Ian
[WP!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
reflections
[[So.
This scene does not work without dream invasion, so we assume that is
given. However, I dislike giving you no resistance even so. So, you
have those three successes. That will give you three chances to briefly
take hold of the dream and change it. There will be some dice but not
all the dice, because dreams are weird. If at any point you would like
to roll dice, feel free. But I will call for very few rolls.]]
reflections
[Also, in that regard, Sky, are you helpful? WP; D=8]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )
reflections
Ian wakes up into the dream.
He
was dreaming about something pleasant. Something warmer and luxuriant
that becomes insubstantial as the chill fog here. The air has the cold
of spring as it starts to struggle free of winter, warm enough that the
killing frosts of winter have given way to the first uncertain shoots of
grass and mold has started to take on damp wood and the leaves that the
frost preserved.
He is lying on the ground, that damp chill
creeping up from the ground and into him. It feels like it slithers
over his skin, serpentine and aware. There is a collapsing carousel in
front of him, one of the horses, its colorful paint faded and peeled
back to expose dull gray wood like hundreds of old wounds, lying on the
ground not far from Ian.
He can sense someone else as well,
someone familiar. Live oak and sunlight and uncorrupted earth, but here
in this place sunlight and great living trees and earth for growing
plants is nearly overwhelmed by the scent of mold and decay. Ian can
taste grit on his tongue, as if there is too much pollen, too much dust
in the air. He can already feel it starting to scratch tiny gouges into
his eyes with every blink.
[http://image.wareseeker.com/software/Home-Shell-Desktop/Themes/scr_abandoned-memories-1.jpg]
Ian
Ian's
first impression was of cold fog - the familiar way it clung to his
skin, like the air around Lake Michigan during mid-to-late March. The
air smelled of loam and mold and thawing decay, and when he sat up
he wiped his mouth and spat grit onto the ground.
He was awake. And he was dreaming.
The
damp ground left a film of mud and sand on his skin (his back and arms
and feet.) The nondescript pair of jeans he had on his lower half did
little to block out the cold - and he was no stranger to frost and fog,
but it still made him shiver. Still crept up his spine like a ghost to
settle somewhere in his bones.
The worst part was the air. The way
it scratched at his lungs and settled in his mouth like silt when he
breathed, and as he got to his feet he tried spitting again, but it
didn't really help.
Ian wiped the dirt from his hands as he walked
toward the carousel, stopping beside the ruined metal horse that lay on
the ground. For a few moments he regarded it silently.
(Farewell to the fairground.)
When
he felt a shaft of warmth touch his skin, he turned and looked behind
him, seeking out the source of the familiar resonance. Not entirely
willing to trust that it wasn't merely some kind of illusion, he said,
softly, "...Sky?"
reflections
There
is no answer from Sky. Though, as faint and far away as that Resonance
feels, that may be more distance than trickery and illusion. Ian is at
the park edges now, the decaying remnants of a fence just behind him
and more decaying amusement park attractions scattered before him.
He
thinks he can hear singing from deeper in the long abandoned place,
melodic and feminine. Or the echo of the music of the carousel. The
memories of laughter.
For a few seconds he tastes cotton candy,
sweet and summery, but it fades from his tongue. Slides away as if,
like the memory of sunlight and strawberries, it will fade away entirely
in this place. He does not know why he knows these memories of summer
and joy will fade, but he knows with a soft horror that this dream will
rob him of whatever it can. That even if this is a dream, that will not
save him from whatever presence he feels radiating from all around him.
Immense. Unfathomable.
Ian
It was not with
dawning dread that Ian reacted to the ominous resonance of the place,
and whatever it was that lurked beyond his vision. He'd been here
before, you see. Not the here of this place and this time - whatever the
source of this dream, he couldn't yet fathom it. But here: at the crux
of decay.
Life did that. It took things.
But understanding
was not the same as surrender. So he didn't sit down in the mud and
stare out across the misty water and wait for the ghosts to come and
take him. And he didn't run away either. Sky, if he was there, was too
far to hear him call. So Ian turned toward the music and walked forward
until he reached its source - if reaching it was even possible.
reflections
[Nightmare vs Ian]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
reflections
[Nightmare vs Sky]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
reflections
[Sky resist]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
Ian
[WP]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 7) ( success x 2 )
reflections
Closer
toward that drifting music is also closer toward sunlight and the scent
of old forests. Oak trees can live for a very long time. They will
not be dissolved easily into nothing but dust and rotten husks like
bones rising up from the earth. As he enters a once grand arcade, the
music seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Ian feels
that cold stirring, swimming in his blood for a few seconds. It
subsides, but there is a lingering sense of relentless malice.
