For the first time in years, Bryan had an avid dream.
He found himself standing in a vague, vacant city. His tennis shoes were planted on a sidewalk, which had no cracks, no imperfections. Pristine, in an uncanny way. The buildings surrounding him resembled downtown St. Louis, or at far as he could perceive it. Same old mix of glassy skyscrapers, and older brick buildings sporting architecture from various decades.
One phrase came to mind: The Twilight Zone.
His mind still addled, he began to look for people.
Why was he here again.
This same image seemed to assault Vince's eyes every time he slept, one of his own hand against a blurred mass colored a hue of green unachievable in nature. Nevertheless, it was a forest. As natural as it could get. Slowly, he began to come to. His senses returned to him in the order they always did- first, the sound of a running stream, then a soft chill, then the damp moss, then the clean-tasting air. No variation whatsoever. When he got up, Nilas was even drinking from the stream, looking up at him quizzically as he got to his feet and nearly stepped on his cloak in the process.
Really, what ruled this dream was a persistent feeling of heaviness, of lethargy as he dragged himself through the forest. An odd feeling, considering that he never really felt lethargic outside this dream.
However, this was not the same. His hand black from his power restraint gloves, Vince led Nilas through the forest by the chin, wondering if he could find something, anything different from the hundreds of times he had found himself there aside from a change in clothes. Not a leaf was disturbed, not a sound or sensation different. The vegetation began to spread in anticipation of that clearing he always found.
However, he did not find the clearing. Rather, he happened upon something that he had never before seen in his dreams.
Gray, fog-coated cinderblocks of buildings.
It was kind of hideous.
He stepped deliberately through a cloud of mist, listening to the sound of his shoes and Nilas' hooves against pavement. Pulling his cloak around his skinny, scrawny frame, the two watched their surroundings for any hint of movement, or even a sound. Vince glanced at his horse's ears, one of which turned towards something. He followed her judgement as she strode through blinding fog towards whatever she had heard, the sound of breaths growing slightly louder as they approached a wall. There, a man kept his hand on the wall's surface. They kept their distance slightly, just enough for something more than their silhouettes to be made out. He didn't really know what to make of this place, but hopefully, people in Dreamland still behaved something like people from Realland.
edited 28th Feb '12 8:21:54 PM by CrystalGlacia
"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."
An old man and an old woman picked their way through the mist, eyes wary, treading cautiously.
The old man had always been handsome, and aged gracefully. The lines on his face were mostly from smiles, and his eyes darted with more energy than most men his age. His gray hair and goatee were neatly trimmed. He wore black slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a green and brown argyle sweater vest. The outfit, and his far-off expression, to give him a bookish, and slightly eccentric air. He seemed to be distracted, examining the architecture of this strange place with interest. "Most fascinating," he muttered in a Persian accent. "You know, Samira, I've never seen architecture quite like this... but what's most curious, it seems to be... adapting?"
Time had not been as kind to Samira. Most of the left side of her face was a single massive scar, some sort of burn. The included the eye socket, though she wore a patch over the eye itself. Other, lesser scars could be seen on the rest of her face. She wore a dark gray headscarf wrapped around her head, black slacks, and a dark grey turtleneck sweater. She looked over at her husband and said, in the same strong accent, "adapting? Zach, care to explain?"
"Of course, dear," Zacharias said, stopping at a nearby building. "The buildings lacked any distinctive features at first — purely practical. But now... take a look at the arches and geometric patterns decorating this building. Would it look out of place in Shiraz or Tehran?"
Samira leaned in and considered. She was about to say "no," until she took a moment to examine more closely. She said, "oh! But that image, there, in the center! The androgynous one, wreathed in flames. Isn't that how Asayu described Sulah? And the other iconography... also Uelane. Never seen its like on Earth, let alone in Iran."
Zacharias nodded in approval and said, "precisely. And take a look at the wood here. I'm no expert, but I'll bet you a dollar it's from a Pacific temperate rainforest. Now, explain to me how a single building reflects all three of the places we know best."
Samira considered. "No idea. But this place is stranger than we thought..."
They looked over, and saw a figure approaching out of the fog. Or perhaps several, it was hard to tell. Zacharias yelled, "hello! Finally, someone else in this curious place! Am I right to guess you're as lost as us?"
edited 28th Feb '12 8:27:59 PM by KillerClowns
Drummer Boy
A tiny, pale young woman in a simple red silk gown crouches on the roof of a building and narrows her eyes at the three dark shapes she can make out in the fog. What are their intentions?
