birds singing in the sycamore tree

[baedalites]

As night falls on Baedal, the city is almost quiet. The streets have a few last minute workers returning home, but by now, most citizens have already gone by the temples and picked up their vurt, ready to lay down and dream.

After placing a not-feather in one's mouth, there's a moment where it fizzes against the tongue before sliding coolly down the back of the throat and pulling the user down into sleep. A series of impressions, more sensation than anything concrete, appears before the user and this is how one chooses which Dreamer to enter.

Comments

[requiresssacrifice]

He's doing this for science. That's what Rex tells himself, anyway, when he puts the "feather" on his tongue and drifts to sleep. Ideally, this will give him some glimpse into the psyches of others while not revealing anything new about himself.

Despite his propensity towards the monochromatic, Rex is initially drawn to the brightness and the colors of this dream. There's something strangely... familiar about it. He can't put his finger on why, and he doesn't try to. The less he dwells on himself, he assumes, the better. He wouldn't want too much of his own influence bleeding into the dream, if that's indeed how a shared dream works.

Rex looks down at his hands-- or, rather, he watches himself watching his hands. He doesn't question it, because while he's in this dream, it just feels right. What isn't right, however, is how he's dressed, all decked out in his dress uniform like he's back in the army.

Impressive though it is, it's not something he actually wants to advertise, so Rex squeezes his eyes shut and tries to just... imagine a different outfit. That's how it works, right? Or, rather, that's how it should work-- in Rex's case, it seems to have no effect whatsoever.

Apparently, he has no knack for dreaming.

[heardmermaids]

"A pensieve. It holds your thoughts when you've got too many." There's an image of Harry looking into a different pensieve in another room, an impression of the sharp, gritty taste of candied pineapple, and then the memories fade into a murky, grey-green as the surface stills. "If you're a skilled wizard, it's possible to pull out and put aside things you need to know, but don't need to have on hand. A good way to share information quickly, too."

[hehaseatenthepancake]

"It's a decent sized city, as they go. But yeah, kind of cramped, if you're used to traveling the world." He picks a few grapes off his bunch and chomps them down. "Not a day spa, but there is an amusement park out on the border. I wouldn't recommend it, though. We occasionally send newbies out there to roust whatever the fog's brought in." He gives a dark little chuckle.

Casual mention of beatings causes Hellboy to let go of whatever might've been hinted at before, and go all scowly-face. "Well, that just doesn't seem right at all," he grumbles. "Someone should be doing something about that."

[controlledvariable]

Welp, Steph's expression definiely shifts to an awkward, slightly guilty one, "I was gonna go to a party at that park, but I don't think it ended up happening," So, she was partly going to make sure no one got eaten by any fog creatures but she also just wanted to go 'cause it sounded fun.

"They try, but the cops can only do so much, and they focus on the city. The suburbs get forgotten," Which was part of the reason she stuck with the Spoiler thing, to protect people from gang violence and the like.

[thewaythatiam]

Astrid almost didn't join the dreaming tonight. Her curiosity got the better of her in the end, though, and now...

Now she's floating in the middle of space, just staring at the beauty around her. She always loved looking at the stars - she had a telescope when she was young, and gave some not-too-serious thought to going into astronomy at school. But she never saw anything that could match this.

"This is very improbable," she murmurs to herself. "The vivid colors are generally extremely enhanced photographs."

That doesn't mean she's not loving it, though. And she's smiling widely as she stares.

[controlledvariable]

"It's a dream, I don't think it's supposed to be probable," Steph's voice carries easily (the same way Astrid's voice carried to her) as she lazily floats towards Astrid. Steph remembers seeing her on the network once or twice, but hasn't actually had a chance to talk to her and decides that a shared dream is the perfect time to do that.

For this dream, she's dressed in black pants and a black shirt, the noteworthy thing about the outfit being that it seems to be covered in stars - only little while dots of light, rather than the intricate and colourful ones around them, but they still seem to sparkle. Steph is going to be disappointed when she has to go back to the real world and the constraints of reality.

[alan_shore]

Deep in left field, and to the apparent unconcern of any athletes in the vicinity, a man lies stretched out on his stomach. Alan's chin rests on his arms where they cross in front of him, and he's smiling in a way--rapt and somehow hopeful--that guarantees there are no witnesses present.

His hair's a shade lighter, a touch of the sun in it, and the traces of wear suffered in Baedal (pounds shed, lines etched faint and fine into his face--all the minute and innumerable marks of months spent holding oneself in check) have vanished, but he's immediately recognizable as himself. He's clad in a suit, of course, one that grass can't seem to stain or cling to.

Behind him, in the place of any grand or imposing outfield wall, runs a rusting chain-link fence.

