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.

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VIDAR

[baedalites]

The forest dream has tall trees and all the leaves are really sleeping hummingbirds nesting among open flowers. Dimly glowing moths drift gently to and fro illuminating a clearing where hanging cornucopias offer visitors an endless supply of fruit and pastries. There are soft mounds of fragrant grass to sit on and a few swings that seem to have grown naturally out of vine. Strange and familiar animals sleep or wander sedately at the outskirts of the clearing.

[controlledvariable]

The dark purple, floor length dress is probably inappropriate for the way Steph is treating the trees in the forest like her personal jungle gym. It never seems to catch or trip her up, despite the fact it curls around her legs like smoke - or maybe that's why it doesn't seem to hinder her at all. She's having a lot of fun, experimenting within the dream and finding out what she can do to the world around her, and herself. Her scars are gone, her hair is cropped short (for now) and the smoke dress is just another part of that.

She'd been drawn to the unfamiliar landscape of the forest; they're not exactly common in Gotham. The trees and vines offer something interesting to do, and she climbs and swings with the same ease she'd have with buildings and zip lines. Occasionally she finds herself in the clearing to grab something to eat - everything tastes delicious, and it's not like she's going to have to burn the calories off later - then heads back up to the trees to eat and people watch.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

"That's pretty impressive."

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."

[controlledvariable]

Steph looks down at him with a grin, taking a few seconds to move down to a lower branch, some sort of pastry held carefully in one hand - it's filled with nuts and jam of some tart fruit she doesn't recognize. She gets herself settled comfortably a few feet away from his hammock, her legs dangling from a branch and the dress still swirling in a light breeze.

"That's me," Her voice is a little softer than it is in reality - she's taken assorted damage to her throat that's gone while here - but her smile is as easy as ever, "And you're Hellboy. What brings you to the forest?" As opposed to the other possible dreamscapes.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

He nods with a small smile, acknowledging his identity. "Had to get away from anything city-like. Been too much of that on the job, especially lately, with not enough time to rest. Space is where horrors from beyond are back home, and I've had bad experiences on and in the water. I like the forest, though. How 'bout you? Just looking for somewhere to play Tarzan?"

[controlledvariable]

"Makes sense. I'm feeling the same about the city right now," That won't last for long, Steph loves cities too much. She'll probably end up there before the night is over, not that she's keeping track of time that well.

"I could play Tarzan in the city," It's easier to be honest in the dreams, which is something she should be careful of, but, oh well. "I don't have much experience with forests. At least, ones without carnivirous plants," The way she says it, and she way her mouth twists in a wry smile makes it clear she's not just talking about run-of-the-mill venus flytraps.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

"Back home, back before I retired, I'd take a couple weeks after a particularly tough case and go wandering somewhere, clear my head. England was particularly good for that." He shrugs and settles a little more into his hammock. "Sometimes I'd still run into stuff anyway, but that's just my crap luck. Here, there's just too much going on." It's kind of sad when the closest thing to a relaxing walkabout you can get is while back-tracking a dead Shoggoth's path through the sewers.

Steph's comments cause Hellboy to peer more intently at her. In his world, costumed heroes were only a very tiny phenomenon that rose and fell on either side of World War II. Even though Hellboy received training from one and read the fictionalized adventures of another as a kid, it's still not something he automatically thinks of, but he can tell she's hinting at something. "Well, at least it seems you're pretty well prepared for dodging curses. Or... other things, I guess."

[controlledvariable]

She eats a bite of the pastry as she listens, nodding in agreement about things being too busy here, "Even if there wasn't so much going on, there's nowhere you can really go. Unless there's a secret day spa out in the fog." If only.

That gets a small laugh, just because other things has come to mean a lot in the last few weeks, but rather than saying that she shrugs with one shoulder, "You have to be, in Gotham. You either learn to move quick or you learn to take a beating." Saying that doesn't seem to affect her mood much; maybe she should worry that it doesn't. It's not that she's jaded, she just doesn't want to let it upset her.

[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.

[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?"

[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.

[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."

[leviohhhhsa]

"Live," Hermione says firmly, almost fervently. It feels like after everything, it's best to be sure about these things, and not to quibble over maybes and might have beens; she's alive, end of story, nothing more to worry about.

"Thankfully. What happened with your leg?"

[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.

[leviohhhhsa]

She jumps at Steph's sudden appearance and then laughs. "You should try being the right way up, it's great," Hermione retorts, jokingly exasperated and smiling, taking the peach-that-isn't and inspecting it.

"What's it called, do you know?" she asks, fiddling idly with her scarf and frowning at it- because she does like to have all the facts.

[controlledvariable]

"I'm taking advantage of the fact my blood won't rush to my head," Because dream gravity only exists how Steph wants it to. Take that, gravity, Steph has finally defeated you.

She smirks, which looks a little odd upside down, but whatever, "Not telling." She actually has no idea, but it's more fun to pretend she does.

[leviohhhhsa]

"Do you actually know?" she asks, raising her eyebrows and taking a cautious bite, frowning rather deeply for someone undertaking nothing more serious than a bite out of an unknown fruit. (She can tell it's not a peach because of that odd dream logic that tells her it's not, regardless of everything that says it is).

"--oh, it's lovely," she says, with some surprise. Not that she doesn't trust Steph's taste, just that- she doesn't trust anybody's taste.

[controlledvariable]

"Nope!" Cheerfully, and she laughs at Hermione's reaction, "You should learn to trust me. I wouldn't give you anything that tasted terrible."

A pause, "Okay, I might, but only if I thought it would be funny." Steph you are a terrible friend.

(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.

[aviophobia]

This is ... definitely weird. And it's got to be something out of Jim's head, because McCoy's never seen trees quite that shade before, and there's things rustling in the underbrush that he suspects he'd never see on Earth, or any of the planets Starfleet's discovered yet.

He catches up to the younger man easily, feeling a smile twitching at his lips despite himself, because this feels pretty damned awesome. He biked a lot in Georgia, but as he'd gotten older, busier, he just hadn't had time for it.

"Nice dream!" he calls over.

[captaincocksure]

"I'm not sure it's all me!" he calls back, grin still turning his lips. "The bike part, yeah--but the rest, I don't know. Never seen anything like it. You?"

Jim's doing fine biking but he has to work at it. He rode bikes back home--motorbikes, not anything he had to power himself. He's fit and it's not an ordeal, but it's clear it's a lot more natural and effortless for his friend.

"I'm kinda reminded of something I wanted to do but I don't think I made up the forest."

[aviophobia]

"We don't have forests like this in Georgia," McCoy returns, though he's clearly more than a little wonderstruck by their surroundings. Lifting a hand, he points at one of the tall trees. "F'r instance, our leaves are leaves, not hummingbirds." He stands on the pedals, briefly, getting a better look, then sits back down. "What did you want to do that this reminds you of?"

[captaincocksure]

"Did you ever see the redwoods, north of the Academy?" They hadn't had forests like that in Iowa, all the land cleared centuries ago for agriculture. He'd been so enthralled with those ancient trees.

"I remembered you talking about how much you missed riding your bike. I was gonna try to arrange a trip for us--camping, bike riding, all that. After graduation. We just didn't get the chance. I really wanted to take you out, though."

[aviophobia]

McCoy nods, unexpectedly touched at Jim's thoughtfulness. He knows, academically, that Jim does think of other people - usually thinks of them more than he thinks of himself, which drives Leonard crazy - but he gives the younger man so much shit for having such a massive ego that sometimes he forgets.

"This works too," he says, looking up and up and up at the trees. "Never been out to the redwoods, though. We oughta go when we're back."

[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.