castle_perrault | [mingle] what's the dream and what's the reality?

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@mingle,
mother 3

[mingle] what's the dream and what's the reality?

Lately the castle's nights have been very clear and almost warm, even up so high among the clouds as they are. But regardless of the weather, they are generally peaceful nights, and few things seem to stir during them...apart from the castle's inhabitants, be it with late-night roving or with sleep. The dreams, by extension, are at least undisturbed...if maybe not always pleasant. That sort of thing tends to vary by the person, of course.

But now--and for several nights, consecutively--the castle residents may find their dreams starting to take on stranger shapes: memories they've never had, friends that don't usually arrive, strangers they've never seen. These odd impressions might cling and continue to confuse even upon waking, vivid as they were; was it really just a dream, or maybe something more...? Does that newcomer in your dream remember you there too, in the daytime?

Either way, there seems to be an strange energy in the air during these nights. And it's bringing dreams together.

((ooc: And here's the catch-all post for the dream-sharing event! Feel free to top-level with your character's dreams here, or thread around in others! The event should only last about a week, but backtagging is eternal c: The ooc planning post can be found here!))

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A
You open your eyes to somebody knocking on the door.

You're lying flat on your back on a bed. ...A small children's bed, just wide enough for two, with a pair of small pillows at the headboard to accommodate each. It has clean white sheets. There's a larger bed right beside it, with larger pillows and orange sheets--empty, though.

And there's a door somewhere across the room, and the knocking persists, haphazard and impatient. A small boy's strangely familiar voice pipes up from behind it.

"Hey!! How long long're you gonna sleep?! Get up so we can play! Get up, already!" A huff. "The Dragos brought their babies over! They're really cute!! Hurry up!" The knocking finally stops, after this, and there's a clatter of light steps as the boy audibly roves off and away from the door, excitement evidently getting the better of his patience. Silence falls.

It's a very comfortable little room. Wooden floors and walls, wood tables and chairs, jars and flowers propped on shelves. To one side there's a woodstove, emanating a warmth that fills the small space; beyond that, a small dresser with a mirror hung over it. Not much else, in here. Truly, there's an almost spartan air of simple living about the place, greatly at odds with the ornamental dust of the castle.

A small set of stairs lead down to the door.

B
You're standing in an elevator. It's small, and drab--gray metal-paneled walls, gray metal-paneled floor. The doors are sealed shut in front of you, and there's nothing labeled around it to indicate any floor numbers. But the elevator's definitely moving upwards; the hum of it vibrates all around, thick and oppressive, alongside the tug of gravity at your feet.

Lucas is standing next to you, the determined set of his features belied by the paleness of his face. Every line in his frame is strung tense and anxious. In one hand he's carrying a simple metal baseball bat, and his eyes are fixed forward, staring at the door.

"I wonder if this one will be the hundredth floor." When he does speak up his voice is barely audible over the elevator's hum. He seems to talk more to himself than anything. His eyes don't move from the doors.

And then, right on cue, a jarringly cheerful jingle rings in through some hidden speaker in the ceiling. A woman's voice, cool and calm: "Next stop, 100th floor."

Lucas hardly seems relieved to hear this, for some reason. His grim expression doesn't shift at all, in fact, until the humming ceases and the elevator bumps to a halt and the doors slide open, pale light filtering in from outside. Lucas steps out and pauses, waiting for you to follow.

It's a little surprising to see Lucas beside her--but only a little. After all, she's been visiting lots of places this week.

She follows Lucas out the door and reaches for his empty hand.

"Everything's going to be all right, dear," she says gently. She'll look after him.

Lucas, on the other hand, doesn't seem very surprised to see Grune here either. There's usually someone with him anyway, in the elevator. There's supposed to be. (There's usually...more people, even....)

He does seem quite visibly startled when Grune tries to reach for his hand, though, as they step out of the elevator; instead of taking it he actually shrinks away from it a little, and shakes his head apologetically. Now's not a good time for hand-holding, he doesn't think. When was it ever a good time to hold somebody's hand? (It hasn't been for a long, long time...)

"I don't know. It might not be. ...It probably won't be." He informs her of this with a tone that borders on mournful. And then he turns to the room they've entered. It's a large, warm, and humid; pale grass carpets the floor, and vines creep on the metal walls. But most prominent is the pond indented in the center of the room, large enough to run on into another room at the far end. A man in a hardhat stands next to the ramp circling the water, and in the water itself are enormous...hippos? They look like hippos, anyway. But there are metal rivets in their skins, and brown metal casings on their backs...

