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

[nosentimentalist]

"No, this is your dream. Mine was far more boring. For one, it didn't have so many things in it." He vaguely gestures to the boxes, the various things standing in the room. "So, I'm just a visitor. A intruder, actually, but let's not get caught up in negativity, here."

At her apology, he just shakes his head, looking quite unconcerned. "That's not a problem. They were quite feisty little things, so it was hardly your fault at all."

[subtleserenity]

"Thought you'd died," she admits. "Glad to see you're still breathin', intruder or not. This place ain't like my other dreams. There's someone I was lookin' for, an intruder." Her brow furrows as she tries to remember. "He hid here. On Serenity?"

A wave of emotion connected with the name hits her and she grips one of the few railings available, staring down. Serenity is family, laughing, fear, danger, death, joy, empty, full, hope, pride, regret, and so many other things. Most of all, the feeling of belonging is here. It's not the Keeper's house, his hand. It's this place; it's Serenity.

"This is my home," she says to the typewriter. "Someone's in my home that ain't friendly and don't got an invitation." As if on cue, a woman screams from somewhere in the corridor leading off from the cargo bay below them.

[nosentimentalist]

"I'm tougher than I look, don't you worry about that. I'm made of metal, and all." He smiles, knocking against a bare part of neck to produce a ting ting noise. At the next part, though, he raises an eyebrow- that isn't something familiar to him, but it must be for her, judging by the way she pauses after saying that name. Serenity?

"This is your home?" An odd one, for a gun. Maybe she was put in storage here...or this is what she had in whatever past life they were all remembering. The sudden scream makes him flinch, and he turns in the direction it came from, looking very uncertain.

"Are you sure you want to go off to check what it is? It could be a trap, for all you know. I mean, this is a dream." A pause. "If you're intent on chasing after your intruder, at least let me accompany you."

[subtleserenity]

Metal or not, they'd both been caught by those vines and knocked out by the look of it. Still, someone to watch her back while she moves forward does have its appeal, especially with the possibility of a trap.

"It is my home," she affirms, as much to herself as to him. And the intruder has no place here. "And I mean to make it safe. You're welcome to come, Specs. Keep an eye out behind you. Don't know if he's alone. You got any type of fightin' experience apart from weed whackin'?" Brimstone moves as she speaks, starting down the stairs and pulling out her gun once more.

[nosentimentalist]

"Will do." He seems happy to go after her- for some reason, this role just feels right, like it's something he should be doing. He doesn't put his hands in his pockets as he usually does, walking after her as quietly as he can. You never knew what could be wandering around in dreams.

"I...don't know, to be honest. I've sure I've fought before." But where? With what? Like he said, he doesn't know. But he knows that whatever comes, he'll be ready to take it on. "I'm sure we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Maybe your intruder is perfectly harmless, hm?"

[subtleserenity]

"Hell of a scare he puts up if he is," she says, just a touch of humor coloring her tone. They make it to the bottom of the staircase she glances upward, the feeling of nostalgia flowing through her again. It just makes her grit her teeth and move forward, eyes searching for movement. As they pass the weight set she notes, "Might find a weapon there if you don't mind clubbin' someone. Easy enough way to see you're one sort of fighter."

[nosentimentalist]

"Maybe that's his job. Scaring people. I'm sure there's a profession for that."

And ah. The weight set. He picks one up, hefting it in his hand- not too heavy to lift, yet dense enough to do some damage if used. Not bad at all. He'll nod at her, as thanks for the suggestion.

"Thanks for the idea. I guess we'll see what I can do with this against our intruder, wherever he is."

[subtleserenity]

Brimstone suspects it's a profession that ends in rather a lot of mortality depending on the audience. She wouldn't be averse to shooting whatever it is they're after at the moment. "Make sure you aim for the head," she offers as further advice. "'Less you think you mighta played shot-put."

Another scream turns her attention fully back to the task at hand, and she moves forward quickly and quietly, gun at the ready. She trusts Specs to follow.

There are sliding doors in this corridor, something she doesn't particularly like. Too much of a chance for someone hiding. She steps lightly toward the first and pauses, listening intently. On to the next on, and that next. Then, at the fourth door, she hears it. The shuffling footsteps again. She steps back and to the opposite side of the corridor before looking over at the typewriter and jerking her head toward the door. She tries to convey the message silently. 'Open the door. I'll shoot.'

