Dion't blame the moon, it only glows

[lest_ye_become]

Another night comes to the station. Or night cycle, anyway. And with it come the usual phantasmagorias of sleep... though tonight, there's something special. Here and there might be a shape out the corner of an eye, or a figure glimpsed dimly in the distance. Closer-up it's a thing like an adult, womanly shape, carved out of shadow and specks of

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[try_winging_it]

Hawke is on a ship in the middle of the sea. She's wearing a parody of a pirate's outfit, the sort children invent to play at pirates rather than anything at all resembling something a real pirate would wear; the hat has a huge blue feather. She takes it off and looks at it, frowning. "Any color but blue, I said," she mutters. "I'm sure I said that. No one ever listens to me when I ask them for something."

[lest_ye_become]

"It's not that bad," says a delicate voice underlaid with strange, inhuman harmonies. A figure is perched on one of the rails, one that would be a slender slip of a girl with long, flowing hair if it were really there... though the way it's like an outline carved into place, a window into a dimly-lit starfield, interrupts that interpretation. The outline hints at elements of a sailor's coat, like some faint emulation of the surroundings.

[try_winging_it]

"Easy for you to say," Hawke says absently, still scowling at the feather. The color blue is important, she's sure. There's some reason why she needs to watch out for it.

Oh well. She puts the hat back on her head and looks around for Isabela. If she's on a boat, presumably Isabela is the captain. But the sailors are looking at her as though she's supposed to know what to do. Usually she does know what to do or can make a stab at it, but on a boat? Well, if anyone asks her, she'll improvise. She's pretty good at that. "Get back to swabbing, you lot." She's not sure what swabbing is, but they all scarper, which leaves her free to turn to the strange figure on the rails.

Stars...a hole to the stars? "You're not one of the crew, are you?"

[lest_ye_become]

"Not of this boat," the figure says, and it reaches up to tip the outline of something like a stereotypical pirate's hat that exists only long enough to be tipped. "Are you?"

[try_winging_it]

[Teo is in a battle, twisting between darkspawn; he runs between the legs of a hurlock and leaps to rip out a genlock's throat, and gets sprayed in hot, stinging blood in the process. Someone tries to bring an axe down on his back, but he avoids it and savages the man's ankles.

He grins, dog-style. This is one of the good dreams!]

[lest_ye_become]

A tall, womanly figure carved out of stars watches, perched on a tree or a rock or anywhere convenient. Here, though, it's a little different than the other dreams: proportions a little out of kilter, body language a little strange and uneven...

For now, though, it waits to see how the dream goes.

[try_winging_it]

[Teo's dream continues along ideal-dog-dream lines. One by one he takes down the darkspawn, until finally there's a huge pile of them. He climbs to the top and howls, victorious, and the blood of the fallen splatters his coat like war-paint.]

[lest_ye_become]

The star-figure claps politely as the immediate narrative of the dream finishes. It was, after all, quite a show.