Fiona's catch-all dream log~

[braveatheart]

Who: England, Julie Grigio, James Potter, Bro Strider
What: Event thingssssss come and play
When: Feb 27th - March 3rd
Warnings: ... All of my characters. Possible nightmare themes depending on who tags.

---

[England]
[You're on a ship. The sea is rough, tossing waves over the deck and drenching the sailors scurrying back and forth to secure the sails and rigging. At the helm is England himself, leaning almost lazily against the wheel as he rides each wave with a slow turn of the ship.

The quartermaster is shouting orders but England is quiet, bright green eyes keen on the horizon and the sunlight filtering through the break in the clouds ahead.]


[Julie Grigio]
[In a trash-strewn street, Julie stands on her own, a gun held in lax fingers by her side. In front of her, there's a corpse, someone who looks like they've been dead for far longer than the fact Julie just shot them would suggest. The blonde girl sighs, rubbing one hand over her face and smearing blood across her cheek as she crouches and turns the body over.

It's a boy, young with dark hair, far younger than Julie herself and yet she seems to know him. Enough that she sits down and draws her knees up to her chest, dropping the gun to the ground.

There's a tension in the air that suggests it isn't safe to be sitting around, but she doesn't appear to care.]


[James Potter]
[It's a quidditch match! James is high above the field, scoring the winning goal as the final whistle blows. He lands with a whoop of triumph and it doesn't matter who you are, friend or stranger, he'll come running over with windswept hair and a gleeful expression on his face.]

Did you see that!? We wiped the pitch with them!


[Bro Strider]
[On the roof of an apartment block in downtown Houston against the backdrop of a setting sun with the sky lit up like fire, someone is watching you. There's no escape, the door to the stairs is locked and the only way down is to jump. You get the feeling that you're not entirely alone, faint footsteps and fleeting shadows tickling the edges of your senses.

If this is Bro Strider's dream, where is he? There's a tingle in the air like anticipation, but you get the feeling it's not you that he's waiting for.

That is, unless your name happens to be Dave Strider.]

Comments

[callbacks]

[Dave just barely manages to get his sword up in time and then it's spinning out of his stinging hands. He's definitely eleven, because he can't hide the flash of dread and shame that crosses his face (at twelve it would be frustration, at thirteen the grim acceptance would barely be visible; at sixteen the hit wouldn't even have connected), and the sword was obviously a little too heavy for his frame, but he doesn't make a sound.

Instead he drops his center of gravity, gets his arms up to shield his vitals, and prepares for a desperate dive. If he can dodge the first blow, that's at least one hit he won't have to take.]

[brotimaeus]

[He lets him dodge it but hooks his foot under his little brother's ankles to trip him, sweeping the sword clear. Bro doesn't want to hurt him, he never wants to really hurt him, never pushes more on him than he knows he can take but always pushes.]

Not fast enough, li'l man. [His voice comes from the other side of the roof moments before his form joins it, the sunlight glinting off his shades.] Not fast enough.

[callbacks]

[He slaps the roof and rolls to diffuse the impact, just like Bro's taught him, and is up as fast as he fell. So it's looking at Bro that the criticism lands.

It's like Dave's heart stumbles, loses its footing and falls just like he did. This is more than disappointment. This is something deep and awful, something that doesn't belong to this self. It's something like fear, real fear that he's never known in Bro's shadow. It's something like despair.

So he doesn't whine, 'You're too fast.' He just goes back for his sword and clings to it with too-tight fingers. He has to be better. He has to do it right this time.]

Again.

[brotimaeus]

[Bro's eyebrows arch. That's new. Different. His hands twist around the hilt of his sword as he shifts one foot a quarter turn against the ground, every muscle tensed to move.

Then a large white bird circling overhead croaks out a crow's call and he pauses, falters in a way that Bro Strider never would. His sword lowers, one hand coming to the brim of his cap to push it up slightly.]

... Nah. I reckon I've bounced you enough for today. C'mon, li'l man, let's go.

[callbacks]

No, I gotta get it right--

[Dave's used to dreaming in loops. He plays the same scene out again, losing his sword, preparing to dodge, the sweep to his ankles, the fall. Nothing changes, and he clenches his teeth, throat still tight with the emotion of a much older Dave.

From the outside, a flickering afterimage appears beside Dave and goes through the brief fight a second time, jerkily sped up as if a fast-forwarded tape. Dave doesn't seem to be aware of the phantom, and it vanishes quickly. He just settles into his stance again and smooths the anxiety from his face.]

Bro. Again.

[brotimaeus]

[Having taught himself lucid dreaming years ago Bro knows he's asleep right now, ever since hearing that feathery asshole that's still slowly circling over their heads. He can make this dream do anything he wants and he's definitely not used to people in them arguing with him.

His head tilts a fraction as he regards the young boy, then he brings his sword up--]

Be ready this time.

[--and flashsteps straight at him.]

[callbacks]

[And somehow, he is ready, the five years of practice he's put in since he was this size clicking smoothly into place. He steps neatly to the side, bringing his sword up to meet Bro's, to parry it away and try to make an opening for himself--

It's a dream, and he realizes with a sickening lurch in his stomach what's about to happen an instant before it does.

Dave's sword snaps with a comical shattering noise, leaving him with the hilt and three inches of broken steel. He stops and stares down at his feet, unable to look Bro in the eye.]

