ximilialog | dreamwalk two

Entry tags:

dreamwalk two | ota

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.

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（ 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. ）

[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.

（ 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. ）

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?

This is my home.

（ i will not leave. even when it is wretched and wrecked, laying in ruin. he is, still and always, a man of konoha. ）

How did you come to be in my dreams?

[the boy's head tilts.]

Your home is in dreams?

[it hasn't quite clicked yet, but the notion is curious enough for gears to start turning.

he turns to look back at the fire, the sight of it blending with the memories he's carried with him.]

This isn't the dream of Terra. Yours is...different. Even more different than me...

[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...!

Edited (Repetition my nemesis ) 2021-11-03 00:57 (UTC)

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?

Edited 2021-11-03 00:55 (UTC)

（ if this is a ploy, he cannot see the seams of deception within the dream. sharp eyes track the boy as he turns to face the fire, and then his attention slides past him to linger on the flames. ）

You did not answer my question.

（ mercy would be to let it be. but mercy does not live in him unless he, by coaxing embers, reignites it. ）

Edited 2021-11-03 01:06 (UTC)

[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.

[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.]

Edited (enemy #2: adverbs) 2021-11-03 01:43 (UTC)

"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?"

Huh-?

[he looks back to the dreamer.]

I came to get away. We have to keep running, you know? Or they'll come and kill us.

[as if on cue, there are cries of distress mingling with threatening calls, nearly drowned out by the roar of the fire. it fuels a sudden wave of urgency within the boy, who bristles, as though he were just now aware of the danger.]

We have to find a ship! To get away! Far away!

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.

（ he closes his eyes, a brief flicker, and when he opens them the red is gone. the moon overhead is its usual sheen, like an old, silvered coin in a wishing pond.

(to excel at genjutsu, one must first master dreaming. the shift of the dreamscape comes from a deliberate spill of serenity across its bleak ruin.)

the fire and all its ravages are gone. the buildings restored, the village quiet and peaceable. light flickers in the occasional window. a baby cries for its mother, but it is the cry of loneliness and not of terror and it does not shatter the night. the face of the lake is still, no ripples to mar its reflection.

nearby there are crows, the soft murmuring purls of their inquisitive attention add to the symphony of peaceable, comfortable ambiance. ）

Calm yourself. （ it isn't said with kindness, but there's no derision to it, either. it's a statement of what must happen, nothing more. ） No one is coming.

[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.

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."

[the boy gasps, whirling around in surprise as the setting is so suddenly changed. he takes in the changes with wide, unblinking eyes, moving from feature to feature before his eyes drift down to the lake and sees...himself.

Soldier Blue, rather. not a child, but the grown Mu he'd become well after Ganymede. the longer he stares, the more aware he becomes that it's him, and the more he shifts to that form.]

I see...

[clad in his Soldier vestments, Blue lifts his head and looks over to the dreamer, his demeanor also shifted from surprise to a placid awareness.]

This place...this isn't mine. It's yours. [while that may be obvious to the other, Blue is cementing it for himself.]

The fire...I wonder if that's what drew me.

（ hm. ）

What drew you is irrelevant. What are you?

（ now that the man — né boy — seems to have some grasp of himself, he has every intention of pursuing his curiosity. preventing this from happening again will be a priority, and that will require learning what he can. whether it is hostile or not matters little — itachi does not take kindly to having the splayed-out entrails of his vulnerable moments dragged out into the open air before a stranger. ）

[The ceiling shifts and splits — the concrete does not cave, but it dips heavily, falling a full foot as bits of plaster and dirt rain down over them. Something terribly strong and terribly heavy is slamming its claws into the gravel that sits above this bunker, those same claws eager to rip through and tunnel down toward them. Newton looks around the dark space and a wet line traces through the dirt on his cheek when the other man speaks.

He puts his arms around Blue and embraces him with urgency, the moment an unspoken promise is delivered. He'd apologize for the blood that no doubt ends up on Blue's shoulder, but — it's dream, right? Nobody's really bleeding in a dream. It's just a dream.

He squeezes his eyes shut and gasps as part of the ceiling falls in. The thick cloud of dust can't erase the image of Otachi's long, glowing tongue as it seeks one particular man out, illuminating them blue, bright blue. Her mouth is an awful neon tunnel lined with teeth as long as trees — a mouth that drips noxious saliva where it hovers and reeks of ammonia. A serpent-like pupil thins. Newton feels it, even if he doesn't see it.

f o u n d
y o u

He clutches Blue tightly, not turning to look.]

Edited (i swear someday i wont edit replies to you) 2021-11-03 02:35 (UTC)

[ 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?

[now more lucid, Blue takes a moment to consider this person in front of him. there's a serene kind of severity about him that seems so impossible to ignore now that he's cognizant of it; if he knew of snowcapped mountains and the inherent danger they pose despite their beauty, perhaps he'd find that notion comparable.

regardless, he ought to tread lightly, he's certain.]

I am a Mu. [he puts a hand over his heart.] My kind are born of humans...but we have psionic abilities they lack.

[he hesitates, considering the environment.]

And...so do you. [his eyes lift to the sky.] But it is not like Mu...

[it is unlike anything Blue could dream up himself, let alone believe could be real. but it is real - even in a dream, the certainty of its form from Newt's psyche makes it clear this is no curious imagining of an active mind, even one as active as his.

Newt's terror ripples through the Mu, who only tightens his hold upon him as he takes in the sight of this creature and the dreadful reverberations it causes by simply being.

nightmares are not evil: they are ways the mind works to help itself cope with the things it has taken in, and sometimes they can be the only way some negativity can be addressed. but while they have purpose, they, like all other functions, can do harm unintentionally. Blue will not see it done now, as he could believe he was drawn here to keep the worst of this at bay.

so he does as he's always done, and he glows a shade of blue all his own. echoes of his own memories help him garner strength to fly as he used to - even encumbered with those he rescued, he could still fly so far, so fast...

so he will, rocketing past the beast and up, skyward, chasing stars he remembers from long ago and even ones from not that long ago, because even when he couldn't fly so far and so fast anymore, he did it anyway to save someone else.

it was Jomy then, but it's Newt now.]

[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...

（ he did not intend to speak of genjutsu here at all. it is a pathway to being hated, being feared. in a world where his name carries none of the weight, none of the history of being uchiha, he had thought perhaps that he could carve out a different destiny in this place, among these people. it is not hope — not for a future, not for a better or easier time — simply utility. attaining his goals will have fewer barriers if people are unaware of what he is and what he is capable of.

the sharingan has earned the terror it instills in others, and he has lived his life in pursuit of being one more reason why. perhaps a clean slate is, ultimately, undeserved. ）

I am resistant to most forms of mental assault.

（ which is and is not an answer. however, he will not elaborate. ）

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dreamwalk two | ota

outside;

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to counteract our cute cookies thread

Inside

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unhinges jaw, inhales

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inside;

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