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

[lovetheme]

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!))

Comments

[dustless]

A-wandering the underground

Frisk, smiling, holds their cell phone tight. Voices chatter from it, and you find you know whose, even though you have no memory of when you met the owners' before. The cheery loudness of Papyrus; the somewhat more aggressive loudness of Undyne; the nervous stutter of Alphys; the calm, soothing words of Toriel; the understated chuckle of Sans; the regal pronunciations of Asgore; and even quiet, matching murmurs of Asriel and Chara.

Abruptly, they turn to you. "Who d'you want to visit first?"

B-the city

Between the skyscrapers and mountains, the sky is mostly grey, a few tears of blue visible between the clouds. Cars inch along in the road beside you, people part around you. You're on the sidewalk. All the peoples' faces are shadowed.

Papers flutter down the street. Cans clang as they roll and are kicked by careless passing feet. The air smells like fried food.

"Tickets!" a man booms from somewhere underground. Not too far away, there are stairs down leading to a subway.

Children laugh around the corner. There's a playground there. It's in the middle of the road, but none of the cars seem to care, driving beneath the massive jungle gyms and swings and slides.

The streetlights flicker, unsure of the time. Glimpsing reflections in the windows of the stores and homes show a child in different colors: green, blue, yellow, pink. They don't look at you, but they don't leave your side as you walk through the streets.

C-amalgams

You can only see a few feet in front of you, grimy floor tiles lit by green monitors filled with unintelligible text. Frisk is beside you, but they're not paying attention. They're just moving forward, eyes filled with tears.

Your companion is silent, but the lab is far from it. Your echoing footsteps slowly uncover other sounds. Distorted howls paired with the buzzing of ventilation fans. Twisted voices layering over each other, pleading and croaking and strident. A gasping, broken word, the speaker (if there is one) on the edge of tears. Staticky screaming. Wrathful hissing.

And yet, you can't see what's doing it. Whoever--whatever--are speaking is still up ahead, where they're leading you.

But you can't go back, even if you try. You're stuck with Frisk.

D-determination

Spears tear after Frisk, over and over and over and over. One rips through their chest with a terrible spray of blood, but then everything goes dark and you're both back at the edge of Waterfall, staring up determinedly, stepping forward again--

--or maybe you're standing in a foggy field in Snowdin, watching them trip over bones until they fall to their knees--

--or perhaps you're cheering in a crowed in front of the TV and somehow just to the side all at once, watching the human get zapped over and over even as they pose and scoff and make you cheer harder--

--or maybe you're standing in a city in shades of grey, or purple, and you're waiting for the child in front of you to give up or die or both--

--they're in your way. Or you're in theirs. Either way, if they get out, all scraps of hope the underground has mustered will be lost. Stop them.

B for now!

[lostinmyway]

Normally, Grune loves cities. They're full of so many people living their lives all together, working hard to build a good future.

But this city isn't like that. She doesn't think the people here like working together.

She isn't alone, though. There's a child beside her. Maybe they can be friends.

"Hello," Grune says softly.

[dustless]

Beside her, sort of. They stand where her reflection should be in the window of a restaurant. They don't leave, but nor do they look at her.

Seems they don't realize she's talking to them. There are other people walking by, after all. A few of the people even pause to silently give their greetings to Grune, slashes of white across their faces indicating smiles.

[lostinmyway]

Grune says hello back to the people who pass--it's the polite thing to do--but her attention is focused on the child in the reflection. She thinks they look familiar...or do they?

She kneels down on the pavement and tries again. "My name is Grune. What's your name?"

[dustless]

Slowly, inch my inch, their head turns to regard her. Who is she talking to? There aren't any other kids here, or even pigeons she'd need to kneel to address.

Their lips part in surprise. Is...is she talking to them?

A hand reaches to press against the glass, and their face crumples. No, no, she can't be. Nobody ever talks to them. They don't exist, you know.

C :'V

[lovetheme]

This is a familiar sort of unhappiness. Lucas knows the feeling immediately, like an old bruise, as unintelligible computer screens drift past and strange sounds filter through ventilation fans. He remembers this feeling very well--and yet he's...not so sure if he remembers this place necessarily. He doesn't know where this is. Or does he?

Frisk doesn't so much as hesitate, even halfway to tears, and Lucas has to shake the distraction out of his thoughts to hasten his pace a little just to keep up beside them. They're moving right towards the terrible familiar-but-very-not-familiar sounds, he notes vaguely--but he's not sure if he'd turn back anyway, even if he could. In places like this, you can't--you can't just leave...

But the dread sets in anyway, cold and heavy on his limbs. Lucas looks over to Frisk, since they're the only thing he can really see properly in the darkness. "Frisk, what are we going to do?"

