[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

oh jeez

[dustless]

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.

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

[lovetheme]

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."

[dustless]

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.

[lovetheme]

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?"

[dustless]

"...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.