[ VIDEO: Dreamin' ]
[ Shiro has an odd ability to sleep pretty much anywhere. Right now, he's sleeping upright in a chair, his head only tilted downward somewhat. His glasses hang from the strap around his neck, apparently those spectacles had fallen off after he fell asleep. He snored softly, recalling back within his dreams... ]
The dream starts out with a man, trudging along in the dark across some newly fallen snow. It’s dark, for the most part, save for light shed by some streetlamps and from the windows of buildings. There’s the outline of a small church, complete with steeple, nearby… but he approaches a separate building, to an entrance which is unlit. The man is Shiro, dressed in a long coat and scarf-holding a shotgun in one hand, lowered. He unlocks the door and enters as possibly quiet as he can, stepping inside without switching on a light. The door is closed silently, and he flips the deadbolt to lock.
There’s some kind of cabinet near the door, wooden and nondescript. Shiro unlocks this to reveal a rather well prepared cache of ammunition, but he returns things here instead of taking. The shotgun is carefully returned, along with a few other things. He makes quick business of locking this cabinet back up; before moving onto the task of removing his scarf, coat and boots. This place seems completely dark, save for some light pouring into the hallway from the open doorway of one room. It sounds like there’s a television or radio playing from that room-and thank goodness, otherwise his efforts would’ve been for naught.
“I’ll have’ta give this all up sometime,” Shiro mutters, “They’ll wise up to it soon.” He heaves a sigh, before running down the hallway toward that room. His socks skid across the smooth flooring, halted at the doorway into the living room. He grins wide, exclaiming to top off his grandiose entrance:
“Papa’s home early!!!” There are two kindergarten-aged boys in this room; apparently Shiro interrupted their time spent coloring with crayons. One wore a pair of glasses, and the other had resemblance to Rin. He moved to kneel as those two boys dropped what they were doing to greet their father. He collected them both in his arms and embraced them, able to pick them both up off the ground. Both of them cried out greetings, as he strolled into the living room while carrying them.
Shiro chose to sit down on the living room floor with his sons, looking at the pictures the two proudly displayed to him. The details of their conversations were fuzzy and inaudible, but he appears quite happy to be reunited with them for the evening. After some time passes, the boys had settled down and returned to coloring, he looks out the nearby patio window, out into the darkness of that courtyard. Vigilant, as if he were looking out for some terrible unknown lurking in the night.
…
… Maybe Shiro should have been watching the boys a little more carefully. A tiny hand tugged at his sleeve, and the boy wearing glasses pointed out toward the other child, who was clearly distressed. “Rin put a crayon up his nose!” He stumbled onto his feet, nearly tripping over that child.
“Rin, why on earth?! I can’t take my eyes off you for a minute, can I?!” Shiro gets to work trying to dislodge that crayon despite a few shed tears, as the other boy watched his father at his best-or close enough to it, anyway.
The dream starts out with a man, trudging along in the dark across some newly fallen snow. It’s dark, for the most part, save for light shed by some streetlamps and from the windows of buildings. There’s the outline of a small church, complete with steeple, nearby… but he approaches a separate building, to an entrance which is unlit. The man is Shiro, dressed in a long coat and scarf-holding a shotgun in one hand, lowered. He unlocks the door and enters as possibly quiet as he can, stepping inside without switching on a light. The door is closed silently, and he flips the deadbolt to lock.
There’s some kind of cabinet near the door, wooden and nondescript. Shiro unlocks this to reveal a rather well prepared cache of ammunition, but he returns things here instead of taking. The shotgun is carefully returned, along with a few other things. He makes quick business of locking this cabinet back up; before moving onto the task of removing his scarf, coat and boots. This place seems completely dark, save for some light pouring into the hallway from the open doorway of one room. It sounds like there’s a television or radio playing from that room-and thank goodness, otherwise his efforts would’ve been for naught.
“I’ll have’ta give this all up sometime,” Shiro mutters, “They’ll wise up to it soon.” He heaves a sigh, before running down the hallway toward that room. His socks skid across the smooth flooring, halted at the doorway into the living room. He grins wide, exclaiming to top off his grandiose entrance:
“Papa’s home early!!!” There are two kindergarten-aged boys in this room; apparently Shiro interrupted their time spent coloring with crayons. One wore a pair of glasses, and the other had resemblance to Rin. He moved to kneel as those two boys dropped what they were doing to greet their father. He collected them both in his arms and embraced them, able to pick them both up off the ground. Both of them cried out greetings, as he strolled into the living room while carrying them.
Shiro chose to sit down on the living room floor with his sons, looking at the pictures the two proudly displayed to him. The details of their conversations were fuzzy and inaudible, but he appears quite happy to be reunited with them for the evening. After some time passes, the boys had settled down and returned to coloring, he looks out the nearby patio window, out into the darkness of that courtyard. Vigilant, as if he were looking out for some terrible unknown lurking in the night.
…
… Maybe Shiro should have been watching the boys a little more carefully. A tiny hand tugged at his sleeve, and the boy wearing glasses pointed out toward the other child, who was clearly distressed. “Rin put a crayon up his nose!” He stumbled onto his feet, nearly tripping over that child.
“Rin, why on earth?! I can’t take my eyes off you for a minute, can I?!” Shiro gets to work trying to dislodge that crayon despite a few shed tears, as the other boy watched his father at his best-or close enough to it, anyway.