[ dream; II ] permissable
[ It's a simple setting. A livingroom in a typical Japanese household, tatami floors and a couch against a wall, a television set againt the opposing. In the middle of the floor, as if on display, stands a kotatsu. Picture-perfect, bowl of oranges on the polished surface, four mugs of coffee at each of the sittings. Picture perfect, save for those empty spaces.
He's sitting down in his own place, bringing his mug closer to him. He says something, words and meaning lost above the comforting drone of the TV in the background (the weather channel, that good old standby). At his right, his nephew laughs, responds in kind in that blurred, inarticulate mutter of the dream, as if his place hadn't been vacated moments ago.
Reaching over, he passes an orange to the empty seat on his left. A small girl takes it, bell-like laughter, and he smiles to his daughter as she exclaims over the kotatsu, their newest addition to the household, her words no less articulate than anything else.
He sips at his coffee, content to listen to the banter around him, the idle conversation and the weather girl announcing the bout of fog expected the next day. He glances up to the screen then, eyes sweeping over weather icons and illustrations, just over the rumpled shoulder of the man sitting across from him, all mussed hair and ridiculous grin and eyes bright and wide and as he shifts his own gaze they grow less and less guileless by the heartbeat-- ]
[ The only thing interrupting the silence of the evening then is the heavy exhale, almost a sigh, almost a groan. Once more, the screen displays the ceiling for the world to see, and once more, a hand descends from somewhere off-screen to clap over the Dreamberry. ]
Grand. Just grand.
[ It clicks off a moment later, after a glimpse of a disquieted eye. ]
[ooc: for those making use of the new function, the key thing to note here is contentment throughout, and perhaps a hint of apprehension at the tail-end of the dream. ]
He's sitting down in his own place, bringing his mug closer to him. He says something, words and meaning lost above the comforting drone of the TV in the background (the weather channel, that good old standby). At his right, his nephew laughs, responds in kind in that blurred, inarticulate mutter of the dream, as if his place hadn't been vacated moments ago.
Reaching over, he passes an orange to the empty seat on his left. A small girl takes it, bell-like laughter, and he smiles to his daughter as she exclaims over the kotatsu, their newest addition to the household, her words no less articulate than anything else.
He sips at his coffee, content to listen to the banter around him, the idle conversation and the weather girl announcing the bout of fog expected the next day. He glances up to the screen then, eyes sweeping over weather icons and illustrations, just over the rumpled shoulder of the man sitting across from him, all mussed hair and ridiculous grin and eyes bright and wide and as he shifts his own gaze they grow less and less guileless by the heartbeat-- ]
[ The only thing interrupting the silence of the evening then is the heavy exhale, almost a sigh, almost a groan. Once more, the screen displays the ceiling for the world to see, and once more, a hand descends from somewhere off-screen to clap over the Dreamberry. ]
Grand. Just grand.
[ It clicks off a moment later, after a glimpse of a disquieted eye. ]
[ooc: for those making use of the new function, the key thing to note here is contentment throughout, and perhaps a hint of apprehension at the tail-end of the dream. ]