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

OTA

[nosentimentalist]

It's an endless corridor.

No, really. It goes on forever, twisting and turning into places that look exactly the same, with bookshelves stuck in the walls and glass windows that show a hazy beige sky filled with clouds. And there's the omnipresent sound of ticking everywhere, filling your ears and distracting you from the possible right way to go.

The typewriter walks the corridor, and in front of him a very, very strange creature runs away. Occasionally, it falls over, but gets back up, dashing in different directions and never, ever staying too long for one to get a good glimpse of it.

This is odd. Very odd. The typewriter frowns, but he keeps following the thing, feeling somewhat paranoid that someone is watching what he is doing.

How can he find a way out of this place?

[seerchlight]

And from entering a building, Lights somewhere ends up here. Fuck, he knew that was a mistake. He should have stayed outside.

"Hello?" he calls impatiently down one of the endless corridors. The first thing he sees is that weirdass motherfucker running down the hallway. It doesn't seem to pay any attention to him as it runs by.

"What the fuck, even."

[nosentimentalist]

"Oh, hello. Pity you found yourself here. It's dreadfully boring."

And after the strange creature comes this typewriter, walking nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets. He stops to look over at the elemental though, raising an eyebrow.

"Where did you come from, though? I thought there was no way out of this place..."

[seerchlight]

"Uh. Through a door?" he replies, as if to say 'duh.' He sits back in the air where he's floating, seemingly resigning himself to it. "But I'm guessing it's not here anymore. What's that dude's problem?"

He means the one that just ran by.

[nosentimentalist]

"No, you would be right about that." He lets out a sigh, scratching his head. So much for that way of escape.

At the other's comment, he turns to the creature, which is currently flailing on the ground several feet away, trying to get back up. He shrugs. It is familiar to him, for some reason...but then again, this might all just be from some storybook he read recently. It seems surreal enough, anyways.

"Beats me. It seems like he's got some place to go, though where that is is hard to say. He won't stay still, that's for sure."

[seerchlight]

"Right," he says, and trails off into silence. Because nothing about this situation particularly lends him to small talk.

"...So did you get eaten by vines too, is that what's happening here, because I'm still not super clear on that issue."

[nosentimentalist]

"What, you too?" He cocks his head to the side, though not too far, giving how his shoulders are literally the carriage of himself that moves from side to side. "Heh. Getting put to sleep by vines was about the last thing I would have expected, but no, I don't think we were eaten. More like...hurt, in a way? I know that there are plants that produce poisons and chemicals and the like, so it isn't that illogical that it could have produced a hallucinogen or a sleep agent of some sort."

[seerchlight]

He just give him a look.

"Uh yeah, since when do we need an explanation for a vine putting us to sleep, are you aware of the kind of environment we are living in here? It's pretty much bullshit city, get over it already."

[nosentimentalist]

Wow, rude. The typewriter frowns. Of course, he has a point, but...it just didn't feel right to just do away with explanations and just say it was all magic.

"...Yes, well, we're here now. Good for us." He glances towards the creature, which has only just gotten up and is now again running off down the corridor. "So what is this, like a shared dream or something? I mean, I'm positive you're not a part of my dream. Neither I of yours."

[seerchlight]

"I guess so..." he says, sort of annoyed but resigned. "If we're asleep, why not. Hasn't dreaming ever felt weird to you before? I mean...not that I really have anything to compare it to."

[nosentimentalist]

"Well, it's not like typewriters dream, so...yes, I would say it does feel weird."

He looks uncomfortable. There's that feeling again, that somebody is just around the corner, staring at him, but he turns and there's no one there. Why is he so nervous? It's not like he's seen anything dangerous around here so far.

"How does one wake up from within a dream, anyways? I don't remember."

[seerchlight]

"I dunno. Maybe we're just dead." It's said rather flatly, like he's not actually that concerned with the idea. "Now wouldn't that be fucked?"

That feels like a natural thing to him, somehow. This place reminds him of somewhere he's been before, when he was dead.

[nosentimentalist]

"If we're dead, this is a really boring interpretation of the afterlife."

He does feel the other's guess has some sense to it, and he frowns. Honestly, a version of an afterlife like this...it wouldn't be too far off from what some people felt life after death was like. Winding, uncertain, never going anywhere...but he then shrugs, shaking off the thought. Hey, it's not like he's ever been to the world of the dead before.

"But no, I think we're still alive. I would remember dying, at least, I hope I would. What's the last thing you remember before coming here?"

[seerchlight]

"Well, mostly I remember getting trapped and stabbed up by thorns," he says, dryly. "You know, the major inspiration for my particularly bleak prognosis on this whole fuckfest."

[nosentimentalist]

"I would applaud you on your astute powers of analysis if not for the fact that us being dead is a rather silly assumption to make. If that's true, where is everyone else? Why us, together, in this place? I don't think the afterlife holds blind dates."

A pause. The creature suddenly runs from up behind him and passes him to run down the corridor again, and the typewriter doesn't even seem to really care.

"So, if this isn't the end, then it must be a dream. Now, maybe we can enter another dream, just like you came in here. How did you get in here? You just wandered around, right?"

[seerchlight]

"Well, actually, given that I now recall having died twice in whatever fucked up past existence I am remembering, I'm pretty sure I know a lot more about the goddamn afterlife than you ever could," he snaps, an edge of genuine impatience in his tone.

[nosentimentalist]

He's about to say somehow, he doesn't think so, that he's the more knowledgeable of the two about that particular topic, but he stops himself. That's...kind of silly. As far as he knows, he hasn't died, well, ever.

"Twice? My condolences. And you really think it's a past existence? Maybe it's past lives in plural- people can't die over and over, you know."

[seerchlight]

"I dunno," he drawls, still pretty unimpressed. "Sure felt like the same damn thing. Even if the afterlife was different both times." He narrows his eyes. "But I know I was dead. That's not something you really forget."

Or rather you don't forget it permanently, he supposes.

[nosentimentalist]

"Good for you," he says dryly, taking off his glasses and peering through them as if he's found a speck, before putting them back on.

"If you don't mind me asking, what were they like? The afterlives."

[seerchlight]

He frowns, since he's pretty sure he's being condescended to. But he answers anyway.

"Pretty much like this, actually. It's all memories. Like ghosts are memories of people, maybe."

[nosentimentalist]

Don't worry. This typewriter condescends to everyone, it's pretty much part of his nature. He'll nod, his expression turning more thoughtful.

"Memories? Makes sense, in a way. Actually, sounds more like some version of purgatory than say, heaven or hell. Did you remember how you died, or were you just there without any explanation?"

[seerchlight]

"Some kind of psychic blast, I think," he says, a little more subdued in mentioning it. "I just...was so loud in my head, like all these people screaming. I was bleeding out of my face and all over. Just as I was about to get out it all got worse and I died."

[nosentimentalist]

"Sounds painful." He doesn't know what to say to that. Sorry you died in some lifetime which we can barely remember? He feels stupid just thinking of it.

"Well, at least you can feel better about the fact that you won't be repeating it anytime soon, being what you are. I hardly think killing a being made of light is any easy task.

[seerchlight]

"Pretty sure I'm not literally made of light, dude," he says, raising a nearly invisible eyebrow. "See, look? Touch me."

Say hello to a very glowing hand in your face.

[nosentimentalist]

Way for invading personal space, Light Guy! The typewriter frowns uncomfortably, backing away slightly just so he can get that hand out of his face. But curiosity, as it always does, wins him over, and he raises his own metal hand to meet the elemental's.

"Huh. What do you know. You're solid."