[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

[antitemporal]

A
Sans-Serif is struggling with himself. Quite literally - there appear to be two of him One looks much as he does in day-to-day life in the castle - dressed in his old lab clothes, a little sicklier and spindlier than he is nowadays, but basically the same. The other is empty-eyed and motionless and quiet, a doll in all but name. The two of them appear to be bound together with strings around their joints, and as they struggle and fight with one another, it only serves to get them more tangled up. As they fight with one another, it only serves to exhaust the real one (or is he just a delusion?) because the fake is evidently stronger (or was he the real one all along?).

You stand with your cohorts in the hallway of a lab, watching the two of them fight. Until at last one lets out a long-suffering sigh, steps forward, and clicks his fingers. "Anti-Temporal Interference Unit. Enough wasting time."

The doll lifts its head to regard the scientists, and nods. Resolutely ignoring Sans-Serif's attempts to hold it back or beat it down, it gets back to its feet, takes hold of the puppet strings, and starts to drag its counterpart onwards towards the open door at the end of the hall. Sans-Serif, meanwhile, kicks and struggles and thrashes with all his might, but to no avail. He screams, but nobody listens: "no no no stop it i don't want to i don't like this let me go stop...!"

B
You're sitting on a cloud. It's quite soft and fluffy, more like a pile of pillows than a collection of water vapor. The cloud is floating in the vast night sky, stars scattered all around. If you dare to look down, you'll see the castle in the distance, the treetops of the forest down below. You're not too high up. You won't fall.

Sans-Serif is sitting on a nearby cloud, secure enough with the situation to let his legs dangle over the edge. He appears to be eating something - something that causes sparks and lights to flash in his teeth as he crunches down. He stares out over the area, until he feels you looking at him and looks to you instead. "do you see it yet?"

C
The halls of the castle are dark and bloodied. Thunder booms and lightning flashes outside, rain pounding down against the stone hard enough to make the castle feel as though it's shaking beneath the weight of the storm. Bodies lay strewn about like ragdolls, some defined, some even recognizable, but others might as well be empty and broken toys.

You're standing at the end of one hallway. A flash of lightning illuminates the path ahead, highlighting but not quite identifying the bodies. Sans-Serif stands beside you, trembling hard enough to rattle with fear, trying desperately not to break down in sobs.

What appear for all the world to be two other Sanses stand on either side of him, one with a grip on each arm. One - taller and stronger, dressed mostly in reds and blacks - gives his shoulder a shake. "crying isn't going to do us any good. it'll just get us dead along with them. come on!" Another - bright-eyed and vibrating with energy, dressed in a strange sort of armor with a blue scarf around his shoulders - tries to urge himself on as well. "we have to find out who did such a horrible thing! and, as aspiring members of the royal guard, it is our duty to stop them!"

C

[systematicsupport]

S-4 has had enough dreams, especially over the last week, that he has started to recognize when he's been placed in one. Reality is usually solid and doesn't waver. It's easy to understand. Dreams are confusing and change too quickly to keep track of, and sometimes they contain images S-4 swears he would never see in real life.

He knows this is a dream. If this was real, there wouldn't be nearly so much blood. The bodies wouldn't change to show different faces every time he looked down. He's be able to feel the ground properly under his feet.

But even if it isn't real, the terror he experiences is real enough, especially when he hears the faint rattling of bones and sees Sans-Serif before him.

"Brother!"

He reaches out before pausing at the images of the other skeletons, looking between them with confusion. He can recognize both of them as Sans, but neither of them are Sanses he knows. It isn't just the normal Sans playing a prank and dressing in a costume... that one is taller and... darker, somehow, while the other is too energetic to be his brother.

Cautiously, S-4 takes a step closer, lifting his hand a bit more.

"I-It's okay... it's okay, I'm here..."

[antitemporal]

Sans-Serif looks up sharply at the sound of S-4's voice. He reaches up to wipe frightened tears from his eyes, the better to see his brother standing there. Even before the next flash of lightning properly illuminates him, he knows who he sees. The little skeleton smiles broadly in relief. "brother!" He tries to hurry over to him, but finds himself wincing instead as the other Sanses each tighten a hand on his wrist, holding him back.

"stay back, bro," says the one in red, glancing up at S-4.

"yeah, we'll protect you!" says the one in blue, fistpumping with his free hand.

Sans-Serif shakes his head fearfully. Of course, he wants his brother to be safe, but...he's scared, and if S-4 is here, that means he doesn't have to be brave. He wants to hold on tight to him, instead, so that whatever's in the dark doesn't get him, too. He finally manages to extend a hand towards S-4, if only because the one in blue is too nice to hold him back too forcibly.