Lucas takes it all in with a frown. "Yes, this is the right room. This is right so far. Even if it isn't the hundredth floor...we're going to need to go in the water," he adds, turning to Grune as if to gauge her opinion of this prospect.

Grune looks around for a moment. It's a very pretty room.

But then she turns back to Lucas. He doesn't seem very happy at all.

"All right," she says. If Lucas says they need to go in the water, then that's what she'll do. She's sure he's right.

Lucas nods a bit, when Grune confirms this is an acceptable course of action, and starts forward towards the pond. There's an opening in the ramp where people can reach the water; the man in the hardhat turns to them as they approach.

"This is the wonderful Hippo Pool," he informs them blandly, tapping his pencil against his clipboard. "Here, you can swim with Hippo Launchers, gaze at Hippo Launchers, and observe Hippo Launchers eating. You can even fight them! That's dangerous, though."

"I'd rather not fight them," Lucas tells Grune gravely, slowly stepping down into the water. It's moderately deep, almost reaching Lucas' shoulders. "I think they'll leave us alone, mostly. They did last time, anyway..."

He tucks the baseball bat under an arm, slowly wading forward. The hippos surrounding them barely seem to notice them; they drift listlessly about the pond with peculiar, muffled mechanical whirs. Occasionally one of them huffs a burst of steam. Lucas stares at them with a frown as they pass.

"...Grune, were there very many...tall buildings, where you're from?"

Grune watches the hippos with delight as they pass, her dress swirling in the water around her legs. When Lucas asks her a question, though, she turns her attention right back to him.

"Oh, yes," she answers. "Some of the buildings in Werites Beacon are two storeys tall. And there are some very tall monuments in the Quiet Lands."

"...Did we go up, or down?" Frisk asks, eyeing Lucas' bat. They're holding their frypan for the first time in a while, and their locket is safely around their neck.

100 floors down reminds them of something dangerous and sad, but Lucas knows best for now, they think.

They glance backwards, brow furrowing at the lack of buttons even there. This was not designed reasonably at all. Which means, of course, that there's no way back.

Well. They're used to that.

Frisk steps out too, glancing around. "'S there a sign?"

"Um..." Well, that's the question, isn't it? This does give Lucas some pause, as they step out. "We went up. Probably. I think that's right. It doesn't go down until--well, but that's still a long ways off, I think..."

Or so he'd always assumed, but who knows, really? It's terribly difficult to tell, using an elevator in a building where every floor is the 100th floor.

As soon as the step out of the elevator, though, the contrast is jarring. A room opens up around them, at odds in every way to the crowded but clean metal of the elevator--because this room is absolutely anything but clean. There are multiple tables and chairs, and a counter off to the side--all in the shape of some kind of very small fast food place, maybe. But there isn't a clean spot to be found anywhere in the place, from the filthy tables to the checkered carpet almost blackened with some substance that puffs some kind of dust with every step. A jukebox sits in one corner, barely discernible under a crusting of old ketchup that seems to cover every inch of it, and thus identifiable only because of the rather strangled music currently coming out of it.

There's people, too, some in rather punk-like clothing and sunglasses, others in very strange pig-like uniforms complete with helmets. A pale normally-dressed waitress turns to greet them as they step out of the elevator, smiling at them blankly. "Oh, welcome!" She pauses, coughing to one side. "Make yourselves at home..."

Lucas doesn't seem very surprised by their surroundings necessarily--but instead dismay fills his features, even as he draws forward, glancing past the waitress. "Not any signs, no...but--oh, this isn't the right room. This isn't the right room at all..."

"The dump," they say, because it reminds them of it. The floor even squishes like there's water beneath it if they stamp too hard.

They turn to address the waitress. Pause. Pull out their Manly Bandanna and hand it over. "Put that over your face," they instruct. Sure, they could wear it, but they're going to be moving on. This lady works here. "And I don't think we need anything. Right?" They look at Lucas, since apparently he's been here before. Besides, it's human food. That won't help them all that much.

