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

[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]

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."

[ex_maelstroms207]

"And it is my dream, at that." Voice lilting with amusement, he smiles, somehow endeared to the typewriter's posturing (and the simple notion that a typewriter should be able to posture at all is quite delightful, as a matter of fact!). "If I wish for it to happen, should you not be able to help yourself to tea?" Well, in theory it should work—if one is lucid and wholly aware that they are dreaming, why should they not be able to manipulate the circumstance, as well?

Admittedly, he is curious: what will happen?

"Once you've finished, perhaps we should take our leave of this place together. It does not sit well with me, knowing that there are others we've left behind in our sleep."

sorry for tl;dr memory regain

[nosentimentalist]

He can't help but let out a laugh at that. "Very well, you make a convincing argument. But if this ruins me in any way, it's all on you, just saying that now."

He finally raises up the cup to his lips, curious as to what it'll taste like. Nothing, perhaps? He's not an expert on dream tea, to be sure.

And then the sip. It's...it's actually not bad. As he thinks about the taste (bitter, but nice, quite nice), suddenly it feels like the world is turning black and his head feels like it's throbbing. A scene comes to his eyes:

There's a young boy looking up at him shyly. They're standing in what looks to be a forest, blue and green and filled with strange plants the typewriter doesn't recognize.

The typewriter feels himself talking, words he doesn't remember coming out of his mouth without any conscious control. "Your dad sent me. He wants to get something for you, but he didn't know what you wanted."

"Well...there's one thing, but it's really hard to get. It's a magazine called Unknown Realms. Shops don't have it because it doesn't sell." The boy says, casting his gaze down at the ground.

"Heh heh, that's all you want? You're in luck. I happen to write for that magazine. If you want, you could just call our editorial department for a copy."

The boy looks up, overjoyed. "Really? You write for them? I thought Unknown Realms was going out of print! Hey...could I go and see the UR office sometime?"

"Yes," the typewriter replies, a smile on his face. "Why not."

When he blinks, he finds himself back in the meadow, and it's awfully disconcerting, like he's teleported physically from one place to another. The cup clatters loudly as he tries to put it down in its saucer.

"I-I'm sorry." He frowns. A writer? For a magazine? What...what did it all mean? "I didn't hear what you said. Could you repeat it again for me?"

but it's so lovely. /chinhands

[ex_maelstroms207]

He thinks, for a moment, that he might have inadvertently succeeded in poisoning his guest (insofar as a typewriter can be poisoned, that is!). Perhaps it would be more correct to say that he'd unwittingly induced a malfunction, with his insistence that the tea be imbibed, so as not to be put to waste, and it is fair to say that the escort stills as well, waiting with bated breath for something—anything, a sign that his companion will be okay.

His shoulders slope with a sigh of relief, at the clatter of china and the apologetic word, and on impulse, he reaches out, laying a gentle hand atop the other's shoulder, fingers curling there in a gesture of reassurance that likely isn't needed, but one he wishes to provide all the same.

"You've nothing to apologize for." Truly. Everything's all right now, isn't it? Well, aside from being caught in a dreamscape, of course. "I'd said we should take our leave of this place, though..."

The Fairest's brow furrows in concern. "Are you all right?"

oh you /o/

[nosentimentalist]

He isn't expecting the sudden touch, and he looks up in surprise before realizing that oh, it's just the other man's hand on his shoulder. Although it's probably meant to be reassuring, the typewriter just stares awkwardly, unsure how to react to it. Is he...supposed to pat the other guy on the shoulder to? Was that what people did? Honestly, he doesn't know, and he didn't care, and he's just going to shake his head at the question.

"I..." He pauses, trying to think how to phrase it. "I just remembered something. Like that dream I had that woke me up. I was...talking to a boy." He realizes that he doesn't even know the boy's name, or why his dad wanted him to get him something. It was all very strange.

Re: oh you /o/

[ex_maelstroms207]

Well. Color the Fairest pleased to find that his guest isn't about to keel over anytime soon. As a matter of fact, the only thing which seems at all amiss is the typewriter's apparent lack of etiquette and good social graces, but this the escort can forgive (not everyone's role is akin to his own, after all!). Where the other man blinks in surprise, the Fairest only smiles, his touch lingering for a second longer before falling away.

"About?" Tactfully, he urges the other to expound the memory, his expression nothing if not curious in earnest. "The nature of the conversation may be important, don't you think?"

[nosentimentalist]

A part of him wants to keep it secret, because he somehow feels that memory is incredibly personal. But then again, it wasn't like sharing it was going to do any harm. Perhaps it might help him remember the details for good and not let them fade away.

"Yes, well...if what I heard was correct, apparently I'm a writer for a magazine? It's called Unknown Realms, or something like that..." He frowns, casting his gaze towards the ground. Damn it, why can't he remember more? "The boy. I know him, somehow...but I don't know him at the same time. I was doing something for him, and he was happy to meet me. Other than that...I don't know what was going on."