[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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[dustless]

Frisk struggles to stay at the chain. It's hard to grab, they're so weak, and the floor is trying to swallow them.

"I'm not leaving someone behind again! Not you, and not with this!"

Their leaves on the table whirl in a wind that shouldn't exist, scattering at the mother's feet, and they wrench their arm from Chara's grip too to wrap the chain around their wrist instead. It's easier to use all their strength that way.

Frisk's mouth isn't moving, it's stitched itself closed, but they're still talking. "They are too, are too, are too! What do you know, you old ugly nasty fake face, you can't do anything right!"

[buttercup_eater]

(*Why not me?) Chara thinks, and they're not sure if it's a resentful thought or not. They make a huffing noise. Frisk smells like determination, and after a split-second of hesitation they wrap their arm's around Frisk's waist and yank at the chain.

Frisk is strong for a ragdoll, strong enough if they could throw off Chara's grip a moment ago, but there's no way they can break that chain. (*Even with a partner, breaking it seems impossible.) The wind whips Chara's hair around their face and the chain groans under the onslaught of tugging. Their hands feel red hot-

"You stupid child!"

-and there's their mother, her hands are right there and Chara screams. They drop the chain, squeeze Frisk's belly in their arms, and throw themselves out of the chair. The floor makes a soft fwump noise as they land and roll down the ground.

Their mother keeps screaming.

"Come back here come back here come back here-!"

eye horror tw

[dustless]

Crushed in Chara's arms, Frisk feels like a teddy bear, even with their hard needle bones and leaves that crackle under their skin.

They hiss curses at the chain and jerk around, aiming a foot in the direction of their mother's voice. It's hard to see, some of the crushed metal in their face jolted through them at the rolling landing and is blocking the view from inside their own eyes.

"Shut up! Go away! Leave us alone!" Frisk howls, every stitch in their ragged body groaning--

--no, that's the floor. It's like a filthy squishy blanket now, bowing under their combined weight.

[buttercup_eater]

There's a lurching, sinking feeling in their stomach, and Chara's afraid they might be sick. They can still feel the manacle clasped around their ankle yet somehow they keep rolling further, deeper down the filthy, reeking floor. They cling to Frisk like the other child is life itself, needle bones and metal bits and all.

"You ca͘n'͠t l̸̝͔̙͕͚ȩ̗̻̻a̹̱v̩̗ͅe̵̺̞̮̲̻͍̬͕̭͈̱͞ͅ m̨̭̥͎͔͘ͅe̲̼!͏̱̗̮̕"͏̝͇̰͈̝͕

Their mother's anguished cries, Frisk's howling, the groans of the floor all echo in Chara's ears as they roll down and down and then there's an even louder ripping noise and they

just

d r o p . . .

[dustless]

The whole world is wailing, all together now.

Chara-in-their-head says:

* You've left better all on your own.

Frisk buries their face against Chara's shirt, screaming, screaming, screaming the word NO NO NO without a mouth, blood and leaves and flower petals and metal shards tearing out of every stitch; they can't see anything, but maybe, just maybe, Chara will see all those assorted bits and bobs that them up, make up Frisk drifting above-behind-around them both like the trail of a meteor falling through the atmosphere.









(* This isn't the end.)








With a bone shattering thud, they hit the ground.

Outside.

Alone, head empty of anything but stars, 'cause they've slammed their face into the dirt beneath their hammock.

Which is where Frisk sleeps. In the castle. Which is weird, but real. Real. Yeah. And so are the scrapes on their face, they ascertain, pressing their fingers against their cheek. It's wet. Blood.

Frisk rolls onto their back, stares up at the night sky they can see through the foliage, and breathes in deep. Their hammock in the castle, in the gardens. It smells green here, and green's much better than the scent of that nightmare's nasty rot.

Yeah, that was a pretty bad dream. A horrible nightmare. New, too. "Weird," they murmur to the stars.

Frisk wipes at the blood on their cheek again--

Oh. Not blood.

Tears.