"I think it's called a Dur-T Cafe, actually..." But the correction is vague, and there isn't a lot of heart in it. Not like the place isn't two steps away from being a dump anyway, after all--he supposes Frisk has a point.

Another waitress, standing at the counter at the far end, clicks her tongue when Frisk stamps their foot on the carpet. "Hey! No running inside. You'll kick up the mold spores!"

The coughing waitress accepts Frisk's offer with the same blank smile. "Oh," she says, and she simply holds the bandanna in her hand, looking at the two of them. She answers before Lucas can, expression never really changing. "No, I think you don't need anything at all. You left us behind, after all, didn't you?" She stares straight at Lucas, and raises the bandanna over her mouth to muffle another set of coughs.

Her words seem to strike him like a glancing blow; Lucas shrinks away from her, then, starting to step forward and around her. "...I'm coming back. I know I need to come back, and I will. I've been trying to find a way, but, it's taking a long time..."

He avoids both Frisk's and the waitress's eyes, the words a pained mumble--but trying to get around the waitress only has him running into one of the men in a blue pig uniform. He reaches, grabbing Lucas's arm. "Hey. You're an impostor. But I know why you look so much like the commander now! You want to know? Don't you already know too? You guys look alike as twins--" But Lucas shakes his head, trying to pull away.

"That's the dumbest pun I've ever heard." Really nasty, even if it was apt. Why would anyone advertise their stuff as being dirty?

They narrow their eyes at the waitress. (The one that's talking to Lucas, not the one that gives them reasonable warning.) "We're here now, you know."

Alike as twins? Weird. "Lucas doesn't have a twin. It's coincidence." They're proud they remembered that word, and sound it, even as they start pushing on the weird pig person's arm.

Doesn't have a twin? There's a short, audible gasp from everyone in the cafe.

The jukebox abruptly stops playing its music. The ambient movement of all the customers still. And every head turns to stare at Frisk, including Lucas's, his expression absolutely mortified.

A stricken silence stretches for a few too-long moments.

The Pigmask lets go of Lucas' arm, drawing back a step--maybe because Frisk's pushing worked, or maybe because he simply doesn't need to grab it anymore. "Well, I mean...I guess he doesn't have a twin anymore. But I wasn't going to say that."

Lucas steps away from him, still shaking his head a little. He stares down at the floor. "We're going to the elevator," he mumbles into the silence, and he glances up to Frisk for just a moment, expression unreadable, before he starts towards the second waitress's counter. There's a pair of elevator doors identical to the ones they'd just stepped out of behind her, sliding open as they approach.

The waitress fidgets, and moves aside. "Don't hang around behind the counter. You'll kick up the mold spores," she warns them weakly. Lucas moves to the elevator without looking at her. And every other face in the cafe follows Frisk as they cross the room, still staring.

Frisk shrinks, figuratively and literally. They're already not very tall, but everyone staring at them are suddenly towering, looking down on them.

They follow Lucas silently. Their feet sink into the floor, making it hard, or maybe it's the weight of all the eyes.

Anymore.

When they step into the elevator, they crouch down on the floor. Hiding. Trying to hide, even though they can't.

There are buttons now. Except when they glance at them, they discover they're camera lenses that whir harshly as they focus in on Frisk.

Lucas is silent as the elevator begins moving again, in an ambiguously maybe-up-maybe-down stomach-lurching fashion that fills the small space with its oppressive hum again. He hasn't turned around towards the doors yet, but stands and stares at the back of the elevator instead for a long moment. His breathing is a little funny. His grip has slackened on the baseball bat so much that it's just about to slip out of his hand entirely.

But after a few moments he seems to pull himself together, with some visible effort. A long, deep breath exhaled with a sigh--and then he turns around, blinking down to find Frisk crouching on the floor behind him. The buttons catch his attention, and Lucas frowns at them.

"Stop that," he mutters, poking at one of the cameras. (Poking at himself, a little, for letting it get that bad--no excuse for that. It's not very fair to Frisk at all.) The lenses recede back into the wall a little, reluctant to disappear entirely but apparently chastened enough for the moment; and then Lucas crouches down beside Frisk, setting the baseball bat on the floor between them for now.

"...Sorry." He folds his arms around his knees. "I know you didn't mean it like that."

The air smells of heated metal, and they drop the frypan by their feet, too. It's red-hot. There are marks in the shape the pan's handle seared into their palms, and they see blisters before they clench their fists, hiding it.

