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

[heardmermaids]

"Yes. There are theories that I know exist and I trust to be true, but I don't understand the facts of them." The papers flutter and fold up into an origami solar system, that shrinks as the 'camera' view expands to show the whole of the milky way. While not his usual field of interest, when Sebastian saw the Brian Cox series on the universe, he watched and rewatched it completely rapt.

"But that's the case for many things. I want to know more. I want to know all about the things that were 'pointless' to learn, but it takes a while." The universe refolds into a series of scrolls and short novels, wizarding titles with blank pages, and when he mentions the knowledge that was withheld inverts into rows and rows of books. Sebastian is still angry that so much of the muggle world was denied to him on the basis that it wouldn't prepare him for a practical magical career. If pressed, he would argue that critical thinking is a necessary skill for anyone, regardless of wizarding aptitude.

Scrubbing a hand over his face and spiking up his hair, reveals the scar, which somehow attracts the eye more than it ought to. It's not lit up, but there's a subtle pull to it that lessens once his hair is hanging back over in a messy fringe.

"As it stands now, I've done my piece and am not welcome back."

[bodilesswarrior]

Barbara returns his smile; it's a bit strained at the edges, she's sure.

"When I was a little girl, yeah." It's not a lie; those fantasies were her refuge, once upon a time. She just fails to mention that she fulfilled them.

"How about you?" She gestures to the uniform. "Dream or memory? If you don't mind me asking."

[bodilesswarrior]

Barbara's expression remains sceptical, but she does nod grudgingly after a moment.

"I haven't come across anything hostile from them. Not directly, anyway." There's no telling which strings they're pulling, exactly. It's frustrating.

There's something ironic there, she's sure.

"Might be beneficial to...form a closer relationship." She doesn't want to say worship. It's just not something she does.

[bodilesswarrior]

She recognises Hellboy from the network, so she isn't stunned by his appearance; a bit perplexed by the changes, for a moment, but a smile is soon to follow.

"I think you look dashing."

[bodilesswarrior]

Barbara's always enjoyed the water. Nowadays, well, swimming is liberating.

She pulls herself through the water in broad strokes, smiling softly at the fish darting out of her way or brushing against her skin.

When she catches sight of another swimmer, she stills, body floating upright as she offers a wave.

[phreak]

"Why not?" Alter scoops up a bit of left over nebula trimmings and claps her hands together. Bringing her cupped hands up to her mouth, she breathes in gently before slowly pulling her palms apart to reveal a new, bright star. The horses were to improve the look of the place, while the star was to see if she could do it.

"I think a nice game of boules would suit."

[controlledvariable]

Steph opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it with a frown, "Damn timelines." Her mind had gone to Babs' fight with Calculator and how she'd mentally beaten the crap outta him. After a second, she adds, "If there's anything bad in here, we can handle it."

That makes her pause, she'd been thinking it herself lately, but it's weird to hear Babs talk about it, "It's hard to know where to start."

There are a lot of gods.

[bodilesswarrior]

Her mouth quirks into a wry smirk. There's that natural urge to question, to satisfy her curiosity - but it's not a good idea and she knows it. Even if she doesn't remember when (when) they get back, and it's a sound theory...people shouldn't know their own future.

"With the ones we can identify with." It comes a bit too easily; she's studied the gods, of course she has. Wondered which of them might be watching her, if any.

"Eliandre is Death and Justice." Another smile, this one grim. "Right up our alley, don't you think?"

[controlledvariable]

Steph wouldn't tell her even if asked; they survived, and it's not the sort of thing that Steph will risk breaking the future for. (She does need to talk to Babs about Wendy and her brother).

She huffs out a little laugh, both at the fact Babs as already given this thought, and at picking the god of death and justice.

"We could bring Jason with us, we'd be a hat trick."

[hehaseatenthepancake]

Hellboy takes care of the mood, lighting up into a gruesome smile and even sitting up and forward in his hammock. "Supervillains?! Really? And heroes too, right? We only ever had a couple back home; the phenomenon kind of faded out after the war, except for in comics."

His glee at the concept of superheroes seems to shave some years off of him, some of the crags smoothing out of his appearance and itty bitty horns appearing on his stumps. It's not actually what he looked like when he was younger, so much as a slight melding of his childhood self.

[controlledvariable]

At first she wonders if he's just trying to distract her from the distress that coomes from talking about Nazis, but he does seem generally curious, and she notes the change in his appearance. So she smiles back.

