and in our darkest hour, we look to the heavens above and pray to be redeemed

[thepull_mods]

Who: Siren's Port
When: The night of Saturday, October 15th into the morning of Sunday, October 16th.
Where: In the mind, in the dreams, in the unconscious of the sleepers.
Summary: --
Warnings: These dreams may be considered not safe for work, with violence, gore, death, underlying sexual themes and other mentions of graphic nature. Having them is

Comments

Reaction -> private message to Joan and action for HoA

[paysdelamour]

[Francis had, thankfully, been working the night before and thus he had not been privy to the nightmares that appeared the night before.

But tonight was his night off, and Francis had thought it best to get some extra sleep instead of staying up and moping around his apartment some more. Oh what a mistake he'd made. He tossed and turned, letting out a whimper at one particular dream, a dream of being surrounded in a burning building.

The woman in front of him he recognizes instantly. Her hair hadn't been that long since she'd first heard the voice of the saint who called her to fight for the glory of France, to fight for him. But the curves of her face, her melodious voice, it was exactly as France remembered it from all those years ago. So it felt natural for his dream self to reach up to hold her face and speak to her, almost as shocked and confused as she seemed to be.]

... still... alive...

[He gripped at the sheets in his sleep as the scene changed, his breath quickening. God, oh god, his lungs felt like they were truly shrivelling up, he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, eyes welling up with tears at the searing pain of the flaming tongues lashing out at his skin, at the smoke which was even hotter filling his lungs and burning them as if he were swallowing hot coals. He took in one final gasp--

-- and then let out a scream of pure terror as he woke up in the real world, sitting bolt upright in his bed. He took in a sharp and deep breath, trying to stop the shaking in his hands. Now that he thought about it, he was shaking practically everywhere, trying to get the images and feelings out of his mind.

Joan. Was Joan all right? Quickly and without much thinking it through, he scrambled to his NV, despite his still-shaky legs. He contacted her NV, and was given her voice mail. With a soft curse, he waited for the tone, and then--]

Jeanne. It's... I know it's late, désolé. I was just... [He draws in a shaky breath - when had he stopped breathing? He couldn't remember - and continued shortly after.] ... just, thinking about you, and I... wanted to see how you were doing. Give... give me a call back, when you can, s'il vous plaît. [And then he hung up. He sat down, quietly, on the edge of the bed, waiting for Joan to call him back. He hoped that dream wasn't a premonition. He didn't know what he would do if he'd lost Joan on top of everything else that had happened.]

Voice, btw, and I'm sorry this is late. ;A;

[paysdelamour]

[Francis had quietly been sitting on his bed for only an hour or two, just thinking the dream over in his mind as he gently stroked Liliane's calico fur. He still felt the sting of the smoke in his lungs and the fire on his skin, no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that he was all right. He hadn't had a dream involving Joan for several hundred years now, though she had come to his mind frequently over the past eight months, almost nine now. He was wondering what had changed. The only conclusion he could come to was that it had somehow been related to Joan appearing in the port, even though she was a clone of the Joan he had originally known. Perhaps it had been a premonition. Perhaps it had been his inner demons surfacing - telling him there was unfinished business he needed to work on. Or maybe it was just a freak coincidence.

Still, the dream had felt real and France wasn't sure he was going to know what it meant until he had heard back from Joan. If he ever heard back from Joan. That thought popped into his head and he frowned, of her finding his voicemail in the morning and just deleting it. Joan of Arc was a high school student from the future of another world, what need did she have to entertain a random stranger with how she was doing? He didn't know which thought stung worse - the notion that something might have happened to her or the notion that she might ignore him regardless.

Just as Francis was mulling over that depressing thought, his NV suddenly started beeping - a MIDI version of "La Marseillaise" that he'd managed to find for free. Hearing his national anthem, he started, looking at it for a moment. Then, in a sort of delayed reaction, he made an attempt to hustle toward his NV, which in his confused and somewhat drowsy state he'd forgotten to keep close to him entirely.

Unfortunately, his foot had tangled up in the sheet near the end of the bed, and this motion sent him face first into his carpet, with a dull thud. Cursing his lack of grace, and the new sharp pain in his nose, with a soft reply of "Merde", he got onto his knees and reached up for his NV. He grasps it, answering it with his thumb, before he pulls it down to speak. He sniffles a bit first, and checks to see his nose isn't bleeding.] Bonsoir. [He really hoped it was Joan, he hadn't been able to check the caller ID.]

Permavoice

[paysdelamour]

[Thank god it really was her. He'd recognize that voice pretty much anywhere. He debates for a moment what he wants to say, but, now that he has gotten in contact with her, he finds that he can't come up with anything to say.]

Ah, oui... I did. But I did not expect you to answer so soon. I thought you would answer after the Sirens went off. [He gives a bit of a nervous laugh.] I wanted to ask... how things were going. How you were. I was thinking about you recently and I... [Suddenly, he realizes how awkward that must have sounded.] W-well, in a concerned manner only, I assure you! I simply had a bad dream, and you happened to be in it, and I wondered... [God, he is just failing too spectacularly, isn't he?]