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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WHETU

[baedalites]

This dream takes place at the heart of a nebula. It's surrounded by the light of millions of distant stars and soft glowing gases of blue, purple and green. Visitors can float free from the restrictions of gravity (and sometimes even form) if they choose, or they can stay the solid glass floor where refreshments are served. Space can incredibly vast and awe-inspiring, it is thanks to the logic of dreams that it keeps from being starkly intimidating as well.

( closed )

[cailisairgid]

Nuala is nothing but stars.

Just stars, distant and bright and beautiful and self-contained, hidden from other dreamers that she might better simply observe, a cool opacity absorbing the heat and reverberation of the molten intensity of her own psyche - she is but a part of the landscape, here, and to sink into it that way gives her some strange sensation of like home, which is not the least but the most that she could ask of this experience.

She dreams.

[sleaairgid]

When the monsters came, he sent forth the white beasts one at a time; they roamed the landscape in silence, passing through like ghosts, and with their eyes he witnessed each visit. They did not turn back to him, but lost their shapes and returned as mist to the air.

Since his arrival the prince has dwelt among the trees in the north, silent as his cervine apparitions, moving with the fog's slow approach and recession. Not once has he left the chill of its vapour. Not once. The moisture saturates his hair and his garments. Each morning he shakes off its dew. Day and night he breathes it, blinks through the condensation, licks it from the corners of his mouth.
Weeks of suffusion.

In the dream, his presence is an unfurling, its emergence like the slow reach of a vine. A shadow skirting the edges of stars. Nuala, it breathes, silent to all but them.

[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.

[sleaairgid]

Nuada knows very well that in this state, bathed as he is in entropy, he is not welcome among the dreamers, and so it cannot be said that the stealth of his emergence was an accident. Only longing for the whole has brought him, as it always does.

You knew that I would. Hardly a whisper. He is not struggling to repress, but repressing all the same, to give the impression of a mere shadow. It was not so easy this time.

[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.

[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.

[thewaythatiam]

"No, probably not," Astrid agrees, and the nice thing about dreaming (even if she knows it's a dream) is that it doesn't matter so much that something is improbable so long as she can recognize that it is.

Astrid's just wearing normal clothes, for her - nothing with velcro, everything loose, no bright colors. She turns to Steph, her smile fading but in a natural way. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong, she just doesn't smile unless she has a reason.

"I haven't met you."

[controlledvariable]

"I'm Stephanie," she offers her hand for Astrid to shake, her nails painted black and dotted with little stars like her outfit.

"I think this dream is my favorite so far, makes me jealous of people who can fly into space." Which is common enough fair in her world, and one day she's going to go home, steal a space suit, and make Kara fly her up into space.

[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.

[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.

[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?"

[selfmadman]

It's emptiness that tugs at him, an impression of potential. The blank page, the map's edge. He doesn't expect the stars.

The man who stands barefoot on the floor--glass, like the lens of a giant telescope--and gapes at the cosmos enfolding him has the bearing of an adolescent who hasn't grown into himself. He wears cast-off clothes: clean but coarse. Clothes whose wearer might stop mid-sentence to spit.

He stays until he doesn't, drifting from the floor and into brilliant darkness.

[thedominatrix]

Whereas Irene is in a gown of black lace and nothing else, and something about her glows. She's aware of what she's doing, finding she's able to manipulate the wild and glittering darkness. It's a matter of creativity, of feeling, of artistry; a matter of knowing your own mind and everybody else's.

Or maybe it's just a matter of really wanting it, and she really wanted to wear stars- as earrings, in a glowing string around her neck, glittering at her fingers.

She does-and-doesn't recognise Dom at first; it's funny, she's got this real life image of him in her head which doesn't match up to how he looks here- and then there's the dream-knowledge, the way you just know.

She comes up behind him, finding it easier to walk if she steps from star to star because drifting isn't her thing.

"Try falling," is the first thing she calls, and then--

"Funny. No one says 'hello' in dreams, do they?"

[selfmadman]

He spins toward her voice, flips over and around as if top-heavy, as if prodded by the flick of an unseen finger. He'd move with aching slowness if 'aching' and 'slow' had meaning.

A blink after laying eyes on her and he's decked in black: suit, tie, shoes with a shine outstripped by starlight. The only colors swirl at each wrist, nebulae cufflinks in blue, red, an indigo deep and dark.

"Hello," Don says. His features have lost definition, rendering his face familiar, forgettably handsome.

[bodilesswarrior]

She didn't intend on doing this, she really didn't. She's not at all fond of the idea of bearing her psyche to the city.

But she can control that, right? She can control anything, if she puts her mind to it.

And Steph was so excited to go. She can't leave her wandering around alone in a dreamscape with god knows what in it.

Instinctively, she reaches for the stars.

In the next moment, she's floating amongst them, and she can't quite repress her grin.

[controlledvariable]

Steph's been exploring through all the different dreamscapes, but she's in space for now, and as soon as she sees Babs she starts floating/flying towards her, shifting her outfit so that it's a bright yellow dress, the trail of it fluttering behind her like a comet. Fighting her way out of the Black Mercy dreams apparently gave Steph a good control over her subconscious, and she's exploiting it right now.

"You came," It's easy to slow to a stop next to Babs, her own smile wide and warm. She's glad Babs decided to take advantage of the opportunity to play in these dreams.

[bodilesswarrior]

Barbara has to admit that she's impressed.

Well, not out loud.

"Under duress," she says wryly, but her smile lingers as she reaches out to warm her fingers against a distant star. "If this backfires, you're on paperwork for a month."

[controlledvariable]

"Hey, you can't blame me for your overprotectiveness," It's not hard to guess that a lot of Babs' motivation for coming into the dream was to make sure nothing happens to Steph. It'd annoy her if it was anyone but Babs doing it.

She sticks her tongue out, "And you seem to have forgotten you're not actually the boss of me."

[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.

[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.

[apotropaic]

Philomena, at least, has had some experience with this sort of thing. Dream-walking wasn't something she'd done much of, but her family had taken the time to show her what was what. Combined with her more natural talent of illusion casting --well. She was quite happy to mold and play with the reality around her.

When Steph floats over, she looks up and shoots her own, friendly smile right back at her. "Thanks! Although they're not really mine, you know," and she trails a finger over her handiwork. "They belong to everyone."

Which gives her the idea to ask, "Want me to make you something?"

[controlledvariable]

"That sounds like it should be in a fortunte cookie," Though the stars belong to everyone is probably a little too deep for even the most ridiculous of fortunte cookies.

The question makes her light up, she's usually pretty free with her emotions and expressions, but being in a dream makes everything a little crisper, "I'd love that."

She drops easily, to sit cross legged in front of Philomena, "I'm Steph, by the way," She's also getting better at remembering to do introductions earlier in conversations. Probably because she's had to do it so many times in Baedal.