[systematicsupport]

The sound of terror in his brother's voice, and worse, the sight of him being restrained from running to him, is enough to snap S-4 out of his initial confusion and rush forward. He ignores the other two versions of his sibling, wrapping his arms tightly around Sans-Serif, even if he can't hug him back properly.

He feels better having his brother safe against him, but that's not enough to distract him from what the other Sanses are saying to him. He looks between the two of them, confusion returning.

"What are you talking about? I'll protect him. I always do."

It doesn't make sense for his brother to have to take on the role of shield, when he's weak and low on health and especially because he's too frightened. S-4 isn't scared of his purpose. He'll always be brave enough to protect his brother...

[antitemporal]

Fortunately, as soon as S-4 wraps his arms around Sans-Serif, the other Sanses release him as though physically forced away, like two magnets with the same pole. They step back, step away, their gazes fixed on S-4 instead. Sans-Serif, meanwhile, doesn't hesitate to properly return the embrace once he's able to. He huddles in the taller skeleton's arms, his face turned against S-4's ribcage, as though if he ignores these spectres from another time then they can't touch him again.

"no," says the one in blue. His otherwise perpetual smile falters, his bright eyelights dim. "you don't."

"'kill or be killed'," says the one in red, folding his arms tightly over his ribcage. "you'll learn sooner or later." They always do.

Then they both fade into nothing. Sans-Serif lets out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, but it's short-lived. "they'll be back," he mumbles. "or...different thems. there's a lot of thems. and they're all so loud." He still doesn't dare relinquish his grip right away.

A

[dr_awesome]

...Dammit. He's really getting tired of these science fiction dreams.

Watts has seen the smaller version of Sans around before, but he's been keeping his distance. There's a taller skeleton in the castle that looks to be his brother, and unlike Sans, he didn't seem like the type to want to just joke around and drink ketchup. Even making eye contact with him seemed to rattle the skeleton, and Watts wasn't sure whether he'd run away or attack. Since the smaller one is dressed the same, he's made the assumption that the two of them just aren't okay with him.

Unfortunately, in this dream, between the weirdly empty doppelganger and the crowd of apathetic scientists, Watts is probably the most okay in this dream. He doesn't know if the kid will trust him, but he can't just stand around and watch this. He pushes through the crowd as he yells at them.

"Hey! Yeah, I'm talking to you furballs! What the hell do you think you're doing? He said stop, so stop!

He breaks through and runs over to the two skeletons, grabbing the doll's wrist to try to hold him back while he tries to untangle the strings.

"It's okay, kid. I'm not gonna hurt you. Just give me a second to get these off of you, okay?"

[antitemporal]

The doll obediently goes motionless as soon as Neil grabs its wrist. When a scientist tells it what to do, it does it without question or hesitation. No matter how much dead weight its bound to. Sans-Serif, meanwhile, is left in a trembling, terrified ball on the floor, hugging himself and almost entirely unable to breathe for sobbing. He flinches violently to feel Neil drawing near, tries to move away. But with the doll now standing motionless, he can't go too far. So he just lays there, staring up at Neil, visibly struggling to focus on the man's face instead of his coat. "wh-what...?" His voice is hoarse from crying out, ringing with shock to finally be listened to.

Unfortunately, Neil will find it difficult to untangle the strings. They've been knotted up quite badly by the fight, and the threads are thin and sharp enough to dig and bite into his palms as he works at them.

The other scientists, meanwhile, continue watching at a distance, muttering amongst themselves. Although dubious at first, a few of them actually seem to approve of Neil's plan. If they could remove and throw away the dead weight, the useless junk that's grown up around their great experiment, everything would proceed much more efficiently. It's just that most of them aren't sure it can be done. So Neil is just wasting time. They should proceed as they have been.

[dr_awesome]

Neil hesitantly pulls his hand away from the doll's wrist, and only relaxes slightly to find the skeleton isn't going to bother to move. It's just so... wrong. Wearing a labcoat shouldn't make him a complete authority. The kid shouldn't take orders from him. All Neil should be able to do is offer suggestions.

Which is what he tries to do. He holds his hands up for a minute, like he's attempting to soothe a savage animal, and when he speaks again, his voice is low and calm.

"Really. It's okay. I'm not hurting you. Not a chance. But if I'm going to get you out of this mess, you're going to need to relax, okay? Try to stop crying. I know you're a hell of a lot tougher than that."

He was created to be something great, even if it's... probably not what his coworkers seem to insist it is. There's a better way to handle the humans left on the surface than sending a mechanized soldier to attack them.

