SLEEPING BEAUTIES: DREAM LOG

[yourkeepers]

Bewitched by the thorn's touch, you have been ensnared in the deepest of sleep. Fortunately for you, the world of Faerie doesn't end with the waking.

The world of your dreams is brighter now, more clear than you've ever witnessed it. You've been it before, you think, there fragments of yourself become reality. But now you are somehow more lucid in its presence, and it's more real - something you can reach out and touch.

You find yourself in this world, and you are not alone. Your dreams and those of other join at the edges, pulling into each other along similar threads.

And you are watched by something even greater.

Comments

[manelesscatking]

"You too?" A page in a slightly oversized yellow tabard stands unwisely close behind the girl. They bear a haunted expression on their face. "Hey Veggie Boy," they say, a slight smile resolving itself at the sight of the young man.

"Do either of you know where we are?"

[chromaticscale]

"Oh, yes!" Some of the cuttlefish swarming around her swim his way, after she gives them a little nudge. "They're very friendly, say hello."

[fifty]

"There're some people I'm looking for--" The messenger's answer is automatic, but cut short. He doesn't know if they're here, those people from his memory. He doesn't know what they look like or anything, not really. Only that they're important, which was enough to keep him pushing forward, searching for them like he'd lost a limb and couldn't quite believe it was gone--but it wasn't much to go on. "Well--I mean, besides that, I've met some people, but I dunno if they're asleep or not. There's this fish girl with scales and this grumpy guy with these huge eyebrows and an green ogre girl and this guy with claws who seems kind of like an animal and there's the house I guess but he's dumb... I don't know if any of them are asleep. Is there a way to find really cool dreams?"

[peafowl]

"A city," says the blue peacock. "A city and ... the hunters of mortals."

"Our city," the pink peacock says, because the memory is slowly coming to her. "It was the city we grew up. We were in the ghetto our house was in and it was empty and everything looked like something bad was gonna happen."

"Yes," says the blue peacock, even though he did not recognise the place, at all. "So, ah. We're a little on edge, darling."

[keepscalm]

Flight isn't among the Darkling's abilities (though perhaps he can broaden his horizons a bit on that front some day, at least in this place), so naturally he's a little alarmed when he stumbles upon this starry stretch of dream and finds that there's no physical ground to stand on. It's so far removed from his own dream home as to be discomforting in that regard alone; there is no soft dirt or welcoming grass here, and the place somehow feels so much more alienating for it.

It's hard to tear his longing gaze away from the ground far below where his feet are currently planted, but eventually he turns his face upwards to get a deeper look at the endless sky. He supposes the stars are nice, even if he'd rather be on the ground. What's more distracting than the stars, though, is that— that damn messenger flying about like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Of course. Now the groundskeeper supposes he's the one dallying about where he's not supposed to be.

Maybe he can find his way back out before the Fairest notices him.

[fifty]

Of course the Fairest notices the Darkling the instant he thinks that--he wheels around backwards and upside-down and spots the eyebrows first, followed shortly by the green of the gardener's eyes standing out sharply against the surrounding blues and darkness.

He darts over immediately, of course, moving through the air as naturally as if he were born flying.

"Where'd you come from?"

[vinetattoos]

"The house? But this is -" he protests, stopping to draw breath as the page approaches. He takes a shaky, slow breath, wiping watering eyes with one hand. The thorns fade back into his arms and the blossoms wilt.

"Where - it's - " the images swim in his vision, fogs of memory and dream, his every sense screaming fear. He tries to think, but there's nothing but holes, nothing but a sense that he has been here before.

"A dream, I think. Not the house. It... war. That's all I know." He wraps his arms around himself, uncomfortable. "We can't stay here in the open."

[vinetattoos]

He blinks in surprise, and takes a step back from the tree. "Oh! Hello. I didn't see anyone else here. Just these beauties." He looks up at the trees fondly, squinting in the few sunbeams that make it through the thick canopy. A nearby vine drapes over his shoulders, lazily, moving without him touching it. He touches it absentmindedly as he meets the eyes of the other.

"Is this one yours? Your - your dream, I mean?" He speaks uncertainly, still not sure what this place is or why they are here.

[keepscalm]

He wishes people would stop asking him that bloody question.

The gardener bristles instantly in response, planting his hands firmly on his waist with no small amount of irritation. "Somewhere I'd like to get back to, as it turns out," he returns, pointedly looking away from his conversational partner to survey the surrounding landscape (or perhaps "skyscape" is more appropriate).

He doesn't see any kind of exit and it's impossible to tell where, exactly, he came in from. What a pain.