The city is hideous, with its gaudy colors and ugly buildings. Hollow and meaningless, a shabby imitation of vivacity. It reminds her her of the poorer districts of Himmelburg: haphazard and on the verge of collapse. She twirls a lock of black hair around her finger and watches with wide eyes as the white wall appears close to her. This seems to excite the young man who is reaching for it now, one of the shadows she picked out in the mist.
Bianca sits on the edge of the roof. "Are you looking for something?" she calls out to him, swinging her bare feet back and forth.
She flinches when she hears another man shouting, and reaches for a silver bracelet on her left hand.
edited 28th Feb '12 8:34:17 PM by SnowyFoxes
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
highly secure
Hector stumbled back from the wall, fingertips tingling. He heard a voice above him, reaching out to him. In the subconscious registries of his mind he records the words, but his consciousness is somewhere else entirely.
"I'm not looking for anything," Hector said, brushing aside the tangled hair covering the back of his neck. Absentmindedly, he scratched. "I haven't really looked for anything in a long time, to be honest."
Slowly, Hector craned his neck upwards. "But I should know that, shouldn't I? Aren't you supposed to be my subconscious? Or were the movies wrong?" he asked, swiveling his head to look around the place.
Someone else calls out to him, approaching him from down the foggy corridor of shops. He narrowed his eyes at their question. He didn't know any of these people.
"My name's Hector Winthrop; I've got pretty good reason to believe that I'm dreaming. Who are you people, if not some warped projection of my subconscious, sent here to mock me?"
Whatcha gonna do, little buckaroo? | i be pimpin' madoka fics
Samira and Zacharias made their way to Hector, and Zacharias cheerfully said, "unless there is a reason for you to have two professors from a university in Seattle running around, Mr. Winthrop, I think we can all conclude this is no ordinary dream."
Samira looked up to Bianca and gave her a courteous nod. "Care to come down?" she said, cautiously. The young woman didn't seem especially trusting, and Samira didn't dare to startle her.
Lucha Libre goddess
The maid was once again in the land of dreams.
She went to a mirror and saw what looked like a mirror. She her reflection as a beautiful winged lady. She yas young, beautiful blue haired and pale skinned.She had a beautiful crown and a beautiful blue dress.
...But it wasn't herself at all.She rembered herself as she really was, poor, evil, with a great guilt. Her body was covered with chains. She cried but then she tried to put all her rage on the people that were on the fog far away.
She had never seen people like that before. But one thing was for sure, she was going to make her as miserable as she was.
edited 28th Feb '12 8:54:00 PM by FallenLegend
Make your hearth shine through the darkest night; let it transform hate into kindness, evil into justice, and loneliness into love.
Nilas whinnied in surprise at the sound of voices seeming to split the air. He did his best to calm the massive animal, offering a consoling hand on the side of her neck as he looked over the couple and the young man who had his hand on the wall.
One of the people close by him would see a man, ostensibly Mediterranean in appearance with a skinny, unimpressive build. However, unlike a Mediterranean, his eyes were colored the shade of blood. Aside from that, the hooded cloak he wore hid the rest of his body from view.
His horse was large but unremarkable, lacking a saddle, harness, or any of the expected trimmings of a horse. And perpetually terrified, at that.
edited 28th Feb '12 8:55:05 PM by CrystalGlacia
"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."
Drummer Boy
"Movies? What are movies? I don't think I'm your subconscious, and I'm certainly not here to mock you, Mr. Winthrop."
Bianca steps off the building and wraps her skirt tightly around her legs as she floats down, giving no other indication that she heard Samira. The old couple and Hector seem harmless, but she takes off her bracelet anyway and it turns into a revolver. She holds her chin high and makes sure the gun is clearly visible, but makes no great show of it.
edited 28th Feb '12 8:59:59 PM by SnowyFoxes
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
As far as Aida was concerned, this was a sort of date.
The buildings sprouted orange walls around her, tile roofs laying on by invisible quick layers. Dany followed behind her, his eyes still somewhat hazy, not yet lucid. She held his hand. This would be his first time cognizant through this realm. The roads cobbled as they stepped, buildings shortening to accomodate their tastes. Her dark gray hand stayed wrapped around his pitch black one, leading down until they found something interesting. There would likely be something interesting eventually. This place did not belong to them alone.
Aida wasn't supposed to use her powers for extracarricular activities, but sometimes rebellion could be fun.
As Bryan walked through the mysterious city, its atmosphere of uncanniness became stronger and stronger.
The buildings deceived his eyes. As he passed through the city, the skyscrapers warped around him. It would suddenly slip into becoming white, stiff blocks of stone. Almost featureless, with their facades ghostly. And then as the building went out of sight, it would revert back to the "St. Louis" buildings. The fog became thicker and thicker.
