who simply has to wake up. As for Nick, he has no idea what happens to someone who is simply a visitor. The gods never are very clear on the consequences for their actions until it's too late.

Unable to sit by and watch as she suffers, Nick bolts to her side, hoping the floor doesn't vanish beneath him like the city beyond the window.

The city, the house, even Rey herself seems to be unraveling around them as all Rey can do is grab onto the window to keep herself upright. And then Nick once he reaches her side. Her free hand slaps over her mouth, bloody cracks all up her hand and arm as she stifles more coughing fits of glass hacking up from the back of her throat.

The world shakes. Walls tear down into the black nothing of her shattered mind. The shards churn within her insides and boil. More dark red chunks spit out from her mouth, bubbling between her fingers, and onto the floor beneath them before slipping away into the darkness.

She can't stop it. Can't warn him. There's nothing she can do but slowly let herself and her memories fall apart.

And then she's falling.

And falling.

Falling.

That's how it's always been, hasn't it?

Always falling, forever.

Until the whole world just

stops.

She's landed face-first over the floor in Nick's spare bedroom, having smacked her head against a dresser. As a bruise forms over the side of her face, she sees that Old Chicago is gone. No more house, no more Nick that looks like her father. The blood and glass and teeth and cracks are also gone.

What remains is an insane reality that she doesn't want to be a part of, and yet isn't done with her. Not by a long shot.

Nick awakens with a start, bolting upright from the couch -- he stumbles as his legs tremble, his synthetic body still coming back online. It takes a moment for his brain to process what's happening, what's already happened; he'd been asleep. It was a dream, something as foreign to his artificial form as a natural heartbeat.

It wasn't his dream, though. The gods had said they'd be forcing folks to share dreams, to experience them and all the emotions they stir together. Nick realizes belatedly that he should have taken that threat more seriously. His sensory receptors readjust to the sudden change: he's home, on his couch. It's the apartment he shares with Rey. He can still feel her in his grasp, the world around them falling apart with her.

There's an emptiness in his gut he needs to settle before he can think about anything else, an unsettled churning that won't let him think. Straightening his coat, he takes a few, quiet steps over to her door and listens carefully, trying to determine if she's asleep on the other side. He'd rather not crack the door open to find out, but he wants to know -- he needs to know she's in there, and that she's okay.

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circumitus - 2016-05-26 02:44 (UTC) - Expand

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synthedick - 2016-05-26 02:48 (UTC) - Expand

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Event Log: Dreamwalker

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tw: suicide mention, wup

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