footsteps follow, down through the hollow sound

[c_zacatechichi]

Characters: c-zacatechichi and you (open :: see HERE)
Date: March 31st
Summary: Fela is walking the Garden's dreams.
Warnings: To be updated as any appear!

Comments

[ebony_bone]

[A dream of a memory of a dream, the true form and source lost somewhere in how many shapes it has taken, how many dreamers have touched it. A bed in a teenage boy's bedroom, two boys sleeping in it, or perhaps men - in the dream, they are both. One dusky skinned, black hair and gentle features, the other paler, sharper, his hair laced with copper. They are curled close together, or perhaps there is a space between them that Dominique should fit in, but she isn't meant to be here. This is before her, the memory and the dream, the memory of the dream, but she carries it all, and she dreams it.

She sits on the edge of the bed, instead, fully dressed, a cloak heavy with road-dust wrapped around her. There is a window nearby, but the city outside is dead and ruined, so she doesn't look out of it. She watches the men instead, quiet and still, eventually reaching out to lay her fingertips against the red hair tangled over the pillow. There is no need to be so gentle. She could pull and yank at it, and he wouldn't wake.]

[c_zacatechichi]

[She is there with her back pressed against the wall. Silent and feeling very much as though she is intruding, but curious to know about the dreamer. It is not truly the woman sitting sitting on the edge of the bed, nor is it truly either of those sleeping men.

But she knows them. All of them, she goes to look at Mahalia's shrine of faces every day, the same way she does with the tattoo on her wrist. The boy with the dusky skin is in a photograph on her sister's wall, the other two are kept in paint. So the world outside the window is her world, their world, and though Fela does not, precisely, do so consciously, she responds to that. The bright and multicolored skirts she very often finds herself wearing in the dreams muting themselves down to a rather ragged lace shirt, a pair of jeans. It is something Fela has worn in the waking world, however, even if she can hardly be expected to remember that. There is some of the dreamer's influence there, folding her in to the scenery. Some of her own influence as well, a desire to make

[ebony_bone]

[It is a long moment before Dominique moves again, her fingers lifting from Desidero's hair to touch his forehead instead, to smooth over the shape of his brow. He stirs when her fingers stay there too long, frowns and turns his head, but she can't disturb him further than that. She knows, even if she doesn't remember having this precise dream before, even if she has never tried to wake him before. It is her dream, and so she knows.

In the same way, she comes to know there is something there that shouldn't be. No great sweep of fear or aggression, just the simple acceptance that a presence should be acknowledged. She looks around the room, but it takes her a while to see the woman, perhaps because she does not want to be seen. She does find her eventually, though, and there is a pause, a quiet deeper than before. The men in the bed do not breath, everything stills, a moment of possible fracture as Dominique's sleeping mind tries to pull some pieces of awareness to her.]

Acacio?

[The tension passes as the hushed whisper spreads

[c_zacatechichi]

[Fela begins to shake her head, no, but she is rather startled by the dream truly pulling at her, wanting her to shift. Perhaps she should have expected it, but she had been so focused on observing quietly, hadn't wanted to be noticed, let alone--

The cloak is heavy on her, warm, the inside of the mask dark and cool. But that is not her face and she says firmly:]

No.

[She gives her head an impatient toss and the mask goes clattering to the floor. Her inhaled gasp of breath is noisy in the forced stillness of the dream, regret creeping up into her eyes. She sheds the cloak, leaving it in a pile as she drops down to retrieve her father's mask. She gathers it up gently, looking at the face, but cannot read anything there.

She looks up at Dominique with her father's deep puppy dog eyes.]

I'm sorry.

[She should have gone, or at least behaved herself better when noticed.]

[ebony_bone]

[Dominique doesn't react to the sudden motions and noise the dreamchaser makes. She stays as still and calm as the dream. The woman looks up at her, Acacio's mask cradled in her hands, and though there are parts there that are Acacio (the shape of her mouth, those eyes), her face is not quite right, her posture, the colour of her hair. Dominique looks away, her fingers leaving Desidero's forehead to reach and touch his companion instead.]

You aren't him, no.

[She traces the shapes of the soñando stains on the man's face, but the boy has no such stains, young, clear skinned. Untouched by war, dreamdust, or any of the other pains that had come with them.]

