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

[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."

[seerchlight]

"I know, right," he drawls, pulling back his hand. "It amazes me every single day."

[nosentimentalist]

"So...where is the light coming from, then? Your internal organs?" He says, peering closer, though it kind of hurts to look directly at the man. "What are you, usually? A lamp? A light bulb?"

[seerchlight]

"I've always been like this," he says, "but I was the searchlight, outside. You know, doing sentry stuff. Keeping the bad shit out. All in a night's work." He shrugs, smirking. "Maybe it's my skin."

[nosentimentalist]

"Searchlight?" He nods. "Understandable. Though, I guess you're not doing as much guarding as you should, with you walking around..."

A pause. "What sort of bad things were you keeping away, I wonder?"

[seerchlight]

"Not my fault, not my problem," he says, though his eyes narrow. "And it's not really that much of a mystery. There's all kinds of deadly beasts out there."

[nosentimentalist]

"Well, I don't go out into the garden that often, so I'm just curious." A pause. Beasts, huh...? The mental image of them lurking outside is vaguely familiar, though he has no idea why.

"What sort of beasts are there? Are they like us, or are they...well, wild?"

[seerchlight]

"I dunno," he says, shrugging. "Just enemy's of the Keeper, probably. It depends what you mean by 'wild', dude, just because something is malicious doesn't mean it isn't smarter than us."