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

[baedalites]

The dream that is the Network glows with neon lights and thrums with a neural energy. There are many interconnected rooms with many screens and there is even a bar that serves stims and things that glow strongly in the dark. Visitors are encouraged to take on some aspects of the digital environment and may pull visual representations of code and text out of thin air.

[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.