Hellboy's first instinct, as it had been during St. Kelley's Memento, was to steer clear of this festival and stay on the job. He has, for a little over a year now, been actively cognizant of just how much he's enjoyed certain substances and how that's gotten him in trouble. Also, dreams have never been especially good experiences at the best of times, and he just recently had an unusually bad one. A holiday of drugged dreaming seems like a double recipe for disaster, at least for him.
However, there had been assurances that the dreams were safe, that he can leave if there's trouble, and that the gods kept the city safe while people slept. After the recent horrors and losses, he finally decided to have a little faith, settle in comfortably at home, and take the plunge. As he dropped down, the main things he had in mind were safe, quiet, for once I'd just like a dream that's actually relaxing.
And thus, the forest. Not for him, the dreams of buildings, sports, space, or the ocean. One of the things he's liked about living in Sobek Croix is that its quiet woods would be an excellent place to get away from it all to unwind after a difficult case. He hasn't taken advantage of that nearly as much as he really should, though, and so the forest dream affords him the opportunity to finally do that.
Having discarded all responsibilities for the time being, Hellboy's left all of his standard gear, including Excalibur, back in the waking world, keeping only his modesty in the form of his usual black shorts. His experimentation with the dream has largely been limited to expanding one of the swings into a hammock large enough to fit him comfortably. He lounges in the hammock, his tail dangling through a hole in the bottom and lazily moving around, a bunch of grapes from one of the cornucopias at his side to snack on.
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Hellboy's first instinct, as it had been during St. Kelley's Memento, was to steer clear of this festival and stay on the job. He has, for a little over a year now, been actively cognizant of just how much he's enjoyed certain substances and how that's gotten him in trouble. Also, dreams have never been especially good experiences at the best of times, and he just recently had an unusually bad one. A holiday of drugged dreaming seems like a double recipe for disaster, at least for him.
However, there had been assurances that the dreams were safe, that he can leave if there's trouble, and that the gods kept the city safe while people slept. After the recent horrors and losses, he finally decided to have a little faith, settle in comfortably at home, and take the plunge. As he dropped down, the main things he had in mind were safe, quiet, for once I'd just like a dream that's actually relaxing.
And thus, the forest. Not for him, the dreams of buildings, sports, space, or the ocean. One of the things he's liked about living in Sobek Croix is that its quiet woods would be an excellent place to get away from it all to unwind after a difficult case. He hasn't taken advantage of that nearly as much as he really should, though, and so the forest dream affords him the opportunity to finally do that.
Having discarded all responsibilities for the time being, Hellboy's left all of his standard gear, including Excalibur, back in the waking world, keeping only his modesty in the form of his usual black shorts. His experimentation with the dream has largely been limited to expanding one of the swings into a hammock large enough to fit him comfortably. He lounges in the hammock, his tail dangling through a hole in the bottom and lazily moving around, a bunch of grapes from one of the cornucopias at his side to snack on.
"Steph, right? We talked on the network once."