ximilialog | dreamwalk one

Entry tags:

towards the terra: soldier blue

dreamwalk one | ota

CHARACTERS: Soldier Blue + OTA
LOCATION: ~*theater of the mind*~ ...and also some bed in the infirmary.
DATE: those nebulous new-arrival days prior to mission
CONTENT: dreamwalking + memory share with others at-rest
WARNINGS: eye trauma, memory manipulation, dream logic
PERMISSIONS: psychic power detail + opt-out here

The last thing Blue wants to do in this place is sleep. He spent fifteen years bedridden, barely able to open his eyes, before managing to rise and take action against aggressors, and now? Just as he'd finally been able to rekindle the flames of his power, he's down again.

It doesn't feel as long-lasting as before, and that's some cold comfort. He's far more lucid even in sleep, and as ever before, his mind is set to wander, wondering about this strange, new place he's found himself in...and the strange, new people he's already encountered. His instincts scream with the echoes of his closest counsel, begging him to remain vigilant, to not be deceived by any convenience the artificial intelligence may provide. Even now as he lay convalescing, something may trigger to try and attack his mind...

And so his mind will not stay in one spot.

Consciousness drifts place to place, drawn by the glimmers of familiar notions and common threads. It's a Mu's power to connect hearts: He can't help but do what comes naturally. Such an innocuous thing when one lives among others of his like, but here is more complicated.

After all, how many here are used to guests in their dreams? Perhaps they'll find out now.

Each time a new dream pulls him, it's like passing through a series of thin shrouds, entering that space like a vapor before his form can adjust to suit the setting. He is always himself, but another's consciousness always dictates tone.

[memory/dreamshare time! again, permissions linked above in case there's any concerns or a need to specify limitations, but go nuts with whatever setting ur char's brain wants to share! c: ]

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Sabriel's dreams are of blood and pain, Life and Death bleeding into each other in her dreamscape. She's back in the hall of Wyverley college, facing Kerrigor, but there's black water up to her thighs, and mist floods through the holes in the walls as bodies bob in the water- soldiers and schoolgirls, but also some of the people Sabriel's met here.

Kerrigor looms above her, a vast shape of shadow and flame, reeking of carrion and hot metal even in her dreams, and Sabriel-

Sabriel is clutching her sword, frozen between fear and desperation.

Suffering really is one of the most common threads one can find in the minds and hearts of others, isn't it? It may be disorienting to encounter a space with so many alien, unknown elements, but some things still hold true and give him footing.

He finds that footing in the shadow of an unknown threat. Before him, the spark of the consciousness that this vision belongs to.

Blue draws near, placing a slowly-forming hand upon her shoulder, seeking to impress a feeling of calm and assurance. Her fear is true, but his certainty is just as true.

Sabriel feels that assurance and embraces it, even as the dream gets worse- the bodies start to move jerkily, like puppets being handled by an inexpert puppeteer.

Red flames burn in their eyes as the bodies start to reshape themselves- limbs stretching, muscles restitching themselves, bone spreading and growing to armor flesh.

"N-no," Sabriel says, mostly to herself, the marks on her sword flaring brighter.

"This isn't- this is a dream, isn't it?"

But somehow, knowing it's a nightmare doesn't make it stop

Her awareness is what anchors him there, keeps him from being snatched and dragged through all the dreadful things that her psyche may imagine could happen to one being taken so. It's that awareness, too, that lets his form grow more solid and apparent, and the grip on her shoulder tighten.

"It is," he says. "And the more you understand...the more you can change."

There's much he could touch and change, too - it's just a matter of reaching to do so. But he doesn't know what these terrors are tied to - what it could alter and change in her, for better or worse. So as much as he is keen to simply whiting out this scene, he abstains.

Sabriel turns, recognizing him- the new arrival whose eye she'd healed. But amidst all of this terror, he's real, and not part of the horrors around her.

So Sabriel nods, and focuses- on sunlight, and running water, and the stagnant water pooling around her legs starts to flow, tugging her forward even as sunlight cuts through the fog, the Dead screaming with an inhuman sound as between the water and the sunlight, they're reduced to flashes of white flame... and then ashes and grave mold, swept away by the current- along with the building, the walls crumbling and being swept away as Sabriel's dream reshapes itself.

Only Kerrigor remains, thrashing against the current, wreathed in steam as he tries to struggle towards Sabriel.

"Abhorsen," he says, and Sabriel does not think she will ever truly forget that voice of inhuman malice and power. She feels a shadow of what she felt once before, of Free Magic seizing at her limbs, trying to hold her-

But this is a dream, and she is through being afraid. In the waking world, her sword might not have been able to harm Kerrigor, but here, it's enough to knock him into the water with a flare of golden flames, to be swept away with the current like the rest.

The truer Sabriel's vision of her retaliation is, the more Blue himself can perceive: He has to dig his heels in to keep from being swept up by that rush of flowing water, and he shades his eyes from the bright, beaming sun. He feels a shuddering thrill of accomplishment when she dashes the strongest figment of her fears into the water, lifting his head to see it be washed away, leaving behind a brighter world.

