(Untitled)

[inceptionist]

Who: Dream and OPEN
What: Nightmares
When: Now
Where: Anywhere
Warnings: tbd

Comments

[athermercy]

"This is the Core's doing?"

Elaine appeared beside him after she decided to take a closer look. Her body was intangible, in an attempt to make her Presence less intruding. It seemed like a dream vortex at work, with nightmares colliding like that. But it wasn't.

He would know, wouldn't he?

[inceptionist]

It wasn't a vortex in the sort with which he was most accustomed to dealing, at least. "It would seem that way," he mused, "In any case, it certainly isn't mine."

[athermercy]

"Yeah, I know," Elaine sighed. She knew it wasn't his doing, not consciously and it wasn't the dreamers who made this change either. That left many options, the Core was the most likely interpretation. "Can you stop it?"

[inceptionist]

"I'm going to do my best." He reached out and touched the air before them, and the landscape shifted, like paints running together, and then becoming clear again. "At least to protect their minds until it passes."

[flipdatpage]

Destiny stood back as he has always done. He reads as events unfold. Winding paths crossing each other. The tangled webs they weave. He reads of Morpheus through his pages and notes, with a muted sense of nostalgia, the similarity between now and then. But things were still different. This he knew as well.

[inceptionist]

Dream is aware of his elder sibling, ever watchful. Sometimes it was a comfort, sometimes a warning, like a second conscience looking over his shoulder. Keeping him accountable.

Accountability was a good thing.

[flipdatpage]

Dream served his purpose well. He was responsible. A trait that was rarely found in their younger siblings. He was mindful of his duty and he was mindful of the consequences that otherwise would befall him were his tasks not upheld.

Destiny silently observes his brother, remaining a background element rather than inserting himself into the narrative. That would come later.

o3o

[dontdrinkthe]

It's been the same for centuries. He was only five or six--(it's difficult to remember now, those little numbers getting lost in the vast span of things)--when the pollution had entered his body, made him a freak or a god. The details of that remained up for debate, and they had debated it hotly, before the bombs had fallen. The first dream had been that first time. A premonition of the end of the world which had bathed his entire bedroom pink. Things had only expanded from there, a bright pink bubble that had encapsulated a world before... he had popped it and fled.

But the dreams haven't stopped, and there is a faint pink glow seeping out of the slums where he has tried to hide himself. Perhaps he's noticed something strange in his dreams as well, something different from the surge of visions he is used to. He does not know what to make of it as he sits and waits for the rose-colored lights around him to dim.

[inceptionist]

This one is different from the mundane, mortal dreamers. Often troubled, sometimes overwhelmed. Nothing that Morpheus is not able to sort out as he follows the tangled webs of visions--trying to keep the boundaries between dreamers from collapsing.

[dontdrinkthe]

The sense of invasion is strange, of inversion. He is used to being alone in his prophecies, a mute freak drowning in a sea of noise. There should not be others here and his strong psionic mind sparks, wanting to know,

What is going on...