Someone was meddling behind the scenes. Probably his brain. But for a dream...it was too real. Way too real. So real, there was no way he could dismiss it as a normal dream.
Why had he never asked Amy or Finn about whatever psychic energy affected dreams? Such information would be helpful.
Out of the fog, where all the buildings were white, a small crowd of people stood in the middle of the street. Bryan cocked his head toward him and meandered off the sidewalk. He shoved his hands into his pockets and approached the crowd.
"Hey, are all of you a part of my dream, or...?"
edited 28th Feb '12 9:04:32 PM by chihuahua0
Lucha Libre goddess
The maid overheard Hector and said, "I am your nightmare if that's what you mean.You seem to be really patetic already however."
She heard Bryan close to her and she replied to him "I am part of your nightmare".
This character is supposed to be a bad person
edited 28th Feb '12 9:11:14 PM by FallenLegend
Make your hearth shine through the darkest night; let it transform hate into kindness, evil into justice, and loneliness into love.
Samira watched Bianca's gun warily. Scared, righteous, angry, evil... the bullet didn't care what it's owner's intentions or reasons were. It existed only to kill, and in a way, a jumpy young girl with that sort of power so easily available was just as dangerous as a true killer. And the way she had floated down... she was more than human, that was clear.
Best to be safe. Cautious. Who knew if this dream could be awakened from if the dreamer died? She gave Bianca a courteous nod, and softened her stance and expression, avoiding any sort of posture that could come across as aggressive. But she didn't pursue any further conversation yet.
Zacharias, seeing nobody speaking to him at this exact moment, knelt down to examine the cobblestones they walked upon, looking to see if anything about them caught his eye. They didn't have any distinctive style, though, being simply neat white blocks of stone. "That's a shame," he muttered, eyeballing the road as it went along to see if it made any interesting pattern changes in the distance.
As Aida and Dany approached Zachariah, the cobbles began to turn a pleasant, warm orange, the color of the cobbles at home. Neither of them had been too far outside of their home country, so the architecture gently flowing into other, newer styles caught Aida's eye. She wondered how many of these styles were real, and how many were imagined. She hadn't seen much that was too outlandish yet, except for the glass-covered skyscrapers. They must have been made up.
Dany clutched her hand a bit tighter. usually he zoomed right past all of these places, without so much as a glance, as Aida made her routes. This place, he could sense there was something not quite right about it, but Aida looked at ease.
Drummer Boy
Too many people. Bianca backs away from the slowly growing crowd, her eyes narrowed. It was a mistake to make her presence known. And what with this talk of dreams? Dreams are dreams. They're not supposed to make sense. This dream won't make sense to her when she wakes up in the—
Has she ever thought about what she'll think of a dream in the morning? She furrows her brow and twirls a lock of hair around her finger.
No matter, as long as it doesn't become a nightmare. She keeps her distance and holds her gun tightly.
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
Bryan spotted the old man with the goatee bend down and pressed his hand against the ground. Against his touch, the concrete street peeled and rippled away, cobblestone appearing in a patch all around them. The edges of the concrete remained far away from them.
It was difficult to see. It was if he placed a projection onto the ground.
Bryan butted into the group, which was definitely disorganized and in chaos. "Wait, is everyone here seeing the same thing?"
edited 28th Feb '12 9:15:16 PM by chihuahua0
Samira spotted Bianca's panic, and moved away from the main crowd. When suitably separated from the group, she cautiously offered a hand towards Bianca, and said, "are you okay?" Samira gently brushed her own scarred face, hoping it wasn't too terrifying, and said, "don't worry. If you don't like this crowd, we can go somewhere quiet." Realizing how risky this would be for the scared girl, she added, "unless you'd rather not, of course. It's up to you. But I don't want anybody to get hurt."
Zacharias stood and blinked in amazement. "Well, if ever we doubted this place was of a curious sort..." he shook his head. "My apologies, we have yet to introduce ourselves. I am Zacharias Hosseini, linguist, and that is my wife, Samira Hosseini, theologian and activist. A pleasure to make your acquaintances."
edited 28th Feb '12 9:24:15 PM by KillerClowns
arachnidsGrip
To break onto the shores of consciousness, eroding away the masks that we hold dear.
That is to dream, splitting open the soul from its fractured shell. Try as they might, humanity could only reach within themselves in their own prison.
Arminius envied those people. Facing only his inner demons, always lurking just out of reach. If only.
But there was no mirror, save for the twisted ones from a dark future. Only windows, windows as far as the eye could see. Fervent glimpses of what would be, and what would always be. A woman sobbing over her child, undead rising up from the horizon, old souls dying alone.
