dreamwalk two | ota

[firstroar]

CHARACTERS: Blue, any sleepin folks out there
LOCATION: Someone's subconscious
DATE: Late Oct/Early Nov, pre-mission things
CONTENT: Psychics gon' psychic, dreams gon' dream...it's free dream/memshare real estate
WARNINGS: none in the tl; tagged as needed

---

It happens one of two ways:

outside

When he sleeps, Blue's subconscious stretches itself outward, instinctively drawn to things familiar to itself: Feelings, imagery, names...bonds already made or half-formed. It's in a Mu's nature to connect in this way, to be linked in thought and emotion, and this happens even in sleeping. The universe he hails from lacks much of the color and diversity and freedoms of others', but there are common lived experiences to be tethered to, for better or worse.

Peril and pain, longing and loss, hope and harmony...while Blue reprocesses his own volume of them, he unconsciously seeks out meaning in those notions which might flicker throughout the station in minds other than his own.

That means a routine recollection or predictable dream comes with something new this time.

inside

The door swings both ways, for when Blue is asleep, he can't consciously keep it locked, can he? So those who have even a passing capability to perceive matters of the mind or heart, be it magic or something more, could find themselves drifting out of their own dreamspace and into his own, where pastel marble floors mold effortlessly with sheer metal surfaces dappled with clouds that shouldn't hold any weight, let alone a person's.

It's where the sky is no sky, but a gaping field of stars not unlike the view outside a station window...save for the massive, red planet crowning the horizon. Beyond it, a pale blue dot no bigger than what Earth's moon would be glimmers in the dark. A lyre's strings are plucked from some unseen place, filling the place as one would fill a vast, empty room, and Soldier Blue stands at the edge of the horizon in his old, familiar vestments and headgear, absorbed in...something...until the shuddering of the dream's veil prompts him to acknowledge the presence passing through.

Red eyes turn to fix on the interloper, unsure of what they are perceiving yet.

This is still simply a dream, after all.

Comments

outside;

[blackfire]

（ his mind is always guarded.

whether in wakefulness or deepest dreaming, he is a vigilant guardian. but time, and death, and the gnashing teeth of pain he dismisses in his waking hours mean his defenses are — lessened, somewhat, and it is through this crumbling façade that blue has slipped in, somewhere between shadow and sound.

his dream is thus: he sits at the end of the dock overlooking the nakano lake, that great mirrored surface that reflects a sky bled crimson black above. he is here, alone, but behind him konoha is burning. smoke is a treacherous ghost with grasping hands, and though the fire is not near, heat emanates from the south like the kiss of a sirocco's stranglehold on an inferno.

the war that never was. it is a casually cruel place to be, but he has mastery enough of himself that there is no reaction to it beyond wearied acceptance. he simply sits at the edge of the dock, palms flat behind him, looking up at the red, red moon where it cuts a swath through the smoke.

there is a moment between heartbeats where he registers a foreign presence. he is trained, after all, to resist such things and even wearied, the instinct of both body and mind is to fight.

he is standing, then, with no motion to indicate having done so, and facing the boy, who is near the end of the dock where it bisects the land. itachi's eyes are equally red, and the tomoe that mar them are patterned on the moon above. ）

Who are you?

（ there is an air of command to his tone, but it is nevertheless polite. there has been no attack, but he is wary of anything that can reach him in this manner. ）

[firstroar]

[the connecting thought here is fire. the laboratories on Ganymede went up hot and fast when Blue's power flared, and he and the other Mu had to seize a ship to rise up out of the inferno before it could consume them, too.

Ganymede, a fire-red moon. not in the sky, not like this one...and so it goes that Blue's own memories ripple and shift to what lay before him, and, as the dreamer's focus fixes upon him, he is indeed a boy again: no more than fifteen, dressed in prisoner's scrubs with a black ID band around his thin neck.

he stands at the base of the dock, backlit by the flames of the dreamer's memory, his eyes as red as the moon above.

when the question is posed, his own memories echo in dozens of voices before his own: Blue! Soldier Blue! Type-Blue! Soldier! Blue!

some in fear, others in relief, and others still in revulsion. one reverberates in cold, mechanical tones:

T Y P E - B L U E .]

...Blue. [Soldier Blue!]

Shouldn't you be running? The fire is spreading.