"We've got more than you can poke a stick at," She sounds more amused than annoyed by that, and she's carefully focusing on her dream-appearance so that nothing shifts unconsciously; she doesn't need a cape or Bat-ears right now, "My dad was a C-grade supervillain, so I've had a little contact with both sides."

[requiresssacrifice]

He considers the pros and cons of lying. Pro: it keeps people from knowing too much about him. Con: several already know about his history, and secrets always have a way of getting out. That's a lesson he's learned the hard way on the Barge, and it's stuck with him. Such a detail isn't worth making himself look untrustworthy in the future.

"Memories long past," he says, looking down at the silver caduceus pinned to his lapel. He rubs his thumb over it. "But I wasn't cut out for military life, so it didn't exactly stick." Wryly, he adds, "There's a lot more creativity in private contracting."

[hehaseatenthepancake]

He looks down at himself, and finally chuffs out a laugh. "I suppose I might at that. Gonna at least take care of this, though."

With a quiet grumble about "how did this even get here," he takes off the sword belt, somehow rearranges how the scabbard attaches to it in a way that turns it into a proper baldric like the one he has in the waking world, and settles it on his back.

"There, that's better." And because he doesn't assume his rep has traveled so far or that people are creepers, he extends his left hand to shake. "I'm Hellboy, by the way."

[hehaseatenthepancake]

No, if anything, she distracted him, as he really is that interested in the superhero phenomenon. He comes down from the initial giddiness, his appearance shifting back to normal as he flops back into the hammock again.

"Oh, that's great. I mean, not about your dad, but the rest of it." He makes a little gesture, and a photograph appears in his hand, then floats up on a breeze to Steph. "The guy in the back called himself the Torch of Liberty. I never knew him by any other name. When I was old enough, he taught me how to fight."

(Also, Steph, enjoy the cuteness of Baby Hellboy.)

[controlledvariable]

She catches the photo easily and forces herself not to coo over how cute baby Hellboy is.

"The Torch of Liberty, huh?" It's pretty standard superhero fare, though at least a little more interesting than Batman, "It's cool that you got to learn from him."

It's tempting to say more about her own experiences and it might be obvious that there's a moment of indecisiveness before she settles on something more harmless, "Were superheroes in your world just regular people with costumes, or did they have powers and stuff?"

JACINTO

[baedalites]

In this dream there's no color. It's not colorless; it's as if color never was. The spaces within bear no relation to one other. Enter a room, a courtyard, a field, and it seems to expand, to unfurl. The center never to be arrived at. Objects throw sculpted shadows not always their own. People move with smooth precision: there's grace even in a faltering step, a nervous lick of the lips. Refreshments are served on trays, waiting on tables that have already been set, or just there when reached for.

[thedominatrix]

"To let you show off?" Irene inquires with a wide, slightly wicked smile, the train of her dress winding around her legs. She holds out her hands for the star out of curiosity, wondering what she can make of it. It drifts closer.

"I never say no to a game." Her eyebrows raise. "Have you done this before? Manipulated a dream? Know thy enemies, etcetera."

[phreak]

The star is warm, but not uncomfortably hot to touch.

Alter clucks her tongue and grabbing what looks like a line of stars and shakes it flat before smoothing it out into a bowling lane. Another stretch and she's able to gather a collection of asteroids and send them rolling down the laneway to the end where they stand up as pins.

"I might have a slight advantage."

[defenestrations]

The way the moths glow softly above calls to mind the way sunlight peeked through the canopy of trees behind the manor, intermittently dappling what grew and moved below with faint brush strokes of warmth and illumination.

Do you think they're real?

Sherlock Holmes lies in the grass in a quiet corner of the clearing, legs raised enough to prop his crossed ankles on one of the vine swings. He is aware he's dreaming--he inspected the feather-like thing he was granted, analyzing it in every way available to him before placing it into his mouth. He knows he's but consciousness here, experiencing this while his physical body rests elsewhere.

What d'you think will happen if they see us? Will they hide?

It feels so real. Every color impossibly vivid, every detail unbelievably sharp. He's the dreamer, brought here, and he's adjusted the dream to suit him in a number of small ways already. The grass was too cold and damp, the moths glowing the wrong shade of yellow, the swing too low. A large apple--he'll have a bite in a moment--rests squarely in the center of his chest, above and to one side of his heart. He even shifted the temperature in his hands, warming them where they lie across his belly.