Something simmering and uneasy beneath the surface of Ian's skin.
As
he comes around the carousel, full of the faded dreams of wooden horses
who bore children and their dreams of riding off to slay dragons, he
can see the remains of tea cups, some more whole than others. Sky is
sprawled half in, half over the edge of one. Limp. Unmoving.
[http://opacity.us/image2570_teacup_ride.htm]
Ian
The
sensation of malice (of hunger) prickled along his skin like a cold
whisper. It was there at the edge of his awareness, waiting like some
patient predator. Ian scanned the misty horizon, sweeping his gaze over
the landscape in search of some sign of life or movement. The smell of
the place was old and forgotten. Dreams. Memories. (Loss of innocence.)
When
he saw Sky, draped unconscious over the lip of a rusted teacup, Ian
paused long enough to scan his surroundings more carefully. It looked
(and felt) like a trap.
[Per+Awareness]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )
Ian
[Per+Alertness -2 diff from acute senses]
Dice: 5 d10 TN4 (2, 6, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
reflections
There
is that sense of something immense and unfathomable to Ian watching.
It isn't like the attention of a person, but more a swarm of tiny
minds. Tiny minds all overwhelmed with that cold hunger and malice.
Whatever that, or perhaps more properly, they are, they are present
here.
And so, in at least some sense, is Sky. Whatever is using him to bait this trap is not an illusion.
Sky
stirs a little as Ian's Resonance spills over him and he starts to
talk. Or, at least, his lips start moving and there is a soft rasping
whisper. Ian has the ears of a cat though, and he can make out, largely
because Sky is repeating the same thing, again and again, what he's
trying to say. Just two words, mostly, sometimes interspersed with
Ian's name. Get out.
Ian
"What is it
that you want?" Ian spoke into the mist, his voice a cold growl. The
ground beneath his feet shifted when he moved, mud and sand sliding
between his toes. Get out, Sky said, but there was no door. No trail leading back to the waking world.
And Sky was there. Not a trick. Not an illusion. There, but only half there.
So
Ian closed the remaining distance between them, moving quickly through
the swarming mist. When he reached the place where the other man lay, he
put an arm around him and tried to lift him up - tried to jar him into
consciousness. "Hey, come on. I don't want to fucking carry you."
If
the words sounded callous, there was an edge of fear underlying them.
They weren't going to make it far like this, and Ian had to stop to
rebalance himself so he wouldn't collapse under Sky's weight. In that
moment, and the humming stillness that settled, something in Ian's
demeanor changed. His eyes softened, and he kissed the edge of Sky's
temple softly, whispering.
"Please. Wake up."
reflections
[Nightmare vs Ian]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )
reflections
[Nightmare vs Sky]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (5, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
reflections
[Sky resist]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Ian
[Resiiiiist!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 3 )
reflections
There is no answer from the mist, save for the constant hungry pressure against Ian's skin.
Ian
pulls Sky up, and his eyes open but don't really seem to focus. He
tries to push Ian away from him, but with a few seconds he goes limp
against Ian. Ian presses that kiss to his temple and Sky shakes his
head, seems like he might try to push Ian away again, but then Ian
asserts his Will on the dream, presses that mist and its hunger and its
cold that steals away strength and warmth and memory back.
Sky
coughs as he wakes, eyes clearing. The air clears too, the gritty taste
vanishing into the taste of warm summer air that usually surrounds Sky.
For a few seconds, just a few, Sky relaxes. This is different from
the way he lay limp against Ian, this is Sky at rest instead of
semi-conscious.
And then he leans into Ian long enough to let
him support him while he climbs out of the tea cup. Metal whines.
Shifts. And then Sky is standing beside him. "Ian. You can't help
me. Not here. You have to get out. Ian. You have to wake up. Not
here. But...wherever you were. It has Claire. It has-"
Ian
feels that stirring of cold in his blood, barely a whisper this time.
Sky's eyes widen though, and he staggers, trying to catch his breath.
He starts to reach for Ian, but then grasps the metal lip of the tea
cup instead. It is perhaps as steady as he is. It sways with a
metallic groan. Sky sways with a hand pressed to his head.
"....get out...."
Ian
There
was nothing more frustrating for a predator than having an enemy it
couldn't track. Couldn't kill. Ghosts didn't have blood or bones to
spill and splinter. Whatever pain they felt already lived within them.