[blackfire]

（ the ripples are — strange. the first volleys of a psychic war. there are perhaps three people alive in his own world that could manipulate the fabric of his dreamscape so, but this lacks the exacting intimacy of a genjutsu battle. there are no feints, no first blood. it simply is.

soldier blue!

the boy is barely sasuke's age, but youth does not mean innocence to itachi — one is more likely to underestimate a child than a man grown, after all, and a knife will slit throats no matter the hand that wields it. soldier tells a story that terminates in prison garb (and how does he know it's prison garb? the thought simply comes into his mind unannounced.)

the fires are a roaring void. there is no wreckage left behind when they eat buildings, merely nothingness like the spill of tar ink across vivid green. ）

The fire will not come here.

（ and if it did, he would not run. a poor uchiha he would be, if he feared the flames, the scorching heat. their breath gives life to it, their hands fan its dancing spires. ）

[firstroar]

You're not scared?

[where there's fire, there's fear.

...not always, though. something about the placidity of the figure before him reminds the boy that he has not always run from fire.

until he's more lucid, however, the boy can only wonder on what's in front of him, rather than what he carries with him in memory.]

Are you just going to stay here, then?

to counteract our cute cookies thread

[groupiedrifter]

[Fast, frantic breathing. The dark is thick, difficult to see through, and for a while that's really all there is. Just — the dark. Like your visions been taken, eyeballs wrapped up in black-out cloth, until finally there's a little give, just enough to bring it to an uncomfortable dimness. The air is powdery and dust kind of clings to everything, but it smells like rain and tastes like car emissions in your mouth. The sensations are a bit jumbled up and confused, but the panic, that's less confusing; more clear than anything else. There's a leather mound in the middle of the large, dark space (bunker), and there's big metal doors framing every wall that look too large for any one person to open up.

The leather bundle crouched on the floor trembles. Wait, no — the leather's a jacket on someone's back. It's dusty as it shudders. Wet hair gets shielded by dirty hands. Newton moans in fear as his knees knock together, teeth chatter. There's a perfect round pool of blood in front of his knees on the ground thanks to the faucet-like dripping from his nose.

Hysterically, he whispers at the floor:]

They stopped right above me. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. This isn't a refuge.

They know I'm here. They know I'm here...!

unhinges jaw, inhales

[firstroar]

[he's pulled by fear in hiding - the chest-tightening dread and sting of breath held too long for fear of discovery. it's a feeling he keeps more as a memory of others, of the Mu he's had to rescue over the decades.

he's pulled, too, by Newt simply being Newt, someone he knows by name and by the character painted by more than one meaningful meeting. it's what gives Blue more lucidity, and by the time his mind has fully crossed the threshold into this dream, he's fully invested into his role as Soldier yet again - this time, for a panicked human.]

Newt.

[he sinks to the floor beside him, laying his hands on his back.]

Whoever they are, they cannot hurt you here.

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton tries to be braver than before, really. When he's in full control of his mind and he's not dreaming, he works really hard to stand firm; shake in his boots, sure, but do it steadfastly, as someone who is worthwhile on the team. But he's not awake, and he's not coherent, and as Blue reaches out to touch his back, Newton startles upright like he's been burned. The face that looks to Blue is covered in dirt and scrapes, and the eyes that look back at him behind cracked lenses are wide and panicked — eyes that are both rimmed with a deep, dark bloody red around the hazel irises.

He reaches out to grip Blue's forearms, desperate.]

No, no, this is the only place left they can hurt me! They know I'm here! They always know I'm here. Don't you get it?!

[The walls shake, as if mocking the way Newton shakes, too; the distant scream of a kaiju pierces the thick walls like nothing. Newt looks up, blood running down from his nose, and then crumples to his knees with Blue's hand gripped pleadingly in his as he looks up with tears burning in his discolored eyes. If he were aware of himself, aware of his dreams, he'd feel terribly pathetic, but the fear and desperation is palpable.]

Please, they're going to get in again. They always get in! Please, get me out. Please please please, how do I get out? How do I keep them out?

[Something thuds on every door from the outside. THUD. THUD. THUD. Calculated, almost toying.]

[firstroar]

[panic is already painted plainly around him, so being suddenly seized does not stagger him here. Blue holds Newt's elbows in turn to steady his trembling to some degree as he tries to absorb the information his frightened friend is piling onto this circumstance.

the place trembles and Newt slips, prompting Blue's attention to reaffix upon him, moved with pity and concern. he can see reflections of others in Newt's glasses from harrowing moments of his own, and it only impresses the urgency to help him. never mind asking how or why he's here - those are questions for later, for when they are safe.]

