[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!))

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[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."

[lovetheme]

Definitely something completely different. Something Lucas knows for a fact he's never seen before...and yet--the shape, the teeth--the similarities, even faint as they are, set a such a numbness in his fingertips that the hand carrying his stick shakes. (It feels like an age ago now, that he used to wonder at how something so large with so many teeth could be so friendly....and be made to do such terrible things--)

There aren't any mechanical whirs, but for some reason Lucas could almost swear he hears them anyway. The air smells like sweet lemons. He's not sure how he manages to make himself move forward at all, barely able to feel his own legs. He's slower to react, at any rate, and Frisk reaches the--the chimera?--first, as it lunges. Teeth snap down on a stick, and splinters fly, close enough to Frisk's hand that a part of him finally snaps to alarmed attention.

"...No, not--not lying. Not..." He reaches Frisk's side, his own stick raised at the ready and his thoughts already half-reaching for that place where protective PSI lies, in his head. It seems, they'll probably need shields...his voice feels terribly small and weak against such a multiple (or just one?) resounding shout. "They all say it because they do. We do. We want--to help..."

[dustless]

The splinters stick into their skin, and Frisk hears the melody of someone's pulsating flesh.

Dusty sweat falls off of it in waves, and she grows eyes that peer down at him from their looming height.

Frisk starts to hum, or tries. The notes come out half-formed, not at all, too loud, too soft, wrong. Wrong. Lemon Bread hisses its dissatisfaction at the terrible tune.

"Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell." "Welcome to my special hell."

She isn't listening, and disembodied white teeth appear all around, penning Lucas and Frisk together. Pulsing orange-blue rings fall from their eyes like tears to hit the children's SOULS.