[Are they in mask for this? I'm deeply curious if they are in mask for this one because if so it may take Alhaitham a little longer to notice something is off here -- besides the immediately evident environment.
Katan glances briefly down at himself and away, taking in the rest of the scenery: a bizarre blend of sumptuous ballroom with the forest hanging over it in a pall, like an upper jaw with teeth. Cable-like roots dangle from the ceiling, darker than chandeliers but occasionally fizzing and sparking like they might be trying to fulfill the same function in fits and starts.
Now, what will the music for this dance be?]
... Oh. I see. [...] I'll apologize in advance. I wasn't aware that this could happen.
[He doesn't seem particularly surprised, but he doesn't look totally settled, either; his arms fold and his hands curl around his elbows.]
[They're totally in masks not that. Alhaitham's eyes are terribly subtle.
The music is more sensual than one waltzes to, but the tract skips and statics so it may not be as much of a mood-setter as it should be. Alhaitham turns and feels weirdly outside himself for a brief second.
Huh. That wasn't the feeling he was dealing with earlier.] No need to apologize. It was hardly your intention or fault that either of us have been dragged into this place's strangeness.
me: why did it take so long to get back to this / also me: CLOTHES
[Katan may have one thousand and one other things on his mind but I, Fyre, am surgically forced to immediately look up masquerade clothing whenever a masquerade is presented to me and therefore: he steps forward, one step (unsteady, a lack of equilibrium as though the floor might not be quite there or his feet might not be) and his wings flare; there's a strange radiance to them here, like they might be bigger and more present than they should be. Or perhaps, this was what they were all along. They curl around his shoulders, shrinking from their initial stature.
Two steps, and he's properly in mask, a rust-red-ruby-brushed blind of not-quite-metal pressing against the bridge of his nose. It's a little constricting, but it balances out strangely well to bring him back inside himself.
Three steps, and now he's in costume, though the static in the songs and the fizz and grumble of the storm in the trees(?) above them persist; almost in rhythm, they dog their steps. Katan glances up briefly, back down again.]
... An angel's dreams aren't meant for mortals to see; many of us don't sleep at all.
[He doesn't elaborate for the moment on that pair of statements; they may be a pair but they are also independent facts to themselves.]
If whatever controls where we were is encroaching on our subconscious in this way, then it's more trouble than I thought it was.
[You saw the KFC fit so I'm not finding a place to link it.]
Then it's a good thing these dreams don't seem to be ours alone. [Because Alhaitham's pretty sure this isn't what his subconscious would come up with. He'd actually prefer the snowy landscape.]
Though hasn't it always been encroaching on our subconscious? From the moment it felt our desires and dragged us here.
[This KFC fit has so many layers and accessories, while it makes the fanartists cry it is definitely the right kind of fit for this type of masquerade -- although the air isn't quite humid enough for immediate rain there's fog pouring slowly down along the edges of the dance floor, bringing with it chill and lightning shouldn't move that way.
Katan keeps it in the corner of his eye. The way he himself moves, shifts slightly, doesn't quite track correctly under a direct gaze: some parts of him seem to move through space fluidly and others seem to either skip a transition or fizz from one spot to the next. Things are somehow a little left of center.
It's probably fine; he seems to be ignoring it.]
It does seem to be some sort of melding of an original dream with some standardized symbolic concepts, some changes, and... [he reaches up, feels the shape of the mask] Greater changes. Other times, it merely told us what it knew.
This time it's able to manifest things -- the progression can't be good.
[Something similar is probably happening to Alhaitham's own outline, from both Katan's point of view and his -- though it's not quite as pronounced as where Katan is, deeper within that particular aspect of the dreamscape. It seems to flow and ebb with that feeling of being disconnected from one's body, watching from a height or a distance somewhere before snapping back.
Katan continues speaking, smoothly as though nothing's amiss still.]
Usually, I at least recall the moment before falling asleep, or have some awareness of the boundaries of dreams. Just as here, we're aware that we're viewing the subconscious, even if we still don't know its layers.
Even if we don't see things while fully awake, it may become difficult to tell when we are awake.
[Which bodes real well for whenever they have to deal with the latter half of the week.]
[Dreams are normally a bit disconnected from reality, though these have been... strangely stable, at least until another interferes.]
It all comes back to the same thing with this place, doesn't it? [Disrupting their sense of stability, of reality, that makes them all the easier to manipulate.