And
Ian did not like being hunted. He could feel the clawing whisper of
their hunger trying to drink from him, but so far that was all it was. A
whisper. Maybe it was his anger that pushed them away - the stubborn
refusal of a tiger to behave as if it were prey. Maybe it was his Will,
or maybe it was just luck. Maybe they were still playing with him. He
didn't know, and he had no wish to stay and find out.
But Sky was not so lucky. And he was telling Ian to leave him there in that place. Alone.
"I can't just..."
They
hadn't had this sort of conversation before. The kind that involved
fears and insecurities. Sky was sun and growth and joy and Ian... well.
Ian was content enough to play in that garden without needing to make it
anything more than what it was. But whatever his feelings toward the
Verbena, it was clear that Ian didn't want to leave him to the mist.
"Tell me what you know. Tell me how to get you out of here."
reflections
[Nightmare vs Ian]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
reflections
[Nightmare vs Sky]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 6, 6) ( success x 2 )
Ian
[WP]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 5, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
reflections
[Sky resist]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 2, 2, 5, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
reflections
Ian hesitates. I can't just....
And
Sky smiles, and suddenly the dream is washed in glorious golden light.
The air is heavy with the sound of laughter and the scent of funnel
cake and all the promise of summer. Sky's hands cup his face, and he
presses a light kiss to Ian's lips, then rests his forehead against
Ian's.
"You picked a Hell of a time to get sentimental." It
cannot last. Sky's strength, even now with strength granted to him by
Ian shaping the dream and with all that radiant joy, cannot last long
here. But right now the mist does not come creeping back from exile and
the air warms and grass lengthens and thickens.
"I don't know
where I am. Underground, I think. Like a cave. Or a tunnel. Stone.
I'm lying on stone, but the ceiling is smooth and slightly arched and I
think it may be concrete. It's alright, Ian. It's alright. Just...be
careful. It's hunting us." His head starts to rest more heavily on
Ian's, though he's still standing. The edges of that damp cold are
pressing through the sunlight. Already?
"I thought-but it took Claire. It has her like it doesn't have me. But you-"
There
is a wailing and the wind tears into them, cold and furious. Sky
chokes a little, gasps for breath. And the last of the sunlight fades
as Sky slips back into only semiconscious and crumples.
Ian
Given
a different set of circumstances, Ian might have taken the time to
reassure the Verbena that he wasn't likely to get sentimental any time
soon. But then, given a different set of circumstances, none of this
would have happened in the first place.
Instead he just let Sky lean into him, appreciating the respite from the cold for the scant few moments that it lingered. And
when Sky spoke, Ian listened carefully, marking the details down in his
memory. He could only hope that they would not fade when he woke.
And
then the cold howled and washed over them, and Sky was gone. Ian took
one final look at him, slumped and weakened and vulnerable, before he
turned around and faced the wind.
He wasn't suited to this. Sky
would have done better. Maybe he would have built a forest of flowering
trees for protection and bathed the ground in sunlight. But Ian didn't
have those things within him.
He looked at the sky, and he
roared. Because it was a dream, and in dreams we do the things that live
in our hearts. It was an animal sound - nothing resembling human. Deep
and resonant and primordial.
Angry. (Threatening.)
Stay. Back.
It
was probably a useless gesture. Possibly even a dangerous one. Maybe
the ghosts would take it as a challenge. Maybe they'd just laugh. But he
did it anyway, because he was angry, and because there was little else
he could do.
Then he took a breath, and his lungs filled with cold and decay.
(Wake up.)
(Wake up.)
(Wake...)
And the world went dark.
Ian
[Per+Alertness]
Dice: 5 d10 TN4 (2, 2, 4, 5, 9) ( success x 3 )
reflections
Ian wakes.
He remember the details of the dream. Clear as a glorious midsummer sky.
And there is that lingering feeling of grit on his tongue. In his eyes.
It
is the last thing that he only has time to register when he's awake.
Claire, barefoot in a summer dress. Barefoot and skin exposed and his
first thought might be that she is cold until he sees her, really sees
her though only for the second before he wakes.
It is enough. It is more than enough.
Her
long hair is braided into a mass of thin tendrils, all shot through
with thorny vines and leaves. Her skin is a mottled mess of healthy tan
and the dark shimmery green of an algae bloom.
And her eyes.
There is nothing of Claire as he knew her in those eyes. Only a
familiar cold malice that he has felt swimming under his skin.