Watts lets out a low hiss as his hands are cut into, and after a few moments, he realizes fingers are not the tool he should be using. He scrambles in his pockets for something to cut through them, and... ah. His hand closes around the handle of something he knows will unsettle the poor experiment, and so his other hand immediately lifts up again.

"Okay. Listen to me, kid. I have something here that's going to free you. And I promise I won't do anything to hurt you. I'm not going to use it for that. Please trust me."

And with that, he brings out the handheld bone saw, watching the blade whir for a moment before bringing it towards the strings.

[antitemporal]

"but i'm not." Sans-Serif hiccups faintly, then shakes his head. "i'm not. n-not without my brother." He's not tough, he's not brave, he's not anything without S-4. Or at least, he's nothing that he wants to be.

But despite his spoken doubts, the little skeleton struggles to stay as still as his counterpart, presses both hands tightly against his mouth as though to physically stop the sobs from escaping. Even if it makes his shoulders shake with the effort, it's a little more still. Perversely, perhaps, he freezes entirely when Neil pulls the saw out, even if it's the sort of stillness that can only be borne of real terror. But it's also not the first time he's been told to hold still while someone in a lab coat pulls out one of those. They never meant to hurt him when they did, of course not. Hurting just...happened. Hurting was necessary so the job could get done.

Fortunately for Neil, and fortunately for both skeletons, the strings split easily beneath the blade, parting easily with sharp "twang" sounds that are somehow audible over the whirring. With the doll holding steady against Sans-Serif's initial attempts to scramble away, with Sans-Serif motionless from terror, most of the connecting threads will be easily accessible without having to risk bringing the saw too near to one or the other.

The last one that might be harder to access joins at the elbow of the arm on the opposite side from where Neil is standing. The doll tugs forcibly to bring the other skeleton's arm up - and, unfortunately, he tugs so forcibly that the arm comes off, clattering pathetically against the floor. Sans-Serif whimpers faintly to see it, half-reaches out to try and pull it back. Then he takes another look up at the blank-faced other skeleton, and seems to think better of it. Instead, he scrambles gracelessly back up to his feet, presses his remaining hand tightly over the empty socket, and takes several stumbling steps backwards. The doll, meanwhile, waits patiently for Neil to cut the last thread.

A

[lostinmyway]

Grune had already been stepping forward to stop the fighting, but when the other skeleton starts dragging S2 away, she actually breaks into a run.

"You need to stop that right now!" she says with strength, not softness, in her voice.

[antitemporal]

The Anti-Temporal Interference Unit doesn't stop in its work, even when Grune calls out. She's not a scientist. She's not its creator or its owner. She doesn't matter. Sans-Serif, meanwhile, is too exhausted from fighting to really notice much beyond his captor.

But the scientists notice Grune. One sighs, as though bored. "Honestly..." A couple of others step in her path with the intention of blocking her way. Their features aren't defined. They barely look like living things, instead resembling something like scarecrows or half-melted wax dolls. The only distinctive things about them are the labcoats.

[lostinmyway]

"Excuse me!" she says loudly. When the people in the white coats don't move, she pushes them out of the way and keeps running for S2 and the other skeleton.

If she can make it past them, she'll run until she's in front of the other skeleton, and will reach out to take his shoulders.

"You're scaring S2," she tells him. "You need to stop."

[antitemporal]

She'll be able to make it past the scientists - they feel rather like sacks of flour when shoved. Though they try to grab at her sleeves, their grips are fragile, their cries for her to stop strangely muffled.

The other skeleton, meanwhile, has resumed its previous instructions of trying to drag Sans-Serif on towards the door. It tries to shove her aside, but to no avail. With its path blocked, it stops in its tracks, staring up at her with empty eyesockets and no sign of recognition.

Then it leans around her to look at the scientist. The doctor taps his pen against his clipboard again.

"Get rid of her, Sans-Serif."

Obediently, he lifts a hand and clenches it tight, trying to turn her soul blue.

C

[lostinmyway]

Everyone is dead. Some of the bodies belong to strangers. Some belong to people she loves dearly. Maybe there's someone she can help there, but she can't look right now. Because she knows she can help S2.

She moves to kneel down in front of him and slowly, gently, reaches out to cup the side of his skull.

"It's all right to cry, dear. When you're sad that someone has died, that's an important feeling. You don't need to hide it away."

[antitemporal]

Grune. Sans-Serif's expression is one of dizzying relief. Grune is still alive, Grune is still okay. He smiles up at her, tries to reach out to her as she reaches out to him. But the Sans in red gives him a forcible tug away, baring his teeth at Grune. They're rather sharper than Sans' teeth normally are. One has been replaced by a gold fang. "back off, lady! the hell do you know? you're just gonna get him killed in this mess!"

