keep calm and carry on.
[This is a dream. Probably. Mostly, Freya thinks - this is a dream, because this is not what reality looks like (not reality as seen by sane people, at any rate, and she is sane). She’s dressed for a dream, at least, a sweatshirt and drawstring pants, comfortable and indistinct. So she can be calm and just curious for now, about the forest surrounding her. She starts walking, and thinking about... things. Shoes, ships, and ceiling-wax (and cabbages and planes, why the sea is boiling hot and whether dreams have dreams).
She can also talk to herself, which is not at all crazy. It’s a little comforting still, actually, to have silence and fill it with her voice and know she’s not gone deaf, it’s just... quiet.] Maybe this is his one of Dr. Welles' dreams. The deep, inner psyche of the scientific mind.
[...Okay, she’s creeped herself out a little with that. She hugs her arms to her lower body.] Well, if there’s a forest in people’s heads, at least that explains why I always get caught in the trees - [Ugh. That was terrible, Freya.] It doesn’t matter. I’ll wake up any minute now.
[Any minute now? Any minute now. There’s less trees now, and she’s starting to get glimpses of galaxies. At least it’s... pretty. She might have read about this once. That could be it.] Science fiction. [And when in doubt, roll out the half-remembered Dickens!] A crust of undigested bread, or a… lump of cheese. [Triumphant smile!] There’s more of gravy than of grave -
[ - Wow. It’s under her feet now, too. It’s... under her feet, and that’s kind of weird. Is she floating? She doesn’t feel like she’s floating. She feels like she’s standing, in fact. Everything - if she lets herself think about it, everything feels extremely real, realer than real.] No. [She’s never even hallucinated, and she's not crazy.] No! [But that’s okay, because hallucination or not she’s already taken off at an impressive speed, running for... an exit, anything, and probably won’t stop until she trips or runs into someone.]
She can also talk to herself, which is not at all crazy. It’s a little comforting still, actually, to have silence and fill it with her voice and know she’s not gone deaf, it’s just... quiet.] Maybe this is his one of Dr. Welles' dreams. The deep, inner psyche of the scientific mind.
[...Okay, she’s creeped herself out a little with that. She hugs her arms to her lower body.] Well, if there’s a forest in people’s heads, at least that explains why I always get caught in the trees - [Ugh. That was terrible, Freya.] It doesn’t matter. I’ll wake up any minute now.
[Any minute now? Any minute now. There’s less trees now, and she’s starting to get glimpses of galaxies. At least it’s... pretty. She might have read about this once. That could be it.] Science fiction. [And when in doubt, roll out the half-remembered Dickens!] A crust of undigested bread, or a… lump of cheese. [Triumphant smile!] There’s more of gravy than of grave -
[ - Wow. It’s under her feet now, too. It’s... under her feet, and that’s kind of weird. Is she floating? She doesn’t feel like she’s floating. She feels like she’s standing, in fact. Everything - if she lets herself think about it, everything feels extremely real, realer than real.] No. [She’s never even hallucinated, and she's not crazy.] No! [But that’s okay, because hallucination or not she’s already taken off at an impressive speed, running for... an exit, anything, and probably won’t stop until she trips or runs into someone.]