;w;

[dustless]

"We're going to find them," they say, voice firm despite the edge of horror on their face. "We're going to get what we gotta. And we're going to keep going. 'Cause we can't not."

"What are you doing?" "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?"

Ahead of them, a pulsing yellow light snarls the words over and over again.

Frisk clutches at their chest, their shining SOUL flashing the same rhythm.

[lovetheme]

They're very firm words, an anchor in a terrible place. Lucas recognizes that sort of feeling too, in a way, and he appreciates that--the clear strength of Frisk's determination. He nods.

"Okay."

But the pulsing yellow light up ahead is difficult to look at directly, even then. Some less brave part of Lucas--a part that has always clung and stayed, despite everything--desperately doesn't want to get any closer. But there's no turning back, from this sort of thing, and the rest of him knows this. Lucas listens to the question snarling over and over, blinking at Frisk's SOUL as it shines, and gripping his own stick a little tighter. Just a plain stick, nothing more.

"We want to help," he says, speaking to the yellow light now--or trying to, anyway. He's not sure if his voice will even carry, not up against that terrible wall of words. He knows he does want to help, though. Even if he was never able to help before...in this sort of place...in these labs....

[dustless]

The yellow SAVE POINT shifts, reads up, becomes something completely different.

"That's what they all say." "That's what they all say." "That's what they all say." "That's what they all say." "That's what they all say." "That's what they all say." "That's what they all say." "That's what they all say." "That's what they all say." "That's what they all say." "That's what they all say." "That's what they all say."

She lunges, teeth opening wide--Frisk holds their own stick up, just for a moment, and the teeth slam shut around it, somehow clacking and squishing at once. It's enough to reduce it to splinters.

"Liar." "Liar." "Liar." "Liar." "Liar." "Liar." "Liar." "Liar." "Liar." "Liar." "Liar." "Liar."

D for now

[sansational]

"hm...that expression...that's the expression of someone who's died ten times in a row." Sans applauds lazily, watching the child at the other end of the hallway. He grins, a little too wide. "hey, congrats! the big one-oh. let's invite all your friends over for a big shindig. we can have pie and hot dogs and...wait. somethings not right." He tilts his head towards the windows, towards the sunlight streaming down on them both, and taps a fingerbone thoughtfully against his skull. Finally, after a moment of faking thought, he snaps his fingers. "oh, right!"

He stares at Frisk again, raises a hand, and narrows his eyes. "you don't have any friends."

Then he turns their soul blue with a twitch of his fingers, and attacks.

[dustless]

Mmm. That's pretty rude.

They hit the ground hard. Bones slam into them, and they take damage, but they can't tell how much. Not that it matters. 1 each hit, and they're not dying yet. They have to go on, they have to get to ASGORE.

At the end of his turn, Sans gets a dirty look with an edge of sarcasm. 10? That's nothing. He's wrong, again. And he needs to go away already.

Frisk shoves themselves up to their feet and try to talk--but their jaw's locked, no matter how much they work it. Fine. If they can't ask him to move, they'll make him move. And so they move to, stomping over the golden, gleaming floor, reaching their hands out to grab.

[sansational]

Scant seconds before their hands and make contact, time slows for a moment. Sans slides through the air like oil through water. He reappears safely out of reach again, untouched. "nope." Instead, the child will find themselves faced with a blaster that fires a beam as big as their body and bright as the sun at them. For all the flash, it still only does another point.

He knows that now is the point where he should start in on his usual speech. In fact, he's probably overdue. But somehow, when he reaches for the words, they slide away from him as deftly as he does away from the human. That's...strange. And wrong. And annoying. But Sans supposes he still has more important things to worry about.

"come on. if you're that desperate for a do-over, you could at least do me the favor of quitting, instead of making me do your job for you."

[dustless]

Excuse them. Frisk doesn't just quit. And they have no reason to. They'll have to get past him to save everyone, after all.

They make to talk again; they fail again, but they manage to let loose a snarl as their teeth bare.

Fine, if he dodges everything, and they can't even ACT with words, they'll just go.

Footsteps echo as they hurtle down the golden hall, making as if to grab him again--but as soon as he dodges, they just keep going, smashing into whatever else he tries to throw at them with another round of growling.

B for now

[antitemporal]

The child doesn't look at him, but that's okay. As long as they don't leave him, that's okay. It's very busy, very crowded, very noisy. He can't remember why he ever agreed to meet them here at all. He can't wait to leave this place and go back home. But he did, and he needs to find them, or else they'll leave him behind, they'll think he doesn't care...

A careless passerby listening to loud music and heedless of anything else almost walks right over him. Sans-Serif stumbles out of the way with a frightened gasp, and almost loses sight of Frisk in the crowd. Hastily, pushing against the tide of people the best he can, he runs to catch up. As soon as he's within arm's reach, he grabs for their hand to hold on to.