As he adjusts to this new perspective, his hand falls away, and his focus returns to the girl herself - still colored by the residual fears of her nightmare, but not overtaken by them.

As one should be.

He straightens relaxing, offering her a gentle smile. Here in this space, he can be shades stronger than his physical body can allow - more radiant, like something that belongs in such a space.

You've earned a more restful sleep, Sabriel, he tells her, nodding his head.

"Perhaps, but-" Sabriel looks around. This is the seaside- salt scented breeze, blue-green water surging around her, and not too far away, the shore, with sand and leafy green trees beyond.

"But what are you doing here? You're not part of my dream." And some part of her recalls warnings about that, pages in the Book of the Dead about Free Magic that might seek to influence people at their most vulnerable... but this isn't like that.

"We've met before- I healed you. Or is this... part of how you were able to talk inside my head before?"

He lets the questions flow freely, not cutting in to address one after the other. Some are more obvious than others, after all: No, he's not part of the dream; yes, they've met; yes, she healed him...really, the only reason his eye is salvageable at all is her work.

That last one bears answering, at least.

"In a sense, yes," he replies. "My psionics connect me to thoughts and feelings...dreams are included in that, sometimes."

He turns his gaze away from her, regarding the new scene her psyche has painted.

"I'm drawn to others...though, it's often been others like myself. Other Mu.

"Something in you...related to something in me. Enough to guide me here in my sleep."

"I see," Sabriel nods, mulling over that statement. Something similar- well, all of the Ximilia's crew had regrets, and generally, regrets powerful enough to draw people into agreeing to this involved death, in one way or another.

But Sabriel forces away thoughts of fog and freezing black water, and instead thinks of gulls, and darting schools of fish. She's dreamed of Death and the Dead enough.

"Did people close to you... die too?"

"Yes."

He does not answer grimly, nor is it dismissive. It's a simple matter-of-fact. His eyes flick upward to the birds - a sight he's rarely seen before in his own time of hiding.

"But...I don't know if that's what drew me."

Because though she was in the midst of turmoil with such things, there could always be other threads that bind. It's likely that shared question of undoing regrets he's heard of - that dream he's yet to fully form in his own mind for himself. It's in her and the others on board this ship, which makes him balk at the idea of accepting it as his own; it's too much like how the Terras computers implanted false memories in people.

"You're not familiar with magic, but- have you been troubled by the Dead remaining in Life, when they should have passed on?"

In her conversations with others here, it had seemed that her own world was uniquely unfortunate in that regard. But Blue, from what he'd told her, came from a world very different from her own- no magic, and fantastically advanced technology. But perhaps there was some some similarity, buried beneath all the differences.

Blue looks to her at that prompt, frowning. What does she mean? Is it so literal a statement?

It seems to be, and that mildly surprises him.

"...Nothing remains of the mind upon death," he replies carefully. "It is like...extinguishing a flame. One that cannot be relit."

Feeling a person die is one of the worst things he can think of; it's the surplus of such a feeling that pushed him to the brink, that made his own power ignite and explode to escape, to avoid having to feel more death.

"Then your world is fortunate in that regard, if nothing else," Sabriel says, her tone blunt.

"In mine... it is impossible to restore what has died to true life, but it is possible to drag deceased spirits back into Life. But they become... warped in the process." The water around Sabriel starts to turn black and frigid, fog eddying around her for an instant before she takes a deep breath and forces it back with an effort of will.

"And they need to feed on the living in order to remain in Life. The creature you saw in my dream was a living man once- one who traded Life for power, and in the process, drove my home into centuries of chaos and decline." Sabriel's voice is tense, torn between trying to discuss the topic and trying to keep her dreamscape from spiraling into horror once again.

"My family's purpose- my purpose, is to use our abilities to make sure the Dead do not walk in Life, but instead pass beyond."

Blue's eyes flick down to the growing darkness, catching glimpse just before she banishes it. It's enough to leave him with an impression of the dread things she speaks of, and his gaze returns to her form at mention of purpose.

"Who made you for this purpose?" he asks.

"No one made me," Sabriel says, confused, "It's a responsibility- and power- passed down through my family. My father was the Abhorsen before me, and before him it was his aunt."

Sabriel looks down at her hands, an echo of the old rhyme resounding in her head. Five Great Charters knit the land... and the second lies in the folk who keep the Dead down.

"It's in our blood," Sabriel says, meaning it entirely literally.

In our blood, she says, and Blue can feel a reverberation within himself between the distant echoes of that rhyme.

"That may be it." His eyes fix on hers.

"The connecting thread."

Sabriel meets his gaze steadily, frowning thoughtfully at the response.

"Your power is also inherited- and passed down through a bloodline?" Sabriel asks. Not all magic is passed on in that way- in fact, it's fairly unusual in the Old Kingdom. Aptitude might run in families, but power itself is either earned through baptism and training for Charter Magic, or seized through force in the case of Free Magic.

He shakes his head.