Me too, they say to him, though their mouth doesn't move at all.

The mold spores that stuck to their shoes start growing tiny tendrils.

The lights in the elevator flicker a little, and dim, but not before Lucas notices the burn Frisk acquires on their palms--the scent of heated metal is hard to ignore all by itself anyway. He wants to scoot a little closer, to be reassuring, but the baseball bat is suddenly an impossibly heavy weight between them, immovable against his shoe. So Lucas sighs quietly, tilting his head back against the elevator wall behind them instead.

"Yeah," he mumbles--or was that out loud? He's not sure if Frisk even said anything, either, but he already knows what they would say anyway. They're really such a kind kid. A kind friend. "...I'm glad you're here. I can't--can't make it through this building without friends. I'm not strong enough by myself...and I left the others behind."

The pause is a moment, but it feels long and slow. "Don't feel bad. I never told you about him, because, I hope he never comes to the castle. I don't want him to." The elevator's hum really is getting so loud...and his voice feels like it's getting swallowed in the process. Lucas wonders if Frisk will even hear it. (He hopes they can.) "We're going to have to fight the commander eventually, though. ...Always have to. That's--how it is..."

He frowns down at Frisk's shoes. "Don't let yourself get rooted to the ground." He peers at their hand, too. "Does that burn hurt a lot?"

"...they'll catch up," Frisk says quietly. "But. Still glad I'm here, so you're not alone."

The spores start growing--up, not down. They slowly climb up Frisk's shoes and socks. They don't seem to notice.

"Why? Wouldn't that be good? The castle's for help and new chances," they say, raising their voice before the noise cuts them off. Frisk is firmly certain about that.

Commander. They imagine a fusion of Undyne and Asgore, and the pan sends out a handful of sparks, tiny Asgore-attack bullets. They flinch back, hiding their hands in their folded arms. A little.

This seems... strange.

The room is oddly comfortable, despite the fact that Chara's quite sure they've never been here before in their life. Even if they're lying on the bed, in their pajamas, as if they've been snoozing away for the past however long.

Very slowly, Chara slides off of the bed and pads their way around the room, pausing briefly to stare at their reflection in the mirror. Unless something unusual jumps out any time soon they'll soon make their way down to the door, turning the knob with only a hint of trepidation.

The mirror seems to be as singularly comfortable but unremarkable as the rest of the room. (Though, as Chara appraises their own reflection, a brief notion that they're lookin' handsome may occur very vaguely to them. For no particular reason.)

The door opens easily; and beyond that, another room opens up behind it, this one just as woody and comfortable as the last. Morning sunlight streams through a pair of windows; a fire burns heartily in its grate; the aroma of a recent breakfast still hangs very faintly in the air. A dining table for four sits directly across from Chara's door.

And seated at this table, with her back to the door, is a brown-haired woman in a red dress. She seems to be bent over something on the tabletop in front of her; the sound of a pen scratching away at paper mingles with the crackle of the fire. But the woman pauses, now, head shifting slightly. She turns only a little, enough for the edge of her smile to be visible.

"Oh, you're finally up. Good morning, sleepyhead." Her voice is warm--and suddenly, the room is just as warm to match, as an overwhelming sense of calm and safety inexplicably fills the air. "The boys are already outside. They've been up for awhile now, playing with the Dragos. I hope you're not planning to play in your pajamas, though...you should scoot upstairs, and change your clothes."

She shifts again, her attention returning to the paper in front of her. For some reason, moving closer to her is impossible; no matter how many steps Chara might take towards the table, the floor moves beneath them but the distance stays the same.

(It's an unexpected thought, but Chara brushes it off. Of course they're lookin' handsome. They're wearing their best ducky pajamas.)

If it weren't for the presence of the strange woman, Chara would probably find the room relaxing. As it is, their first instinct is to shrink away from her. Until she speaks, anyway. For some reason, listening to her, and seeing that edge of a smile on her partly turned face, it's impossible for Chara not to return that smile. Just a little.

She reminds them of something, they think.

"What's wrong with my pajamas?" Chara asks. They take a step closer, then frown when it doesn't seem to have any effect.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[mingle] what's the dream and what's the reality?

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B!

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B~

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(sry lucas)

ugly laughter

oh jeez

u tried frisk...u tried......

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A~

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