Put your arms around me, Newt. [he guides the hand that's clutching his own up to his shoulder.] I can get you out.

Inside

[bindsthedead]

Sabriel steps through the window, the stars moving for a moment, twisting into Charter marks behind her, swirling together into intricate patterns. But when she blinks, disoriented like one surfacing out of deep water, there's nothing behind her but space once more. But this is too calm to be one of her nightmares, everything's too bright and clean, and the music is calming.

So Sabriel steps towards Blue, wearing deep blue robes embroidered with silver over a sweater, soft-soled slippers on her feet instead of her usual hobnailed boots.

"Blue?" Is she dreaming again? Or is this even her dream?

[firstroar]

"Blue?"

A woman's voice echoes Sabriel's word, and Blue turns. Slowly, his expression changes from contemplative neutrality to a warm, almost outright loving smile.

"You sound troubled," he says, starting to approach, carrying himself with a strength and confidence his frail form lacks on the station. "Did you have another dark vision?"

[bindsthedead]

Sabriel opens her mouth, to tell him no, of course not, she doesn't have the Sight, that's her cousins.

But then she realizes, in the next instant, that Blue, deep in his dreams, isn't seeing her, but someone else. And he looks so happy, and so healthy, that she doesn't have the heart to correct him, so instead she shakes her head.

"No. I haven't Seen anything like that," Sabriel tells him, stepping forward, but looking around and behind her, trying to see where the other woman's voice came from.

[firstroar]

The truth is beneath her feet: The shining marble reveals the reflection of not herself, but a woman with long, golden hair and fair skin, blind eyes closed but attention still on Blue as Sabriel's own is.

Soldier Blue holds out his hand as he draws near.

"Then why do I sense so much unease from you? You always...take on my troubles for yourself; let me carry some of yours."

inside;

[hatejakku]

[ Finn's pretty sure he's asleep. Not that he dreams much or remembers them if he does. This just feels bizarre enough that it must be a dream. Maybe. He's not thinking too hard about it.

The main thing he's doing is watching the stars and planet. The red planet reminds him of Yavin. He's never seen it, but Poe's told him so many stories. He wonders if that's where he is, somewhere near Yavin and her moons, near Poe's childhood home.

But then he recognizes the figure and it's not someone from his galaxy. They turn to look at him and Finn stares back, unmoving. He doesn't step forward or turn away. He just... looks and wonders if he's even recognized. If this is a nightmare or a dream. ]

Blue?

[firstroar]

[he is and isn't recognized, because Blue has had so many people reach him this way, many call for him. so when Finn speaks, there is a strange kind of reverb of a dozen different voices in different tones that go with his own on their way to the Mu.

this is why there is no good time to sleep.

Soldier Blue walks with strength and certainty that he can no longer have in the waking world, cape flapping behind him as he swiftly approaches. there's a severity to his expression that seems in conflict with the kindness that he still carries with him, because compassion is something he can't switch off even in times of strife.]

We cannot stop here. We've already come so far. Do you understand? [he turns his head, looking out toward that distant, blue pearl.]

We may be almost there. Just a little longer...

[hatejakku]

[ He doesn't understand, no. So much so that he's almost willing to argue about settling for this red planet. Almost. It's not like he knows what he's talking about, anyway.

But it's a dream, so it feels like he does.

Finn looks away from Blue and to the distant body shining so far away. ]

The blue one? What is it?

[firstroar]

The one we all dream of. Terra.

[focus on that seems to affect the bright red planet in the forefront: molten cracks start to trace across its surface as it begins to break.]

You can't stay here. Nazca is... [light starts to flood, obscuring the sights ahead, and with that intensity comes a terrible heat that Blue turns to face, opening his arms to, as he knows he has before.]

I'm sorry. I can only...hold it back for a little bit. So you must go.

Inside

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya isn't normally a lucid dreamer, so what strikes him first is the awareness. He thinks he must be quite out of it, if he can dream deeply enough to recognize it.

He takes careful strides further in as he takes in the surroundings--and Blue. A face he recognizes from the station, passingly, and this whole dream is already out of the ordinary it might as well be bringing in phantoms of strangers instead of anything familiar. Actually, it's almost a reprieve.

"Hm." He puts his hands on his hips. "Well, this is different."

It does not even occur to him this isn't his own thoughts.