[wandandsickle]

It's strange and different, and maybe that's what attracts her; it's a little bit like something out of a pulp novel, except she's certain that none of those authors, even, could have imagined this. (Is this what Dr. Brown's future was like? If it is, she hopes it managed to survive now that Solare is gone; there's something lovely about it, in an alien sort of way.)

She looks out of place, though, here, with her earthy-colored clothes intended for working with one's hands. And maybe a little lost in both the literal sense as well as the metaphorical.

[leviohhhhsa]

Hermione needs a break. And she's getting one, perched on one of the vine swings- not to actually swing, she's still prissy and perhaps excessively sensible even in dreams, but just to sit, breathing deeply and taking the time to do...nothing.

She looks like she always does, just less tired and without any frown lines- and with a red and gold scarf wrapped around her neck.

She hasn't noticed it's there. It just seems natural.

[swiftdawn]

Alexia seems to have acquired a baseball cap from somewhere, although it doesn't carry any recognizable team insignia. She clambers over the rusting fence with practiced ease, although none of the players nor the crowd seem to take any notice.

"What kind of mad Earth game is this?"

[diogenesis]

"I thought I might find you here."

It's been a very long time since Mycroft has sat on the ground, but he does so now, encouraged by the way it doesn't seem to affect Alan's clothing. It's not dignified, but Alan has already seen him without his dignity, and there's no one else here Mycroft recognizes. That doesn't mean they can't see you, a part of him thinks, but another part of him knows he'd be more conspicuous if he remained standing.

He stretches his legs out in front of himself, crossing them at the ankle, and looks Alan over. Despite the lawyer's apprehension about participating in this holiday, the man looks positively content now, which Mycroft finds satisfying. Sharp details and vivid colors jump to life in the space around Mycroft, rewriting the dream so that one can see: the shade of each strand of Alan's hair, the tip of each eyelash, the amount of moisture on his lips, the weave of the fabric of his suit.

The sunlight looks good on him.

[thedominatrix]

Irene Adler as she dreams looks like herself; of course she does. She spends all her waking moments striving to be her own dream and everyone else's fantasy. Her gown is glittering or perhaps she's glittering, her nails are black instead of red- but the main difference between Irene Adler awake and Irene Adler asleep and dreaming is this; in her dreams and in her mind, she's six foot tall.

She's glad of her decision to come here. She nearly went to Maurits' dream, to the sharp angles and elegant, twisting shapes. It had seemed very her.

And then she had realised she'd fallen for her own lies and nearly laughed out loud. She could go to parties whenever, she could buy a tiger skin rug, she could drink from crystal glasses and hire an architect who knew their way around mirrors and magic to do bizarre and astonishing things with space- in the real world. (If Baedal is the real world). And she'd do it because it's the sort of thing Irene Adler, the woman she's created and- don't be fooled- the woman she loves being, would do.

But if she's going to dream, she'll dream of stars.

And she won't hesitate on the glass floor, either. She takes a drink, something purple-black in a tall, twisting glass, and stares out at the vast millions of stars, and then joins them, leaving the platform with such sudden violence that she almost flings herself into the glittering void.

[greatestofthese]

Charity, on the other hand, is swinging quite happily across the way, though not too energetically, since she has a plate of pastries balanced on her lap.

"I never did manage to get in touch with you after I saw you on the network, during the... whatever that was," she says. "I managed to break my leg again, like an idiot. How have you been, Ms. Granger?"

[diogenesis]

Mycroft's eyes widen fractionally as Sebastian explains. The thought of having such a tool seems like an impossible fantasy—like something he might come up with if he were asked what kind of convenience he most desired, no matter how ludicrous. He wonders if it could be used to relieve sensory overload, and what it would be like to completely remove certain memories from the mind and place them elsewhere (would it be like forgetting?).

As he contemplates it all with fascination, Mycroft's avatar becomes slightly more focused, and the impression of a wave of information and possibilities briefly surrounds him. One fact, though, keeps him from becoming too hopeful.

"The magic from your world cannot be taught to humans, am I correct?" he asks for clarification.

[phreak]

Alter had considered visiting one of the Dreamers made of bits and bytes, but she reasoned that if this was once-a-year chance to see how another being puts together their thoughts, it would be a shame to miss it.

In the dreaming, her face looks much the same as it would in the waking world, but her hair is a bright, riotous mass of shifting neon blue fiber optic strands that seem to curl and weave with a life of their own. Should Irene tumble by, she's bound to see Alter's hair and maybe even notice that she's pruning a nebula like one would a topiary.

[leviohhhhsa]

Hermione looks over at her with not-quite-surprise, because no one's surprised by things in dreams and because she's distinctly calmer here. For once, she's not exuding an attitude of having her mind on a thousand things at once, flitting anxiously between concerns- rather, she seems focused and in charge of herself.

She's like this in real life sometimes, admittedly- when she feels bravest and brightest.