[lostinmyway]

She doesn't flinch from the red Sans. In fact, she frowns at him. "No, I won't. I'm going to protect him."

As she turns her attention back to S2, she smiles again. "I promise I'll look after you. It's all right."

[antitemporal]

And now its the blue one's turn to look dubious, although he's obviously trying not to. He steps forward, resting a hand against his ribcage and staring up at Grune in complete and utter earnestness.

"but we're supposed to look after you! we're supposed to look after everyone! that's what heroes do!"

"don't wanna be a hero," Sans-Serif mumbles, almost too quietly to be heard over his other self. "i want my brother." He stares pleadingly up at Grune. "have you seen my brother?"

B

[lostlegacy]

Whoa, she's up on a cloud! Cool!

With the fearlessness of someone with little sense of their own mortality, Sophie looks about. Oh, hey, there's S2, and he's asking them a question.

"No. What is it?" Not to mention.... "What are you eating?"

She wants some!

[antitemporal]

Sans-Serif frowns to hear that Sophie's forgotten again, or at least again from his perspective. "we have to look out for the red kite!" he replies, with the long-suffering air that comes from feeling as though you've given an explanation several times already. "and not the yellow kite. or the green one. definitely not the green one. but we can't miss the red one." He nods resolutely. "it might look pink, though. but that's okay."

...still, since Sophie is up here with him anyway, Sans-Serif opens his hand for her to see. A small pile of glowing points of light rests in his bony palm. "stars," he replies, matter-of-fact, before tossing another one into his mouth. "want one?"

[lostlegacy]

Sophie gives him an unimpressed look. How can she have known what they were looking for if he hadn't told her yet?

She's quickly distracted, though, by what he's holding. "Are they any good?"

They look kind of hard to eat.

[antitemporal]

"yeah!" He nods enthusiastically. "they taste really good! this one takes like lemons." He nudges the star in question. "but this one takes like cupcakes." He nudges another, seemingly identical star.

"you can also pick some from up there, if you want." He nods up at the sky overhead, at the countless stars still surrounding them. "they're for everybody, so you won't get in trouble."

A :'>

[dustless]

Frisk crosses their arms. "And who's time is he wasting, again?" Their tone is cold, hiding a layer of bewilderment. Something is wrong.

(It's too bad they can never tell when a dream's a dream.)

They push their way past the scientists, their too-big labcoat dragging against the floor, and follow a few paces behind the pair.

[antitemporal]

The answer comes from everywhere at once, in the crowd of scientists around them. "Ours'. Everyone's. His time is not his own. It is not his to waste." The other scientists follow Frisk after the two skeletons, with the slow inevitability of the tides even if they remain at an indistinct distance.

The Sans-Serif who can talk, meanwhile, has exhausted his screaming and has mostly been left a sobbing, whimpering mess, trying in vain to tug on the strings and slow down the doll. Frisk is the only one with a face. Frisk is the only one with a face that he can see. He stares pleadingly up at them, as he's dragged along.

"wh-where's my brother? i want my brother. what did you do to him? he's been r-really good, you don't have to put him back there..."

[dustless]

Frisk turns to sneer at the rest. "'Ours''," they say, in the high-pitched mock of schoolyard bullies. "'Ours'', 'ours'' 'ours''. No it isn't. Idiots." There's a flower pinned to their lapel. They can't see it, but they feel it moving.

Their pace picks up, and they look down at Sans-Serif in polite disbelief, apparently ignoring what he'd said. "Did you hear that? They think they have time to waste, too. Aren't they dumb? Don't they know the time is mine?" they ask with a winning smile, and a SAVE point appears where their SOUL should be.

[antitemporal]

He can't make or use a SAVE point himself (they say that one day he'll be that strong). But Sans-Serif still recognizes just what he's looking at, and lets out a panicked, strangled gasp of realization. He points a shaking fingerbone at them the best he can, bound up as he is, and tries to stammer out a warning. "you..! it's, it's...you!"

It's the anomaly and he has to fight but he can't, he doesn't want to, and he's not supposed to be alone when he does...

Sans-Serif scrambles up desperately to his feet and tries to hide behind his other self. But it makes no move to attack. It just stands there, motionless and waiting, looking from itself to Frisk and back again. It won't attack without being told to, and the other scientists don't listen to Sans-Serif's warnings. They just sigh in exasperation, and make more notes. "Mistaken, deluded, jumpy, overly sensitive, needs recalibration..."

One of the scientists calls over to Frisk: "Tell it to get moving again."