[firstroar]

Blue is still asleep, so this dreaming mind does not yet have the awareness that the interloper is indeed just that: an interloper. Instead, the uncertainties that Syrlya brings with him paint him in hues familiar to Blue himself, and when he turns to see him, he does not see a stranger from the station, but an old friend who wears similar shades of the kinds of feelings that Syrlya brings with him.

He sees Zel - one of his oldest and closest friends...and one of the prickliest and most suspicious of change. It's why Blue smiles fondly when he hears those words.

"Is that so terrible?" he prods. "After all these years, any change from the endless days of hiding has some merit, so long as no one is getting hurt, I think."

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya raises a brow, one hand moving from his waist to tap his chin thoughtfully. "No, I suppose in that case, it isn't. ... But what are we hiding from again?"

He could guess but he doesn't actually know where to start with that, it's all very surreal. Did he eat something weird? Maybe he can just lead his dreams into explaining themselves.

outside;

[petsthedog]

[The dream itself is fragmented, in fits and starts like an old vinyl record but pristine in quality all the same--as though clearer for the skips between them. The sky is a hideous split-pea green, and the ground is covered with blood. The blood covers buildings in random splotches, but the most noticeable is what's on the ground, running through the ground in rivers of crimson, all tracing back to a single source: a woman, crushed and bent and broken in the living room of her crushed house --

But then there's the skip, and the house isn't crushed yet, there's flames and a familiar teenager on his knees, clutching his head and screaming -- in agony, or horror, or maybe both, it's hard to say. A monster is at his side, slamming into walls and crushing the floors on a rampage.

---

The woman doesn't scream. Or does she? It's over so quickly, it's hard to say what exactly transpired in those bare moments between life and death. A woman is there one moment, whole and alive, and the next is that corpse, crushed and broken and gushing rivulets of blood soaking the crushed house crimson under a pea-green sky and a young man who does not stop screaming.

---

A boy. A boy is there, eight years old, mussed brown hair and an orange hoodie and his eyes are wide and frozen in fear and it's hard to tell if he screams because his mouth is open but the world is a cacophony of sound as the beast -- as the psyche -- the P̧̲̥e̸̻͚r̵̠͖͞s̢͏̻̻̗̟o̸̴̦̘̝̮͙͜n̮̦̯̳̣͞͠a͏͖̪̼͍̬ of a young man clutching his head and screaming crushes a house and the woman and the lives within it, which will never, never be whole again.

---

In the distance, a television plays the news. The crushed house is broadcast upon it, showing only police tape where the woman's corpse had been found, mangled and battered and broken, gushing rivers of blood that soaked the roof tiles crimson. A drunk driver, says the newscaster, killed on impact as well. What a tragedy, he says, face a mask of solemnity, voice pleasantly soft against the screams that echo and do not stop.


N̢̺̳̙̖̹̩̹̥̕o҉̴̲b̠͉̜̀o̙͕̤͍̳̝̕͢ͅd̼͎̣̰̺̬y̴̹͚̝̗̯̭͢͞ ҉̩̺w̻̻̹̙i̢̭̕ͅl͟͏͕͖̱͔l̢̦̝͎̟̥̩̗͡ͅ ̘̙̞̀̀ȩ͜͏͇͍̰̞v̶͓̰͈e̲̬̞̼̭̪̳͕̟͡r̨̛̺̝̫͈̻̱̻̭͘ ̖̫͠k̡͇̞̺͎̘͘n̪̮̺̞̘̠͝o̱̹͚͙͝ͅw̜̣̞̦̯̦͎͟.̧͉̫̹̰̗]

[firstroar]

[it wasn't the little boy's torment that drew him here, was it? despite what Blue would think, despite many of his own dreams of spiriting children away from danger, that wasn't the pull this time.

it's hard to determine precisely what the pull was in this state of sleep, actually; the trappings around the pain are alien to him, especially the manifestation doing the damage that unaffected voice reports on.

it's no machine, he realizes as he's drawn closer to the dreamer, himself bathed in pale blue light, something of a stark difference to the monster finishes its devastating work.

what is it...?]

[petsthedog]

[Shinjiro doesn't notice the newcomer until he comes in close; everything is a haze of agony and horror -- he clutches at his head as the creature thrashes around, and he doesn't hear Blue's approach. Does not really recognize the glow about him as unnatural, either. His consciousness is stretched too thin for any such analysis, aware only of the crushed house and the mangled corpse and the thrashing of the creature, until another person enters his line of sight, gets too close too close too close too close.]