"Professor," she says, looking delighted. "Gosh, it's wonderful to see you. I've been-"

How has she been?

"-busy," she finishes, eyebrows up, almost wry; it's taken her a while to fully understand humour as a coping mechanism, but a bit of dry understatement never hurt anybody.

[thedominatrix]

Irene falls- but only because she wants to.

Story of her life.

The stars are streaks of light painted on the sky as she tumbles, her heart thudding wildly, a taste of metal in her mouth, and then she slows, finding that she can, just because she wants to- well, dreaming has always come naturally to her.

Alter's hair catches her attention first, but what she's doing is actually more entertaining to Irene, who tests to see if she can stride over- yes, she can, which is good, because drifting is all very nice but it isn't her.

She takes a sip. (Naturally, not a drop of her drink left the glass during her fall).

"Scenery not up to scratch?" she inquires, and then- "I think the bit on the left could do with trimming."

[phreak]

"A little more like a horsehead, then?" Alter cocks her head to one side, weighing Irene's advice before she adjust the mane and then slaps it on the hindquarters. The nebula neighs, rearing up, before it gallops off along the milky way and joining into a herd of similar star ponies.


"How's that? Enough Lisa Frank for you?"

[controlledvariable]

Steph is definitely swinging, and she's now upside down beside Hermione, her legs hooked around a vine to stop her from falling to the ground. She'd seen Hermione in the distance, and come over to say hello. She's still wearing the smoke dress, and it stays curling around her ankles like gravity isn't a big deal.

She also has a piece of fruit that looks like a peach, but tastes sweeter, which she holds out to Hermione, "You should try this stuff, it's great."

Now if only there was a fruit that tasted like waffles.

[greatestofthese]

"I imagine so. It does seem to often be rather... busy around here, but perhaps I am one of those cursed to live in interesting times, as they say." Pause. "Or not live. I'm not entirely sure what my exact metaphysical state of being is, currently, but it's good enough for me, anyway."

[cailisairgid]

Somewhere in the darkness, perception shifts.

There are no eyes, presently, to open; instead it is an awareness in turning stars that twist in a new direction, a pattern that shifts and shifts again, mirroring and not mirroring the way her name underscores home and then loss, as well, and reunion if not, not quite reunification.

(His nearness was at the edge of things, closer but still distant and that is their doing, to be rendered deaf to him, it is some fault of their own that she hadn't seen as she believes she would have thousands of years before.)

You came.

There is no surprise; a lingering sorrow, a regret, a fierce joy and satisfaction. But no shock.

[heardmermaids]

"No, it's genetic, or so goes the theory. Wizards, most wizards, don't know or 'believe' in modern science." Even after all these years, he's still angry instead of resigned. Being afraid of change is one thing, but that level of willful, harmful ignorance is another. There's a fluttering of newsprint behind him and Mycroft might be able to catch sight of old headlines from the war. The redesign of the Department of Magical Creatures, the creation of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, and all the ways these things are meant to aid and heal their fractured society.

(for McCoy)

[captaincocksure]

The forest reminds Jim of some of the redwood forests north of San Francisco. It was somewhere he always meant to take Bones. A bike-riding trip, through the ancient trees. A graduation trip, maybe, before they shipped out.

...Except they never graduated and he never got the chance.

He can almost believe he made this all up--for once it's not his ego, but his heart, the hope that maybe he's granting a wish or bestowing a gift. The forest is as strange as it is lovely, but that's dreaming for you. It hardly registers, for the moment, beyond "pretty but weird", because he's so happy to have his feet on pedals and to feel tires skimming and bumping over a dirt path beneath him. And above all, to hear the sound of another bike gaining on him from behind.

"Bones!" he calls out, almost gleeful as he slows his pace just a touch, just enough to let his friend catch up.

[gotbottle]

All the days she spent above the water as a child, letting it carry her farther and farther from the shore, farther and farther from all her problems and all her worries. All the time passed that she spent on the surface, letting the water support her, doing her best not to sink.

...Why hadn't she ever thought to sink?

It's like being embraced by the water, enveloped in its love and its joy and its beauty, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world, being held like this, being able to move through this.

She's in a flowing white dress, shoulders bare, the train half dragging, half floating behind her as she walks, barefoot, along the bottom. The sand squishes between her toes, as soft as the silk draping her body.

She should've thought to try this years ago.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

"Probably for the best." The fog is Not For Fooling With, as far as Hellboy is concerned.

"Hmpf," he sniffs grumpily. "Don't think we have a Gotham, back home. If I end in one, though... well, there'd probably be my kind of weird, to bring me there, but after that, I'd have to wander around a bit, have some conversations." He lazily raises his mighty stony fist to illustrate the language he'd use. "Not my usual line, but I can make an exception."