Never ending, never failing. Sometimes pleasant, sometimes agonizing. But one thing held unshakably true - all would come to pass.
No matter the lengths he took to avoid it, sleep always found to him. No amount of nicotine or caffeine would ever change that. It would come, as it came today.
Lying on the cold pavement, snow white hair splayed out like a corona. The world was bleary at first, blurring together as one soggy mess. Slowly, choppily, the edges sharpened and cleared into a towering cityscape.
The smog was absolutely choking, pressing in as it rolled onto the streets. It covered him ruthlessly as he pushed himself up, burying his face into his gloved hand. His memories were foggy at best, telling him only half-truths and blind guesses.
A noise. His gaze tore away from the cold sidewalk, a hand instinctively touching the top of his holster.
Two men, one woman. The young man wearily approached the pair, both of them set firmly in their golden years.
He knew this song and dance before, learned it by heart. Face falling in despondence, Arminius breathlessly sighed and shoved himself onto his feet. This one was only the beginning - soon, they would all come crashing down onto his head.
The shadows lengthened, stretching out over the pavement. For a moment, a man and a woman embrace passionately against a wall. For only one night, she says, they can live without a care in the world. In a blink of an eye, they dissolve away into the closing fog.
A frail boy collapses onto the ground, looking up in despair. Reaching a hand out, he cries out and chokes back tears. He too disappears, his sobs fading away into the mist.
And of course, more people. Their visions would all come and go, ebbing away with the sands of time. To expect any different was insanity at best.
Armin sighed, pushing himself against the wall. If he was lucky, the alarm would pierce through his sleep and wake him up. If not...then he needed a cigarette. A long drag never solved anything, but it helped.
long post is long. for those playing at home, he's an oracle that dreams of things yet to come. but only things in his world, so don't sweat it too hard.
edited 28th Feb '12 9:31:24 PM by IBLiS
bluh bluh
The man had knelt down to examine the streets. Yes, they were odd for cobblestone; usually, it wreaked havoc on horses, who would have trouble maintaining their balance on the uneven bricks. The girl who had floated off of the building kept hold of a sidearm. Scanning over her, he could find no holster or place to put it. Vince kept his distance, doing his best to keep Nilas' attention away from her. Given how neurotic she could get about everything else, he feared her reaction to the mere sight of what she likely considered a glorified noisemaker.
Vince gave the couple a slight, cordial smile when they introduced themselves. "Pleasure," he replied with a mild French-Italian accent. "Professor Vinicio Acquati." He took a step towards Zacharias and shook his hand, accompanied by his usual quick, friendly nod, doing the same with the man's wife. "And my horse is Nilas."
She was getting apprehensive. About six people here, he counted, not including himself. An aging couple, a teenage boy, a young girl in Victorian clothing- God, he loved Victorian suits -a young man, and a strange young woman of sorts. And then there was he, that cloaked weirdo with the horse.
He tried not to think too deeply on such things. His normal dreams rarely made much sense.
Going to sleep; try not to post too much.
edited 28th Feb '12 9:35:46 PM by CrystalGlacia
"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."
Drummer Boy
"I'll be fine." Bianca jumps and lands on the roof of the building behind her. "As long as I stay up here, anyway."
She accepts the strangeness, as she ought to, this being a dream, but she is somehow also aware of it, so she is still uneasy. Alma is a lucid dreamer, so maybe she could help her a little later. She jumps across the buildings until she is close enough to the crowd to hear them talk, but she hopes they will figure out that she isn't really interested in contributing to the discussion.
She snaps her fingers and a pulsing ball of warm, yellow light floats above her head so she can see a little better in the fog.
edited 28th Feb '12 9:31:19 PM by SnowyFoxes
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
Aida eyes the couple and gets the impression that she was not the only one who had the idea to take someone here on a date tonight.
Dany's expression is nervous. All of the people here are strange, in a way he can't quite put his finger on. He grips Aida's hand tighter and wonders why he agreed to this.
"I'm Aida," says Aida brightly, "And this is my friend, Dany." There certainly are a lot of people. A lot more people than usual. Oh well, some nights have hotspots like this where seemingly everyone dreams. It was unusual, but not unnatural. Aida had seen some unnatural things before. This was not one of them. "What brings you here tonight?" This is a question she knows usually trips them up, but she asks it so innocently that it must be earnest.
highly secure
More and more people were congregating around here; something he didn't find particularly appealing.
Breaking away from the main crowd, Hector followed the two Arabian-looking seniors.