[brotimaeus]

[His sword breaks through Dave's like the cheap piece of shit it is and he comes to a flickering stop behind the boy, looking back over his shoulder. A soft sigh escapes him, not disappointment but.. something else as he turns on his heel and heads back, gently ruffling one hand over the kid's hair.]

There's some shitty symbolism for ya. [He says, almost gently as he plants the tip of his sword against the ground and rests the hilt in the centre of his palm. He knows it's a dream. He's waiting for Dave to figure out that he knows.]

You a'right?

[callbacks]

[A beat, then two, pass. When Dave finally turns to look at him, he's sixteen again, and the broken hilt in his hand is more ridiculously ornate than any shit they ever kept in the refrigerator.

He looks Bro up and down, then lets his sword vanish.]

Yeah.

[His empty hands disappear into his pockets.]

Guess this is your dream, not mine.

[brotimaeus]

What was your first clue?

[And yet they are both still very much asleep. Lucid dreaming at its finest.

Bro turns his attention out towards the sunset.]

Want to get some ice cream? Baskin Robin's on Highway Six should still be open.

[callbacks]

[Ice cream. Dave lifts his eyebrows but nods, because hell, what else would you do when granted your whole home city to play in? It doesn't really occur to him that Bro's not looking at him to catch the agreement.]

You're taller in my dreams, man.

[And deader, he doesn't say.]

Can we swing through the apartment first? [He shrugs.] It's been a while.

[brotimaeus]

[Why should there not be ice cream in a lucid dream? The comment draws his attention and the question pulls out a small smile as he nods, tilting his head towards the door to the stairwell.]

Go on, get movin'. Unless you want me to throw you down them for nostalgia's sake.

[callbacks]

Pfft. Yeah, no thanks, I get enough of that from my own subconscious.

[He opens the door and hops down the stairs with his hands in his pockets. In a way, it's reassuring to be in Bro's dream instead of his own. He trusts Bro to keep his shit together. Opening doors tends to be a crapshoot of horror even on Dave's best nights.]

I'm not gonna find any weird Freudian shit in here, am I? I mean. [He pauses at the landing and shoots Bro a dry look over his shoulder.] Any more weird Freudian shit than we lived with on a daily basis.

[brotimaeus]

Ain't that touching.

[He grins, ruffling at Dave's hair and gently pushing against the back of his head as they go down the stairs.]

No more than you're used to. [And if you believe that, Dave, you're definitely way too gullible.]

[callbacks]

Hm.

[Dave's mouth pulls skeptically to one side, but he doesn't question the statement. Instead he just opens the door, ready for whatever ninja traps Bro's dreamhouse holds.]

[brotimaeus]

[For all intents and purposes... it looks perfectly normal. Maybe too perfectly normal.

Bro throws himself onto the couch then makes a small gesture for Dave to look around. He's in no rush. It's his dream. He has all the time in the world.]

[callbacks]

[Dave takes the invitation, looking around at everything with an almost strange expression on his face. It's Bro's dream, so everything in it is locked to his perception--to Dave, who hasn't been home in three years, everything looks a little smaller. He brushes his hand over the back of the futon and then goes to check his room.

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, then looks back at Bro.]

You haven't left weird psychic graffiti spoor all over my shit, right? Like, gross insecurities about, I dunno, clowns or cats or something.

[brotimaeus]

[Bro just grins, then outright laughs.]

Nah. Nah, kid. I never touched your room. Scout's honour.

[Yeah, like he was ever a Scout...

He's telling the truth, though. Dave would find everything exactly as he remembered it down to every painful detail.

Even the gratuitous selfies.]

[callbacks]

[Hey, Scout's honor is sacred, okay. Holding Bro to it, Dave walks into his room, leaving the door open. It'd be kind of rude to lock Bro out of part of his own dream, anyway. Plus maybe something weird would happen? Dave's not taking the chance.

He fondly runs his finger in a circle over one of his old vinyls, still sitting there on his turntables, and straightens a jar out on his shelf.]

Can't get an A/C repairman in even in your dreams, Bro?

[He goes to look at the photos on his clothesline.]

[brotimaeus]

Gotta keep everything true to memory.

[He might hear Bro chuckle softly, the faint sound of movement as he stretches out on the couch and makes himself comfortable. Having another presence in a lucid dream is definitely an experience.

Since it's Dave, he doesn't really mind at all.]

Did I miss anythin' in there? [It's an idle question, really. He knows he didn't.]

[callbacks]

Yeah, the Rolls Royce and cadre of strippers I kept under the bed. Holy shit, did I really take these?

[He's taken down a couple of the photos and is biting his lip to keep from cracking up laughing.]

Oh my god. What the hell.

[brotimaeus]

[Bro moves to the door of the room, leaning against the frame with his arms loosely folded and the biggest of shit-eating grins on his face.]

Would I lie to you?

[callbacks]

Ffffffffff.

[He moves on to the next photo and makes a ridiculous PFFHHGHSNRT sound, and he can't keep the noise in anymore.]

Hahahaha, hahahahaha--fuck, I can't, aHAHahahahahaHAHA--!

[Pop.

The photos float to the floor like a comically-ejected bath towel.

When Bro decides to wake up, he'll have received a text that says:]

hjelp
i cant breathe
i think my eyeballs are running
im scaring the cat hahahahahahahaha

[brotimaeus]

[He does, not long after.]

holy shit kid if id known it would get that kind of reaction i would have reminded you about those things ages ago.

[callbacks]

i wouldnt have believed you
hahahahaha shit my face is leaking