[nosentimentalist]

"Will do," he says, but the scream makes him clutch the weight in his hands tighter. Dream or not, this is a tense situation, and he's not going to back down so easily. He of course follows, though maybe not as quickly- he's a big mass of metal, after all.

He catches up with her, though, and he quickly understands what she's getting at - with a nod, he approaches. Hopefully, this will be all over soon.

Opening the door, he quickly steps back to allow the gun to do what she does best.

[subtleserenity]

Her gun is aimed in at the room, but there is no one there, only a long wooden box lying on a bunk. The room is otherwise spartan with only a sink and mirror in the far corner. Brimstone's eyes take this in before flashing to her companion in confusion. The sounds seem to be coming from within the box now.

She steps into the room cautiously and checks the ceiling, but there's no one there. "You ever heard of a box that goes shufflin' and shoutin'?" she asks, tone wry. There's obviously some kind of recording device playing within the box, but why? It looks big enough to hold a man.

[nosentimentalist]

"Not really. If I wanted a box that made sounds, I would get a music box." He replies dryly, though judging by the expression on his face, he looks just as confused as she is. He follows her carefully, his grip still tight around the weight as he looks around, before his gaze turns to the box in question.

"What do you suppose is inside it? I mean, there couldn't be someone stuck in there...could there?"

[subtleserenity]

"Maybe," she replies. It looks like someone's already pried the top of the box open once. There are dulled nails poking out to the side and a dent in the wood. "One way to find out."

Brimstone holsters her gun, shoots her companion a significant look to be on his guard, and pulls the top of the box off. It falls to the side of the bed and they get a look at a deathly pale man lying inside. On his chest is what looks like a mechanical device small enough to fit into the palm of the hand. It's emitting the noises and she snatches it up, pressing the buttons on the side until it stops.

"Don't recognize him," she says, confused. Is he another of the Keeper's servants or possessions? "You?"

[nosentimentalist]

He shakes his head. A dead body in a box? A million questions come to his mind- who is he? Why is he here? Who killed him? He's itching to find out.

"No, I don't. I wonder who he is." He didn't look like a possession. Maybe a servant, but those were beautiful, fair...this man just looks ordinary. He looks to her, a questioning look on his face.

"What's the device?"

[subtleserenity]

"Some kinda recorder," she replies, uncertain how she knows this, but very sure that it is. "Probably part of whatever this is. He might be, too. Don't look nothin' like our kind." Servants, possessions, pets - she doesn't have the word changeling, yet. She's a gun and a woman, simple as that.

"Looks like the folk I fought with." And that, would seem to indicate he's only a memory, albeit one that means nothing to her. He's just a body in a box with a recording device that makes frightening sounds. She holds that device up now, examining it. She rewinds it, then hits play. There's the shuffling of feet, then the shriek of a woman, loud and piercing. It chills her for some reason she can't explain, and she stops the recorder before offering it to Specs. "Don't think he's real. Or this."

[nosentimentalist]

"No, it certainly doesn't. Else someone would be probably be screaming at us and asking why we turned them off..."

Of course. This is a dream, but more specifically, her dream. This is all meaningless to him, but to her...well, it might hold some significance. He recalls his own dream, how familiar it was and how he had not a single idea why. That's what she must be going through, now.

Still, it makes little sense to put such a thing with a dead man...what purpose would it have served?

"Well, this is a dream." A pause as he pushes up his glasses with a finger. "But I can't help thinking...was this meant to be some sort of diversion? A distraction, of some sort."

[subtleserenity]

At the suggestion, Brimstone is on her guard again, and giving credence to the suggestion, she hears the sound of movement outside the room. She starts to turn toward that when the dead man in the box sits up. Her gun is on him immediately, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"They're comin', ma'am," he says, and her hackles rise.

"Who?"

He seems to want to answer, but his lips can't form the words. It probably doesn't help when a knife buries itself in his neck a moment later. The very dead man fall back in his box as Brimstone turns toward the entrance, gaze flicking to Specs just long enough to ensure he hasn't been attacked. The knife-wielder is already on the move again. Their feet are pounding the metal corridors.

"C'mon," she says, hurrying to the entrance.