one day, you will understand. but that day is not today.

[thepull_mods]

Who: Siren's Port
When: The night of Thursday, October 20th into the morning of Friday, October 21st.
Where: In the mind, in the dreams, in the unconscious of the sleepers.
Summary: The final night.
Warnings: These dreams may be considered not safe for work, with violence, gore, death, underlying sexual themes and other mentions of graphic nature.

Comments

action to secret firehouse, anything else otherwise, whatever!

[atrumcanis]

[Sirius doesn't wake up with a start, not this time. The previous nightmares (this must be what a Seer feels like; he thinks that every time as he muzzily claws his way out of dreams that don't belong to him, out of things that he's never actually seen and places he's never actually been), yeah, they were bad--

The mundanity of his own is almost surprising. When he wakes up, the more familiar images are washing in and out with the images from the others--blood and books and shadows and apples--but it's the feeling of the rotten fingers on his face that he keeps coming back to.

You'll do it.

He climbs out of the bed, careful not to disturb slumbering dog and rats and roommate--careful not to look at Jack, in case he sees something else, someone else, which is childish and cowardly and he thinks it anyways.

He goes toward the kitchen. A drink, and a smoke, and nothing else. That's what he needs. That's what will help. Two drinks.]

[cowboy_newsie]

[He doesn't jolt awake tonight, which is nice; rather, he muzzily rouses, caught in confusion as the bed shakes (goodnight to the world and it--) and Sirius climbs out (--and it all e n d s--) and he reaches out in confusion too him. But it's too late, he's gone to the kitchen, and so Jack contents himself with snuggling against Yorick for a moment.

It gives them both time to sort out the images in their heads anyway.

Eventually he gets up, yanking on somebody's undershirt (it's not Alice's, anyway, and that's all that really matters) and padding into the kitchen behind Sirius. He sees the drinks and smells the smoke and doesn't comment on it.]

You won't, you know. I don't give a damn what any dream says, you wouldn't betray me. You never have.

[atrumcanis]

[Jack is a poor sleeper at the best of times as it is. It's no surprise that he's awake; his voice is hardly startling. Sirius stares into his glass for a moment, then shifts his cigarette to the side of his mouth, smiling thinly as he raises his drink.]

Cheers, mate.

[It's neither agreement nor disagreement. He takes a drink.]

[cowboy_newsie]

[He hesitates and shifts over, resting his chin atop Sirius' shoulder, leaning his weight against him.]

It's not you. It's a nightmare. You wouldn't . . . I know you. I know how you work, I know you like I know meself. You wouldn't do that to us. You wouldn't betray us, you wouldn't . . .

[He doesn't know how to describe that apocalyptic vision and so closes his eyes, sighing.]

None of it is real. Alice's part, Ciel's, Madara's, Kurt, none of it. I don't believe in prophets and I don't believe in seers.

[atrumcanis]

It happens.

[He sighs; the smoke burns the inside of his nose.]

Or some part of it. I don't know.

[cowboy_newsie]

[He grits his teeth-- not upset at Sirius so much as angry with the thought of a future that's unable to change. He's never held with something like that, he's never liked that thought-- and, stubbornly, he stiffens as if readying to fight.]

Then it's an accident.

[atrumcanis]

[He smiles, faintly, and raises his glass to Jack just slightly.]

Yeah.

[He takes a deep drink, with only the smallest of shudders, and sets it down again.]

Don't-- It's all right. I don't care.

[cowboy_newsie]

[He doesn't move.]

Yeah, all right.

[atrumcanis]

[He stares hard at the half-empty glass.]

Are you gong to stand there or are you going to cook for me, eh?

[cowboy_newsie]

[He gives half a grin and pushes against him for a moment, one last show of support, before pulling back.]

Do I look like your girlfriend? You could say please.

[atrumcanis]

Ah, but I haven't a girlfriend for you to loo like. You'll have to take up the tasks and duties in such an absence. It's only fair.

[He goes to the table, hunching over his drink, though he's forced the smile back on his face once again.]

[cowboy_newsie]

You try and grab my ass and we're done. What d'ya want?

[atrumcanis]

Don't need a girlfriend for that, thanks, I've girls lined up halfway around the block for that purpose.

[He leans his chair back on the rear two legs, staring up at the ceiling now.]

And I unno. Surprise me.

[cowboy_newsie]

[Bacon it is. Four strips onto a pan, along with two eggs. Poking them once or twice to make sure they're settled, he moves to sit on one of the other chairs.

Eventually:]

You wanna talk about it?

good god my keyboard

[atrumcanis]

[Abruptly, he lets his chair tip back down again, landing heavily--but he smiles at Jack.]

Always want to talk about bacon.

At least that typo kind of worked?

[cowboy_newsie]

[He glances away.]

Mate--