[Action Post] Nightmares [+ Blog]
Conner doesn't realize it but he'd been tossing and turning ever since he'd fallen asleep. Had Erin been over, had Peter been over, anyone really, they might have shaken him awake before now. demanding what his rambling meant. He wouldn't have been able to tell them specifically.
Maybe it was his connection to the Fae, maybe it was just intuition, any number of things, but his dreams were of the worst nightmares he'd has in years. Bad feeling, bad vibes, a shaking disconnected nightmare that makes no sense, that seemed like some cruel game or horror story.
When the bartender wakes in the hours before sunrise he feels nauseous. Not the nauseous he feels when drunk, when hungover, when he hasn't eaten in days and slept too little. It's more akin to the nausea he felt when broken glass was shoved into his eye, soft matter giving way to pain and fear and helplessness.
And all he can think is: "Are my siblings okay?"
When he scrambles out of bed his limbs are like jelly, they don't want to work and Conner nearly collapses on the floor. The dream is already faded but the fear is still there, a fear of lose, of loneliness. A fear of death.
Comforting nicotine is being inhaled even as he snatches his phone from the living room and he pays no heed to the time as he calls each of his siblings. Each is an answering machine because of the early hour but he doesn't care.
He leaves a message, personalized for each of the Kirkland's in his Contact list with a message that is essentially the same. Peter is the first he calls, Arthur, for some odd reason the second, then Rory and Remy and he ends with Dewi, John Paul and Erin. "Are ye okay? Bad feeling in me gut... Bad sweats, whispers frum the Fae. Are ye okay? Please say yer okay."
He doesn't go back to sleep and instead fixes himself black coffee, spiking it with whiskey and sitting back on the couch, eye trained on the television. He nurses the cup and puffs away half a pack by the time the sun is up. The TV is never turned on.
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Didn't sleep for shit last night. Bad feeling in my gut... it's still there. Can't shake it. I feel like a bad thing is here, resting on my shoulders, whispering in my ears, saying bad things about things that aren't real but seem so much so. I can't even remember what I dreamed, but it wasn't good.
Maybe I should lay off the drink.
But... I don't think that's the problem....
Maybe it was his connection to the Fae, maybe it was just intuition, any number of things, but his dreams were of the worst nightmares he'd has in years. Bad feeling, bad vibes, a shaking disconnected nightmare that makes no sense, that seemed like some cruel game or horror story.
When the bartender wakes in the hours before sunrise he feels nauseous. Not the nauseous he feels when drunk, when hungover, when he hasn't eaten in days and slept too little. It's more akin to the nausea he felt when broken glass was shoved into his eye, soft matter giving way to pain and fear and helplessness.
And all he can think is: "Are my siblings okay?"
When he scrambles out of bed his limbs are like jelly, they don't want to work and Conner nearly collapses on the floor. The dream is already faded but the fear is still there, a fear of lose, of loneliness. A fear of death.
Comforting nicotine is being inhaled even as he snatches his phone from the living room and he pays no heed to the time as he calls each of his siblings. Each is an answering machine because of the early hour but he doesn't care.
He leaves a message, personalized for each of the Kirkland's in his Contact list with a message that is essentially the same. Peter is the first he calls, Arthur, for some odd reason the second, then Rory and Remy and he ends with Dewi, John Paul and Erin. "Are ye okay? Bad feeling in me gut... Bad sweats, whispers frum the Fae. Are ye okay? Please say yer okay."
He doesn't go back to sleep and instead fixes himself black coffee, spiking it with whiskey and sitting back on the couch, eye trained on the television. He nurses the cup and puffs away half a pack by the time the sun is up. The TV is never turned on.
------------------------------
Didn't sleep for shit last night. Bad feeling in my gut... it's still there. Can't shake it. I feel like a bad thing is here, resting on my shoulders, whispering in my ears, saying bad things about things that aren't real but seem so much so. I can't even remember what I dreamed, but it wasn't good.
Maybe I should lay off the drink.
But... I don't think that's the problem....