[ the patterned silk cast shadows over the large cloth tent Riku sat in. he frowned as he watched the shadows of the dancers outside twist and stretch over the material, letting light and darkness settle over the cotton that lay beneath him and the stuffed pillows strewn about.
he'd had this dream--what, three times?
he glowered at the entrance to the tent, the flap blowing lightly in the breeze. then, his gaze flickered downwards, to the crystal ball atop the table before him. he knew there was really no point in trying to get up and leave. his ankle was already tethered to the bottom of the ball, like he was a prisoner in a cartoon. and, like the last three times, he was in costume, too, an orange tunic on his back with patterned pants tied about his waist, a shawl covering most of his body afterwards. ]
This is ridiculous.
[ what did recurring dreams mean? recurring problems?
ugh, he couldn't even remember, anymore. his mind hurt too much from the folksy songs the gypsies outside were singing and from the differed timelines each one of their steps took.
the dream always ended when he gave a guy his fortune. fine. he'd just wait until that moment came. ]
[ ooc:
permissions post yet again! ]