Get away!

[It's all but shrieked at Blue, but Shinjiro is clearly unaware as yet that the man does not belong in this space, an outsider who has drifted in. Instead of anger, or hatred, there is only genuine terror in his eyes, his voice.]

Get away from me! You'll die! Get--

[The dream glitches again. The house is intact. Shinjiro screams, cut off from what he was saying, and the monster thrashes against it once more.]

finally kicks in the door [OUTSIDE]

[coordination]

[ Sometimes dreams are a fucked up amalgamation of memories, guilt, and fears all rolled into one.

Sure, consciously Yzak has it a little more together where his position and his choices in life currently have him. He's the type of person who always has his eyes set forward and up, doing his best to not allow the weight of the past slow his movement to make a difference for the future. But when you're constantly so very aware of the fact that your life didn't turn out that badly when it really, honestly should have, beneath that exterior is an endlessly simmering feeling of guilt - present even despite your decision to dedicate the life you've so luckily gotten to keep to serve, fight, protect because to do anything else would be a disgrace.

Many of Yzak's ​sins and mistakes have been forgiven - so much so that one might consider that his collection of amulets and good luck charms could actually be doing their job. But boy, everything seemed to turn out so right for him that it's only natural his dreams be occasionally plagued by what simply being alive reminds him of so often; how it could have (should have?) been.

In this dream it's dark and nobody else is there but Yzak. Nobody alive, anyway. The surrounding ground is full of faceless bodies, bloodied and burned beyond any kind of recognition, as well as the charred, twisted metallic remains of what was once a space shuttle. And Yzak himself is on his hands and knees right in the middle of it, white uniform almost completely dyed back to the elite-worn red by blood. And there aren't any tears and isn't any screaming, but rather short, shallow breaths, completely panicked by the storm of feelings that always hit him in dreams like this. Because everything comes at once, and in true Yzak fashion, intensely.

The heavy, sudden shock in knowing these were civilians, not soldiers. The deep, mortifying horror that he did this. An instant blooming of self-detestment because nothing changes what this is despite what he thought at the time. Shame that in the moment engulfs and destroys any pride he ever had himself because soldier or civilian, the act itself is disgusting. Resignation because he knows what's rightfully coming next. His punishment for this is going to be death. Soul-crushing loneliness because nobody is here with him and nobody will be. And worst of all? Nobody cares. Because why wouldn't a dream like this include his fear of being left behind, left alone? His mother is paying for her sins, too. She can do nothing to help him anymore. And Dearka ... he ultimately didn't do anything this bad. He was right in the end, he and Athrun. And now they'll get to live and move on from this and from him and, he hates it. But even though there's a painful emptiness in even your best friend turning his back to you, Yzak knows he doesn't deserve anything else but to be remembered as someone else's disgraceful memory they wish they didn't have. The fear of being left alone is coupled with that of the crippling fear everyone has, he doesn't want to die. Who does? But he's going to, and it's deserved. Dying alone with nothing but shameful sin as a legacy. ]

cLOSE THE DOOR U WILL LET THE HEAT OUT

[firstroar]

[guilt of the survivor, of the soldier who failed innocents... were he and Yzak not already connected through their encounters, perhaps this is the draw that pulled the Mu first. perhaps it's what pulls him now anyway, for in his sleeping state, he has little claim to what grabs him or to where.

as Blue forms into this dream, the glow fades, leaving him in the desaturated hues of this impromptu graveyard. he resonates with loss and destruction - it frames his earliest memories - but while the core feelings are shared, the circumstances are unique. Yzak is left to his lonely torment for a little while longer until Blue can grow more lucid and recognize this place as not his own, and to recognize the source of it as someone known.

and just like that, Blue is there, kneeling beside him, a blooming presence that is as organic as it is foreign for the tone of the dream.]

only cold and sadness now

[coordination]

[ It's fine Yzak's used to lonely torment.

That's the thing about dreams, though - especially ones plagued with fears of being left behind by those he's become attached to. Yzak's current reality on the station has him enjoying the company of many of his new allies. Enough that he's probably had variations of his dream before, ones where it was his new teammates learning, knowing, leaving. So Blue's presence simply feels expected as part of the dream.

Still, Yzak asks, through his still erratic breathing. ]

Why ... are you here?