[c_zacatechichi]

[The woman's quiet lack of reaction only makes Fela feel worse, embarrassed and uncertain. She looks back down at the mask in her hands, knows it is his because of the way it had been pushed at her.]

I'm not, but... I am happy to follow him.

[She understands why the woman had mistaken her, and that is no insult, truly. She has been so incredibly pleased to learn about their family from Mahalia, about a father and a little sister like her. Their whole family laced by the smoke.]

[ebony_bone]

[She is close to forgetting the dreamchaser is there when she speaks again, distracted with her examination of the sleeping Acacio, half lost in the transience of the dreaming.

But her attention is drawn back, a slight frown on her face as she fully realises the woman's words. The dream stills again, tension spreading through like cracks. Difficult to find a balance between the stringent order of Dominique's mind and the natural chaos dream evoke. She'll wake, if it's pushed to breaking, but for now there are just splinters, hairline fractures.]

Another child?

[It was strange to think of Acacio's children, grown and wandering as he had, but she had met one, a son. This woman seems older, but Acacio was ten years her senior, had been drifting for a long time.]

[c_zacatechichi]

[Fela watches the woman curiously, concerned by the fraying edges she feels. She gets up slowly, coming around the bed to touch her face, she knows how to fix such things...]

My name is Fela. I am told I am his eldest.

[ebony_bone]

[Even when she's awake, aware, it's impossible to fight a dreamchaser. They're smoke, heavy and sweetly scented. Nothing can keep them out, nothing can keep them in. She can feel Fela pulling her back from the break, healing the trailing fractures, holding her in the dream, and she doesn't fight it. There would be no point.]

Following in his footsteps.

[There's something right about that, in the mythology of family as Dominique knows it. Christopher had been powerful, impressively so, but no dreamchaser. Bright green eyes, not the deep brown of Fela's, of Acacio's. She looks down at the mask in Fela's hand, lifting it gently and holding Fela's fingers over it tightly.]

Then you should keep this.

[c_zacatechichi]

[She doesn't mean to, when she is Bohrre-na she is meant to be strong and wise, but that is not always the case. She is mercurial, unanchored in the sonando's grip, and while often enough that leads to anger, it also draws her easily into tears. Perhaps she shouldn't try to blame her easily touched on the smoke.

She does not understand at this moment that this quiet, this clam, is simply a part of Dominique. Either way, truly, it would have broken her heart. She does try not to let it touch her dreamer, but the air outside is graying, turning cold and wet.]

I'm sorry.

[She says it again because she is incredibly unhappy with what she's done. This was a dream she should have left alone, left it peaceful and undisturbed.]

[ebony_bone]

[Dominique frowns slightly, looking up from the mask. She can see Fela is upset, can feel it in the atmosphere, but she doesn't understand why.]

What for?

[c_zacatechichi]

I shouldn't have disturbed you.

[ebony_bone]

You are Bohrre-na.

[She states it plainly. Dreamchasers drifted into the dreams of others, had no dreams of their own, it was how it worked and Dominique would expect no different. Whether Fela should have disturbed her or not, it didn't matter - it was done now, there was no undoing unless she felt the need to manipulate Dominique's mind. And if she was Acacio's daughter, then perhaps she had as much right to see this dream as Dominique did.]

Perhaps I called you.

[She looks over to the sleeping Acacio. Thoughts of a dreamchaser, prayers for a Bohrre-na, they could call them to you, if you were near enough, if they were strong enough. Desidero had taught her that.]

[c_zacatechichi]

[Fela sets her father's mask onto the bed, in the small amount of space along the edge where Dominique is not sitting. She drops down onto the floor next to the woman, settling quietly. She rests her head lightly at the woman's knee. Perhaps Dominique is not angry with her, but Fela offers her apology anyway, does not want to disrupt any further... but perhaps she does want to be here with those who came before her.]

We are here in the Garden.

[She says softly.]

Mahalia and I. Perhaps you will not remember when you wake, but we would have you if you wished to visit.

[ebony_bone]

[Dominique looks down at her for a long moment. The dream is quiet, and though she doesn't spite Fela for the interruption, she would like to return to that quiet, now. Knowledge from dreams is flexible, sometimes remembered, often not. She has no response for her, not even to ask after the other name she uses. She settles one hand gently over her hair, and stays silent.]