What Dreams May Come (Open, Arrival)

[see_or_seem]

Since his father's death, Robert hasn't been sleeping well. His doctors had told him that was to be expected, that it was a normal stress reaction to a traumatic event, but the words don't help much in reality. He has such mixed feelings about everything that's happened, including - he is ashamed to admit - relief. Relief! Relief that his father

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[cute_shinigami]

There might be a squee, then a tall young man in an open-collared shirt comes scurrying up the hallway toward him. But once he gets closer, he'll skid to a stop, falling over backward.

He looks up, chuckling. "Whoops, sorry about that: I thought you were someone else," he says, his brilliant, violet eyes a bit bashful.

[see_or_seem]

Robert takes a step back, his eyes widening, completely at a loss of what to make of this person. It perhaps scares him a little more than it should, as he does not seem threatening, really, but this situation isn't calming his nerves. For the first time, Robert looks at himself and what he's wearing. He's dressed fine, but apparently he'd fallen asleep in the chair, and his clothes are less freshly-pressed than he prefers. Maybe even a little wrinkled. Which upsets him, but there are more important things to worry about at the moment.

"I...who did you think I was? Who are you? And, most importantly, where am I?"

[cute_shinigami]

"Ah, well, I mistook you for a close friend of mine," he admits, looking up, but not getting up yet. He's quite tall, but in this position, he doesn't loom up quite as much. "They call this place the Mansion, but it's hard to say where it is exactly, since it's kind of a world of it's own," he says. "I'm Asato Tsuzuki: I stumbled onto this place a couple years ago, and I've been living here since then."

[see_or_seem]

"A world of its own?"

Robert shakes his head, wondering if he's missing something. He's not sure how he ended up anywhere other than his apartment, and he certainly shouldn't be in a different world.

Of course, that's assuming this young man is sane and knows what he's talking about.

"I'm Robert Fischer," he says carefully. "And I don't know what this place is, or how I got here...but I have important things to do and I need to get back to Los Angeles."

Whatever this place was, he couldn't stay here.

[blindbomber]

There is a wonderful smell coming from the kitchen as Icarus is in baking mode again. This time? Cinnamon rolls. He's already got one batch in the oven, and he's currently kneading the dough out for a second while the third batch is still rising in it's bowl.

Hey, when he's a bit stressed or when the weather's too bad to fly, he gets antsy and at least this way everybody can enjoy something from his need to burn energy? He's humming to himself, a bit of flour across one cheek, and his wings held in tightly so that they won't accidentally knock into anything.

[see_or_seem]

It's been a while since Robert's eaten, and he finds himself following the smells from the kitchen almost unconsciously. He's not used to having to worry about where his food comes from. This realization is certain to add to his already quickly growing anxiety.

What can he do, after all? He doesn't know how to cook - he's never had to. He doesn't know how to do manual labor. He doesn't know how to do anything but be what he is. But for now, in this place, he smells the food. Surely money means something here as well, and he'll be able to fill his stomach at least for today. Then he can start thinking of doing something, of making himself useful in this place.

He enters the kitchen and stops in his tracks, the smell of food not even really enough to overpower his sudden fear and awe.

"You...have wings."

[blindbomber]

If he's nice enough about it, Iggy is always happy to cook for others, no money required. Just some manners. And the ability to deal with Icarus's sarcasm.

The tall young man pauses in his kneading and turns his head to 'look' over his shoulder. "I do? My god, I do! How did those get there? Oh well." He turns back to kneading, smiling slightly.

"So, you must be new here. I'm Icarus. Hungry? The rolls aren't done, but I've got some oatmeal in that big pot on the stove if you want. Or you can wait about five minutes and there will be iced rolls for eating."

[see_or_seem]

"Yes, thank you," he says politely, taking a seat and trying not to stare at the wings. The man obviously found his question at best amusing, at worst offensive, so he decides not to comment on it anymore.

Wait...Icarus?? Yeah, he wasn't even going to ask at the moment.

He reaches in his back pocket, relieved to find his wallet there. That, at least, gives him some sense of comfort.

"I can pay. Whatever you want, I can pay it."

And he will, for something that smells that good.

[first_ranger]

[see_or_seem]

The fireplace looks comforting, so as the evening gets later, Robert makes his way to a chair near it. He's chilled, but it's more from anxiety and discomfort than from the cold.

He sees the man sitting before him, and his eyes immediately flick to the sword, a look of alarm crossing his face.

He doesn't quite know what to say, and is anxious at the idea of unnerving him, so he just smiles weakly as he sits.

[first_ranger]

[see_or_seem]

"Good evening," he replies politely. "The warmth is rather nice, I must say," he replies, one eye still on the sword. "I'm Robert Fischer. New here. Obviously."

[aperion_oneiros]

It might not be till the next day, but if he ventures into a corner of the main room, he might come upon a reddish-blond man with blue eyes set in a permanent squint, tinkering with a model building made of foam board pieces. It might look like an odd, sprawling castle of some kind...

And the gent might look vaguely familiar, like someone he met in a dream...

[see_or_seem]

Robert stops when he sees the man, cocking his head slightly. He can't say he really recognizes the man, but there's something about him that's so eerily familiar that he can't stop staring.

After a moment, he realizes that he needs to introduce himself, as the man must have seen him staring by now.

He crosses the room, offering a hand.

"Robert Fischer. I'm sorry, but...have we met?"

[aperion_oneiros]

The red-blond guy looks up, a bit startled, blinking a bit.

How the hell is Fischer down here, in this dream? Is this some collective dreaming level that's lower even than Limbo?

He swallows a bit. "Hey, sorry, I was a bit wrapped up in my work here," he says, accepting Fischer's hand. "I'm Dominic Cobb."

[see_or_seem]

Fischer shakes his hand firmly, still looking at him closely.

"You're sure we haven't met, Mr. Cobb? You look terribly familiar to me. Have you...been in Sydney lately?"

[thistle_muncher]

It might be in the evening, but if Fischer ventures into the library and goes to the fireplace to warm himself, he might step on something that lets out a loud and annoyed "H'ohh!"

[see_or_seem]

He almost falls on his face when he does, out of sheer surprise.

"Pardon me," he cries out before looking down, his eyes widening. "Uh..."

[thistle_muncher]

"No need to ask pardon, I'm used to being stepped on," a gloomy, surprisingly deep voice says at his feet. And he looks down, a plush donkey is laying on its back, looking up at him, hooves in the air wiggling, as he tries to right himself.

[see_or_seem]

Robert reaches down and, typist willing, rights the struggling donkey.

"You're...Eeyore."

Robert is the right age to have had those stories read to him, by his mother, before she died. And his heart clenches a little at the memory.