No, I'm bored. You can sit and keep watch if you want, I want to lie here on the grass and watch the sun. Shout if you spot a fairy.

But much of the dream remains teasingly out of his control. He is on his coat, not in it, the lined wool spread on the grass like a blanket rather than closed around his body like armor. The apple he summoned is an alarming shade of purple. His nose is cold and he wants his scarf but it's nowhere to be found.

No, I'm bored. You can sit and keep watch if you want, I want to lie here on the carpet. I'll be useless for anything else until I come down anyway. Shout all you want.

The most frustrating thing is the way he can't seem to direct his thoughts, keep the ones he wants and banish the stray ones. His mind will neither rest nor heed him, the control he wants seemingly just beyond his grasp.

Like the moths above.

Like the fairies that never consented to photography.

Like so much else.

Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?

He closes his eyes, and he wills it to rain, lifting his chin a little to meet the soft fall of precipitation on his face.

[apotropaic]

In amongst the inky darkness of space, Philomena sits cross-legged in a dress made from a colourful nebula. There's a glass bowl sitting in her lap that's filled with stars and colourful space dust that she's collected and anyone looking would see that she's stringing them into wreaths. One she made earlier is nestled into her hair and leaving trails of stardust.

Still, every now and then she gets choosy with what's in her bowl, looks around, and picks a far-away jewel from the surroundings before giving it an appreciative look and carrying on.

There's a leisurely smile on her face and she gives the appearance of someone idly making daisy chains than any sort of industriousness. Presumably, people are free to come and say hello.

[cerebral]

There's a splash from above and as the bubbles start to disappear and --logically, in his mind anyway-- go for the surface, Charles focuses on sinking. For a moment he looks disorientated --what was he doing here again? The last time he had jumped into a large body of water...

Something catches his eye in the distance, and he turns to watch it for a moment, before starting to swim in its direction, going deeper and deeper. Some part of him knows that this is a dream, the part of him that knows he's somehow breathing underwater, but his recent journeys on the astral plane have left him out of sorts enough, mentally, that everyone else is able to get a slight gleam into his subconscious for a change.

And despite the serenity of his surroundings, Charles Xavier is not content.

[thedominatrix]

Irene lets the star glow between her palms, frowning at it in an attempt to make it change colour, just to see if she can, but it doesn't. Which is when she realises she's going about it the wrong way; just glaring at it and hoping won't work. You just have to let it happen.

She clasps her hands together suddenly, the star caught in the hollow between her palms, light escaping from between her fingers, and then releases it; it glows purple, getting brighter and brighter before fading back to gleaming white.

"I shouldn't worry; I think I'm getting the hang of this."

She's well-used to influencing her environment in subtle ways, after all- and in manipulating dreams and fantasies. She's got the mindset. And really, the idea of not being in control of the situation hasn't actually occurred to her.

She gives a grin and tosses the star to Alter, pointing out cheerfully, "And that's bowling, not boules."

Then again in the former you get to knock things down. Much more fun!

[cailisairgid]

A sense-memory intrudes on a presence that doesn't currently have a body to sense it with; blood, golden, rolling down herhistheir skin and no air, impact, I knew that you were coming. It is a simple fact, as much a part of their nature as all else. He would come for her, and he has, and she has been waiting.

It may not have been so easy, but he has certainly been more prompt. Wryness colours the bond between them without the need for a conscious thought.

Then, You read my letter.

[controlledvariable]

Steph is jealous of Philomena's dress. Her white star-dotted pants and shirt seem really boring in comparison, but it's probably a bit of a jerk move to steal someone else's subconscious clothing ideas. Maybe. There's probably not an etiquette book for this kind of thing.

The second thing she notices is the star wreaths and that settles the decision to go talk to the woman. Clearly someone who makes wreaths out of stars is someone worth knowing.

She's starting to get the hang of this zero gravity thing (a lot of that comes from having watched Kara with such interest), so she makes her way over to Philomena with relative ease, stopping once she's within a few feet of her.

"Hi," It's accompanied by a bright, friendly smile, "I like your stars." Which is not something Steph ever thought she'd say, but she can roll with it.

[phreak]

"What can I say, I'm changeable." Which would be why she's now wearing a heavy, knit jacket and holding a White Russian. "You want to bowl or decide what the winner gets first?"

Alter plucks down another star for her own ball and with a bit of a push, turns it into a blue-green swirling gas cloud with a couple of lazily revolving rings and moons.