Dreamshare 1: Open to all
The room is decently sized, with a table with four seats at the front, and several rows facing them, raised like stands. It’s grey and would be sterile if not for all the different beings that fill it - some humanoids with fly-like heads, others in suits, some with spots, some with bone crests on the backs of their heads.
The viewpoint is both right behind and inside the head of one in particular, a distinct head with hair that stands up in a fan. He’s at the table. It’s a position of importance. And yet, as you stand there, his chair seems to shrink, to get smaller. You can see him attempt to stay upright and fight the indignity, but no one else notices. In fact, it’s almost as if no one else really sees or hears him.
A man with red eyes, orange reptilian skin, and black spots all over that skin, stands. He’s dressed in leather and his voice is sonorous, ringing. While you can’t make out the words, you can see that the people in the stands are responding to what he’s saying, nodding and smiling.
Ambassador stands up from his shrinking chair and attempts to speak, but to your ears he sounds underwater. Everything is distorted. No one is looking at him, not the reptilian man or the man and woman who look human. They’re busy speaking among themselves.
The suit by the entrance, the one who had stood so still, slowly turns to face Ambassador. It looks massive due to the purple-black cloak that wraps around it and its height. The circular opening on the front of the suit dilates open, fixing Ambassador (and you) with a steady red gaze. No words are said. The focus is there, and suddenly you know that you don’t want to be the focus of that view, not as the room starts to seem darker and darker, with shadows moving independent of light sources, closing in.
Ambassador gets up and starts to head out. You notice, as you are stuck following him, that everyone’s outfits have changed. They look more relaxed. Even the expressions on their faces are different, laughing and open. There’s food and drink, but it all feels stifling, isolating, alone.
You and Ambassador move as ghosts through crowded halls, ignored by everyone, until suddenly you’re in a more open area. It looks like a small marketplace, with the same grey tones everywhere. The same mix of different peoples fill the area; it’s busy and noisy and active, and yet neither you nor Ambassador are a part of it.
There’s a flower cart up ahead, with so many different plants you’ve never seen. He approaches it, reaches out, touches one flower that’s white and translucent, only for it to light up as if with fiber optics. But as quickly as it lit up, it turns black and crumbles, ash, falling. There’s now ash falling all around.
Ambassador laughs. It’s a dry, painful sound, and he’s watching the black and grey ash pile up, to his ankles, to his shins. When he looks up, all of the people are gone.
A blink, and you’re both farther into the area. Another blink, and you’re at the end of it, going through an archway into what may be a bar, may be a strip club, may be both. It’s entirely empty. There are many tables in front of a small-ish stage, with restaurant-like booths edging the back. Ambassador takes a seat at a table in front of center stage and sits there, watching expectantly.
No one comes.
He looks around, seeks to order a drink, but suddenly every table is taken and every server is busy. The stage is still empty. He gets up, approaching the stage. No one comes out. No one even notices when he climbs up on the stage and walks back to find a wall instead of a door. There won’t be anyone coming onto this stage. Ambassador turns to look at the crowd that continues mingling and talking without a single one spotting the larger Centauri up there.
As he swallows you can see pain on his face for the briefest of moments. Then, taking advantage of no one noticing him, he grabs a bottle from one of the occupied tables and takes a swig. There’s no outcry and he heads out of the club, bottle in hand, smiling and laughing as if nothing is the matter.
He reaches the entryway and the club goes black; the dream is done.