[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

[sansational]

"Too late. The clock is broken. The clock cannot be fixed."

Gaster reaches down to help Sans up. Sans accepts the offer of assistance, and all but bounds to his feet. He smiles up at them, looking excited, looking overjoyed...

But whatever he's saying is indistinct, and he doesn't notice Gaster look to Frisk and shake his head sadly. "Failure is not always immediately apparent. Should we tell him now?"

"tell him later," the Sans in the hoodie says from Gaster's other side. "papyrus gets cranky if he doesn't get his bedtime story."

"The timer is at zero seconds. The timer is at negative one seconds."

[dustless]

The machines unweave their lines

the machines reach out

the machines spool around his bones

the machines sink their wires-data-time into him

the machines stain him with lines of

[҉҉҉R҉҉҉E҉҉҉D҉҉҉A҉҉҉C҉҉҉T҉҉҉E҉҉҉D҉҉҉]҉

"Wait," Frisk whispers.

[sansational]

Sans looks down at the marks on his hands and arms with complete incomprehension and visible hope that they don't mean what they obviously do. The machine is what they used to give him these powers. The machine must be a good thing. Hope is the thing with feathers, and so it must inevitably die. But they haven't heard him, and he hasn't heard them, and suddenly they're all sitting together in the river person's boat, heading safely home for Snowdin.

Gaster continues speaking as though the shift in time and space hasn't happened, picking up a conversation he never actually began.

"I will not be here to tell him. I am never here to tell him. Please promise me that you will." Gaster wrings his hands miserably, except he's only doing so with one. The other hand seems to have disappeared, somehow.

[dustless]

Frisk reaches over to touch Gaster's one hand. They're in their normal clothes now, labcoat gone (it's hanging on an echo flower, it's bending under the cloth's weight, and they don't know how they know but they know it'll break and they're sad for the wish that it once held) and replaced with a dusty tutu.

"I--I want to. I want to promise." They don't know why they don't think they can.

They look between Gaster and Sans mournfully. The sound of clicking, ticking clocks vibrates through their teeth.