"Well, she left quickly," Hector said. "Please, call me Hector. When you call me 'Mr. Winthrop' it feels like you're about to throw me into a tank of piranhas. No offense; I've probably just read a bunch of James Bond. Or empirical experience, I'm not sure which."
Hector looked around the dream. "Anyways, do we know whose dream this is? So far, that wall," he said, jerking a thumb behind him, "uh, I'm pretty sure that's me. Although, really, it'd be nice if it left. I..."
Slowly, Hector exhaled. "Well, I'd be lying to my two new acquaintances if I said that I had no particular fondness for it, but oh well. I'll assume that any interesting architecture is you guys?"
Another girl walked up to them. Hector considered her question but didn't answer. It was phrased strangely. Why? He had fallen asleep. Unless she was from some world full of wacky dream hijinx, in which case Hector had nothing to offer.
Whatcha gonna do, little buckaroo? | i be pimpin' madoka fics
Zacharias' eyes went wide with joy as he said to Vince, "ah, magnificient! Another academic? You've seen it to, yes? No sense to the architecture in this place. Or... my apologies. What is your field of expertise, Professor Acquati? I'd hate to bore an astrophysicist with my ramblings." He seemed utterly oblivious to Vince's massive horse.
Samira sighed and let the nervous girl float away. She rejoined her husband, and said to Aida and Dany, "sorry, my husband is... rather focused at times." She smiled with fond amusement. "Don't expect much conversation from him until he's finished pestering Acquati. And why we're here?" She looked around the mysterious realm, then said, "I'm not sure I'm the one who can answer that."
To Hector, she said, "yes, I think so. Any Persian or Uel... er, rounded, extraterrestrial architecture you see is probably us. Maybe a bit of Seattle as well. And I don't think this is anyone's dream. Not anyone mortal, anyways."
Gotta sleep, though. Good night for now.
edited 28th Feb '12 9:44:52 PM by KillerClowns
Lucha Libre goddess
this thread made me realize my character isn't very good :/. It was fun nonetheless will be back when I develop her more
Make your hearth shine through the darkest night; let it transform hate into kindness, evil into justice, and loneliness into love.
Fog floated through the air, tiny droplets of water suspended in empty nothingness, obscuring vision and dampening the atmosphere. Strips of seemingly abandoned shops and buildings lined the streets of the foggy city row by row, like unwanted extras peeking out of a theater's sidelines, Bright, flashy colors leaped out at the viewer, only to be stifled and muted by the fog surrounding everything.
In the end, though, the city was open to change. It wasn't like the immutable, static mazes of materiel substance so popular among humans. Everything about that was very objective—everyone perceived in the same manner, they felt the same cold concrete, they breathed the same dirty air. This city was open to subjectivity. It was free to interpretation. Isn't that what people seemed to value so highly—literature, art, music—all those forms of "true" expression apparently needed to be open to interpretation.
So if anybody entered the city of mist, where it was too empty to determine who was there, if it was light or if it was dark, or if the brightly colored shops served any purpose beyond lending some sad, paradoxical decoration to the city, it was up to them to decide whether or not they were awake or asleep. It was up to them to decide if they wanted to stay in their sleeping fantasy or if they wanted to wake up and return to the other side.
But it wasn't up to them to determine down which roads their dreams would take them. An individual was who an individual was, regardless of acceptance or of denial. So the world of the dreaming would hold the mirror up to them; it would take from them that which they knew, intrinsically, regardless of acceptance or of denial, was them, and it would present it to them, for all to see.
Like tiny falling pebbles disturbing the surface of the waters before slowly drifting towards the bottom of a dark sea, the first people began appearing in the infinite mass of fog.
Given that Hector didn't really take much credence from dreams, and given that they had never provided him with any utilitarian or emotional benefit before, Hector was not exactly well-versed in the mechanics of dreaming. He was, however, observant, so when he wandered the empty grid of streets that comprised the foggy city he had found himself in, initially content with the situation, he suddenly came to a realization: No, this is not a place I've been before. This is not okay. I am dreaming.
With a sudden slam of wood against wood, the storefronts in Hector's immediate vicinity warped against themselves, rotating impossibly about their foundations, before presenting what should have been the opposite side of the storefront to Hector.
Instead, what was once a row of brightly-colored shops was now an unbroken, uniform wall of the purest white.
Hector stood in silence, his jaw hanging open. He knew what this was.
Slowly, but quickly gaining speed, Hector walked up to the wall and placed a hand on its surface.
edited 28th Feb '12 8:06:23 PM by Chubert
Whatcha gonna do, little buckaroo? | i be pimpin' madoka fics