"are we almost there?"

[dustless]

They turn to look at him, bewildered. By his words somewhat, but much more by his hand, which they end up stopping in the middle of the street to stare down at. How is he doing that?

Sans-Serif will notice that some of people brushing against him brush through the human child, their edges cracking and fading before reforming a few seconds later.

They try asking him a question, but only smoke drifts out between their teeth, whipped through the air and shredded to nothing by the people rushing by.

[antitemporal]

He stops sharply in his tracks as the child turns around. They look so bewildered that even Sans-Serif finds himself doubting what he's just done, even as he stares down at their joined hands and sees that they are touching each other. Did he do something wrong? Why is everyone else walking through...

Through...

He lifts his gaze to them once more, just in time to watch that plume of smoke torn easily asunder. Does the human have a name? They must have a name. Even he has a name. Sans-Serif frowns to himself. He can't remember it, either. But that doesn't matter. There's a lot of things he doesn't know.

But he still knows they're important. It's still safest that they stay together. He smiles at them, hesitant but sympathetic, even if the look doesn't entirely hide the fear he feels.

"...you don't know where they are either, do you?" Carefully, he reaches out for their other hand. "that's okay...w-we can look together. we'll both be safe, when we find them."

[dustless]

There will be no warning before he's in their arms, held tight against their chest as they tremble. The child doesn't know who they are, but that's alright, they'll follow this skeleton who knows they're there and can even touch them anywhere in the universe if it means they aren't left alone.

They step back, not letting go of his fingerbones, and point towards the stairs downwards questioningly. The subway's a good way to go anywhere in the city, after all.

A

[lostlegacy]

"Undyne!" Sophie says right away. For some reason, she knows that talking to her will be really, really cool.

[dustless]

"Okay!"

Frisk takes off, and they're at a river. The boat barks cheerfully, and Frisk pats it. The riverperson stands at the bow, as usual.

"Tra la la. Where to, children?"

"Waterfall!" Frisk says, jumping on. As soon as Sophie joins them, the boat starts walking.

"And we're off..."

The air is filled with glittering lights. Whispering blue flowers bob and wave along the edges, and the river has odd, nonsensical turns. Frisk doesn't mind; after all, it's pretty fun.

[lostlegacy]

As soon as the boat starts up, Sophie sticks her head over the side. Wait a minute--

"It's got feet!" she crows. She doesn't mind in the slightest that she's getting a faceful of spray, either--it's part of the fun!

[dustless]

"Yeah! It does that sometimes. Not all the time. You're lucky!"

It slows to a stop in front of Gerson's shop. He waves at them cheerfully, a cup of Sea Tea balanced on the back of his other hand.

As soon as they step off, the dog boat is suddenly docked in a way that it can push its wooden head against Sophie's legs.

And A because they both probably need it

[sansational]

It's probably not all that strange, to hear Sans' voice coming from the phone when Sans himself is standing beside them. He did once chime in on a debate about color names between Undyne and Papyrus when he was not only not in the same room, but not even in the same area of the Underground.

All those voices, all his friends...he doesn't even know where to start.

But that also means that there are no wrong answers.

"hm...let's go see how toriel's doing. i'm feeling pretty lucky today, so maybe she might even have a pie in the oven waiting for us."

;w;b

[dustless]

"Hope it isn't snail."

They think about calling the river person, but that'll be too long, they think, so they grab Sans' hand instead and drag him along until they hit a doorway. "Shortcut," they say brightly, and they're standing in front of her cute little house in the RUINS.

"Mooom!" They kick through the leaves strewn across the path.

"Just a moment, my child," Toriel's voice comes from the living room. "I am working on something nice. If you wait, I am sure you and your friend will enjoy it very much!"

"I bet it is pie," they whisper to Sans out the side of their mouth.

[sansational]

Sans doesn't so much as blink at the presence of the shortcut. But he does give Frisk a nod of acknowledgement, looking impressed. "hey, nice job, kid. might have to start leaving these to you in the future."

When Toriel calls out to them, Sans beams at the sound of her voice before calling back. "sure thing, toriel! we can keep each other busy!"

Then he leans over to reply to Frisk, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "ooh, i don't know. could be too obvious. now i'm thinking cake."

[dustless]

Frisk claps. "Haven't got to try her cake, but she's the best best best at food, so I hope so."

They look down the hallway, opposite of where Toriel's voice is coming from, and then dart away. Sans said they can keep each other busy, so that's what they're gonna do.

Memory of what they do is immediately lost, but then they're there in front of Sans again, holding up a pot full of water sausages proudly. "Lookit what we have!"