[fifty]

"This place is great, though," the messenger says, maybe the slightest touch defensively given that it's his place. "But I guess you could just go backwards if you really want to leave."

Or something like that, maybe. He circles around the gardener to try and figure out how he showed up. It doesn't look like there's a door or a rip in the sky or anything like that.

[armedanddangerous]

As he clambers down the the table in search of more food, the scenery begins to shift until suddenly there's no table at all, just a squawky man on his hands and knees in the middle of some place even more unfamiliar.

He glances up, a chunk of bread falling from his lips, and the only thing that occurs to him to say is, "Heeeeeh?"

[seerchlight]

"Whatever," Lights cuts her off, "the bees are fine. I remember owning them. They're chill. I'm talking about the apeshit agricultural apocalypse happening back...there. Wherever we are now."

[armedanddangerous]

The world shifts again, and this time he's outside. The open air would be a relief if it weren't so disorienting. Hunched over and clutching his side, he takes a few steps, stumbles, takes a few more. Gravel crunches beneath his faltering footsteps. He eyes the other figure warily, a challenge on his beaky face, but says nothing.

[nosentimentalist]

He looks like a cat who has inexplicably found himself in a pack of puppies- he tries to swat them away, but they easily avoid his hands to come up next to him to rub against him.

The tone of his voice isn't exactly pleased with this whole situation. Haven't these things ever heard of personal space? Sheesh.

"...Yeah. Hello."

[manelesscatking]

An equally wary face greets the gaudily colored bird. The page whips around, staring at the castle in the distance, then slowly turns back around and raises an eyebrow at their companion. "You're real?" they manage to croak out.

[nosentimentalist]

"Indeed I was." He smirks, despite himself. "What can I say? I'm just the type of typewriter who just doesn't seem to keep still. Just because I got in a neat little fight with some vines doesn't mean I'll stay put."

He pauses, as he takes in the scenery with an appreciative glance. "Your place is better than mine, though. I can see why one would want to stay here and forget about it all."

[keepscalm]

"Then you can stay here," insists the groundskeeper with a huff. This place is probably the messenger's dream home, if that reaction is anything to go by. And that's all well and good, but it's just unsettling, in the Darkling's opinion. He glances over his shoulder with a bit of a scoff. "I doubt that simply going backwards will help anything."

[fuzzyduck]

"It's a band. I just remembered a goddamn band." She throws her hands in the air. "I wasn't even in it!"

Groaning, she begins walking in whatever direction she was facing. "We're gettin' out."

[fuzzyduck]

"My dream was pretty peaceful, so we could go there if I can find it again, I guess." She shrugs, but then adds, looking a little disgusted, "We might have to put up with shitty music though."

[fuzzyduck]

"Hunters?" Now her brows furrow. She tries to dig in her memory - should the idea ring a bell? - but nothing comes. Frustrated, she huffs.

"Well, nothing's happenin' here, so ya should be alright. As long as--" Oh lord if she thinks about the music it will start again, won't it. "Yeah, let's pass the time, I guess."

[fuzzyduck]

"So... D'ya remember what that's about? Or are ya just a really shitty beekeeper?"

Frankly, she thinks she would have preferred to remember bees, rather than what she did recall.

[ex_maelstroms207]

"Better?" He echoes, closing the distance between them first with one step, then two. It's much too impersonal for his tastes, carrying on with conversation from afar. "Dare I ask where it was you ventured from?" The Fairest has to wonder, after all—this typewriter, who has neglected his tea and wears a smirk far better than he does his keys, what sort of place had he crafted for himself?

"Or is it something so terrible that it's rendered you incapable of enjoying your tea?"

[nosentimentalist]

"Good...for you?"

A band? That was an odd thing to remember, but...well, guess some people were unluckier than others when it came to these sorts of things. He puts his hands in pockets, following dutifully.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

[creased]

"You're made for dreaming?" The book's a little jealous, that sounds like a much more exciting purpose than being read, even if it has trapped her here.

But she's getting distracted, and self-preservation's a bit more important than her job description. She shakes her head. "How does she do that? Would you know if it were happening to you? Are you the only one who can stop her?"

[nosentimentalist]

He doesn't seem to mind the other getting closer- he still stands, smugness and certainty in his expression and the way he stands. He looks ready to take on anything that comes at him, even though is tone is casual and relaxed as it ever was.

"Ah, no, it's not terrible. Just...terribly boring." And he holds up the tea cup and grins slightly. "And sorry about the tea, I'm just not incredibly certain if I can drink it. Internal mechanisms and all...then again, maybe I can. This is a dream, after all."