"I don't have a family line to speak of...because I was the first. But what is in my blood and genetics is what frames my purpose. What gives me purpose, whether I meant to choose it or not.

"What we are comprised of...helps define our courses in life, for better or worse."

The woman looms over Percy on an island made of glass. She smiles, cold and cruel, and says, "And that's another name off the list." Raises her gun, and bang.

And Percy falls from the ground, through the ground, into a realm of shadow and horror. A creature made of smoke embraces him like a lover, sinking tendrils deep into his flesh as he screams and kicks, and it lasts a second, a hundred years, a heartbeat, an eternity. The smoke and shadow pull and bite and tear his flesh from him, and the pain is nearly unimaginable, but then—

A light, blazing above. A warm hand reaching down to grab hold of him. The monster screams, no, no, I finally have him, but the hand yanks hard and Percy goes gladly. Begins to float away into somewhere else, but then someone calls: Percy! The hand reaches for him again, and it resolves into a pointy-eared woman, with a crown of antlers and red hair, reaching out to him. Our journey isn't over. We need you. I need you.

Behind her is another woman, with dark hair and blue feathers stuck behind a pointed ear, reaching for Percy with watery eyes, saying, I should've told you. It's yours.

More people appear behind them, reaching out for Percy as well: a dark-haired man in dark armor who looks just like the second woman, a huge grey-skinned fellow with no shirt, a very short white-haired woman clad in heavy armor and a similarly short purple-clad man with a lute on his back. And behind them...someone else. Someone Percy has never seen before in his life.

Percy reaches for them, and they yank him back, pull him up from the darkness and into the light, up through the floor and onto a table, where he shoots up, gasping for air. They hug him, laughing, crying, and after some conversation, all begin to leave. The last to leave is the woman with blue feathers behind her ear, her hand lingering on his, but then she walks away too. Percy sits there on the table for a long moment, then says out loud, "I know you're there. Why don't you come out and explain what you're doing here?"

What a journey this one is! Blue can still feel a distant throb, an echo of the shot to his own eye stirred up by the echo of that gunshot. The feeling of a heart full from a harrowing and all-encompassing welcome leaves him quite at a loss - daring to not so much as stir to change what it was he'd fallen into and found. After such a terrible cacophony of terror, the comfort of feeling wanted - needed - so much that one is drawn away from the brink is...

He wishes it were his own.

Blue is still quite overcome with this sensation when he is suddenly noticed. It's like a knife point pressing against his back - like blinders put over his eyes, forcing his attention directly about the dreamer. And in being perceived, Blue can take a more whole form.

He ripples a bit before stabilizing, taking a few steps toward the table and the man seated there.

"Your dreams called to me," he replies, staring at him with a soft shade of wonder. "They are...full of things unlike...anything I've ever seen before.

"Who...are you?"

“Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III,” Percy rattles off, with the ease of someone who is fully aware how stupidly long his name is. “My friends, who you just saw, can be inconsistent with it, so I just go by Percy.”

This person can walk through dreams, huh? Percy tenses, knowing fully well that he doesn’t have his guns here, doesn’t have a single weapon, or even his friends. Blue has just seen him die and come back to life, and more than that, he’s seen what happened in between. “I prefer knowing people’s names first before I let them go rooting around in my head,” he says, as politely as possible, with the tone of someone who is expending effort into staying calm. “What’s yours?”

That bridled apprehension and instinctive mistrust has something of a 'scent' Blue can perceive, and they warn him to stay in place. He may not be harmed here, but seeding ill-will for himself in the station will do him no favors.

At rooting around in my head, Blue's own dips in an apologetic fashion.

"I'm called Blue," he replies, not missing a beat. It may not be his true, original name, but it's the one his beloved ones used, so that in of itself makes it true enough. "And should I be unwelcome...you need only dismiss me, knowing I don't belong here. It's that simple."

Blue. Hm.

Percy relaxes just a notch, just a bit. The apprehension and mistrust are still there, but he's taken hold of them now and harnessed them as best as he can to the curiosity pricking its ears. This is a person who can walk into dreams and see what he's been trying to keep secret. He'll have to be careful with what he says, because as polite as this fellow is...

Well. Percy's met Raishan. He'll err on the side of paranoia: keep your friends close, and your untrustworthy allies closer.

"I suppose I could," he says. "But—I'll be honest with you, I'm sort of curious about how you came here in the first place. What about this particular dream, exactly, called you? I've had better and more peaceful dreams than this."

Those quick calculations are a dim echo of the reactions Keith Anyan had had when Blue dove into his heart. But in this case, it's not being followed up by an immediate hate and drive to hurt him back. Small blessings...

At the questioning, Blue's hand settles over his heart, his expression softer and sombers.

"Common threads..." He lifts his gaze back to Percy to meet his eyes. "I've always been drawn to common threads in the heart. So even something as foreign as your own life and struggles...connected to something in mind."

And he has a pretty good idea what.

"The gunshot. The darkness. I have it in me, too."

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dreamwalk one | ota

CW: Death, blood, gore

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tw death, gun violence, horror

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