it's all a dream
Characters: Anyone who wants to participate!
Date: Mid-event.
Summary: All of these individual dreams have combined into one mass dream that the characters have found themselves wandering around in. And it's less than pleasant.
Warnings: Possible violence.
( I don't want to know what Freud has to say about this )
Date: Mid-event.
Summary: All of these individual dreams have combined into one mass dream that the characters have found themselves wandering around in. And it's less than pleasant.
Warnings: Possible violence.
( I don't want to know what Freud has to say about this )
Comments 202
The sky is a bright blue above, utterly cloudless; but if you look behind, there are stormheads in the distance. Growing smaller, being abandoned. You're on a massive bird flying toward the sun, as eventually becomes apparent when the tips of the enormous wings breach your line of sight in a distant, curving arc. There's the feeling, faint but there, of leaving unhappiness behind- all sadness, all pain. Now, on this ride, there's only peace.
Eleanor is nearby. Sprawled out on her back, eyes half-closed, a tiny dark-haired child dressed only in a white shift. Her birdcage is gone, and there's a small smile on her face.]
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[She feels the small, slight weight of her passenger and cranes her head back to eye the girl with a glinting gold eye, giving a shrill, curious caw.]
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Isn't this better?....nothing hurts anymore.
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[She almost doesn't know what to do with it.]
[Then, she gives another, more pleasant whirr, and tucks her great wings in for a dive. Better hold on, Eleanor! Maine's curious to see what she can do!]
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She can dream now, though she wishes she couldn't. It's always the same dream. Fire.
Reason falls away as fire flickers at her fingertips, then explodes into blinding light, flames of violet and scarlet. Her body, too, has turned scarlet, radiant with feathers, her long, furred tail the same color, coiling as she moves through space, her feet far above the ground. The earth does not bind her, but her rage does. So many ways to destroy the world, but Kuja favors fire. She won't stop, she can't stop, not till everything is charred, lifeless, and dark.]
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The red-feathered being isn't a bird, it is the one called Kuja. Kadaj watches, suspended in a void of her own making, a chill black mist coiling around her, her bright eyes reflecting the fire falling all around. Kadaj seldom thinks of anything as being beautiful. It is a human idea what only just touches on the perfection of reunion-- but, this fire, it is something like the beauty if the end that precedes the beginning.]
This is your poetry then, Kuja.
[It isn't a question.]
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Here is someone who understands. No one else names her poetry what it is, identifies it so immediately and neatly. She smiles]
That's correct. No other poet can write so well or with such dazzling finality! A poem to end all poems, to wipe the world clean of everything that is not my verse.
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And when all things are ended, poet? What then?
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[most of the people are just imprints, vague human-shaped shadows that can't be looked at too closely, but there's one that's clear. She's lying in the shade of a tree in a small grassy park, surrounded by several odd-looking animals.]
[she doesn't seem to notice that the sky is growing darker, or that there's a figure in blue approaching with a measured gait, boots clicking on the cobblestones.]
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[She was excited when she saw Gal sitting beneath the tree. She made her way over to her at a quick walking pace, obkivious to the third figure walking towards them.]
You! You're real, aren't you?
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Real? I'd hope so. You're not from around here, are you?
[she doesn't have the pale hair and tanned skin of a Grand Chokmah native, at least.]
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No, I'm not. I have no idea where 'here' is, for that matter.
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[Maine's around, her armor slightly different; the pauldrons are done, leaving her broad curving shoulders blanketed only with the black undersuit, and the brown accents seems to be replaced with a burnished gold. She's looking for you, growling with anticipation -- you're going on a mission together, and your destination, the world below, seems to be building up a storm specifically for your arrival.]
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She glimpses peoples' dreams out of the corner of her eye - finds herself in a few for a few slivers of non-existant time - but her feet continue carrying her down the center path, imposing her own boundaries as she refuses to turn. Just like before, on those floating stones in that sea of fog, the mystery of it draws her onward. She can't help but want to see what's at the end.
Screams or not.
The images draw, swirl, and merge together into something unlike any of their parts. Souji can feel it instinctively - The World, or this World at least. What was in front of her was clear, if not explicable in human terms. The people and the place...
...she senses all this, but doesn't understand. Seeking an answer, she pushes ahead into the light of the Tree, simply walking forward until she finds an answer, becoming a symbol herself - The Fool, the quester, ( ... )
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And she is usually a devourer of children, but perhaps this dreamer, this wanderer will do. Bloodthirsty and ravenous, she slithers within reach of the girl, slashes out with cruel talons.
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"Take me to someone who will talk to me," Souji says in her dream-logic state, deflecting the snake-woman's claws but not slashing at her yet. If the Lamia listens, great. If not, she's certain she can best a single monster.
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