(And then Wednesday is gonna just be snow cones.)]
[There's reality, and then there's the self. It may ultimately depend upon how tightly one holds to the self just how disorienting it is in this dream that things don't quite hold together the way they're meant to.
Katan waits, even as fog drifts about their feet, even as the lightning itself snakes along the floor, slowly, slowly encroaching.
The forest doesn't want to be ignored any more than their local snowcone deliverer (future) does.]
I'm not sure. There are still far more things that can happen in a dream than can happen in reality without disrupting... how things go.
[He sounds a little absent-minded about it. There are feathers drifting, shedding messily from his wings, though there are perhaps too many just for normal dramatic feather drifting.]
[Katan is drifting off and there's lightning cracking towards him. Alhaitham decides in the face of instability, they should search for something steady.
So he reaches for Katan's arm.] Regardless, standing around will provide neither relief nor answers. It'd be best to look around.
[He lets his arm be taken and lets himself be taken along whichever direction Alhaitham may end up choosing -- everything looks very similar in all directions anyways, though it's not yet a case of the fog and the storm hemming them in. It's just a little bit of a rain from the forest above: cables slithering closer, lightning-electricity jumping between them, feathers and not leaves drifting down to join Katan's, dark as ash. The length of the dance floor looks a little more promising, burnished almost gold in comparison.
(His arm feels by turns incorrect and insubstantial, not quite like a container of flesh or bone at all -- when pulled or under pressure there's too much give and too much stretch as though his skeleton or muscles or everything is slowly liquifying, quietly under the intermittent lights.)
He ignores that as well, with the ease of practice.]
I don't know that there will be any useful answers, though. We may be better served just to keep moving.
[And yet what answers will they find following only the dance floor if everything goes to that fog? Might as well try and reach the edge, so that's where they go.] There's a chance we find the way out instead.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Katan glances briefly down at himself and away, taking in the rest of the scenery: a bizarre blend of sumptuous ballroom with the forest hanging over it in a pall, like an upper jaw with teeth. Cable-like roots dangle from the ceiling, darker than chandeliers but occasionally fizzing and sparking like they might be trying to fulfill the same function in fits and starts.
Now, what will the music for this dance be?]
... Oh. I see. [...] I'll apologize in advance. I wasn't aware that this could happen.
[He doesn't seem particularly surprised, but he doesn't look totally settled, either; his arms fold and his hands curl around his elbows.]
no subject
The music is more sensual than one waltzes to, but the tract skips and statics so it may not be as much of a mood-setter as it should be. Alhaitham turns and feels weirdly outside himself for a brief second.
Huh. That wasn't the feeling he was dealing with earlier.] No need to apologize. It was hardly your intention or fault that either of us have been dragged into this place's strangeness.
me: why did it take so long to get back to this / also me: CLOTHES
Two steps, and he's properly in mask, a rust-red-ruby-brushed blind of not-quite-metal pressing against the bridge of his nose. It's a little constricting, but it balances out strangely well to bring him back inside himself.
Three steps, and now he's in costume, though the static in the songs and the fizz and grumble of the storm in the trees(?) above them persist; almost in rhythm, they dog their steps. Katan glances up briefly, back down again.]
... An angel's dreams aren't meant for mortals to see; many of us don't sleep at all.
[He doesn't elaborate for the moment on that pair of statements; they may be a pair but they are also independent facts to themselves.]
If whatever controls where we were is encroaching on our subconscious in this way, then it's more trouble than I thought it was.
Yeah you have to know his fit at the masquerade
Then it's a good thing these dreams don't seem to be ours alone. [Because Alhaitham's pretty sure this isn't what his subconscious would come up with. He'd actually prefer the snowy landscape.]
Though hasn't it always been encroaching on our subconscious? From the moment it felt our desires and dragged us here.
no subject
Katan keeps it in the corner of his eye. The way he himself moves, shifts slightly, doesn't quite track correctly under a direct gaze: some parts of him seem to move through space fluidly and others seem to either skip a transition or fizz from one spot to the next. Things are somehow a little left of center.
It's probably fine; he seems to be ignoring it.]
It does seem to be some sort of melding of an original dream with some standardized symbolic concepts, some changes, and... [he reaches up, feels the shape of the mask] Greater changes. Other times, it merely told us what it knew.
This time it's able to manifest things -- the progression can't be good.
no subject
Your concern is that it may start manifesting things in our minds while we're awake as well, and disrupt our ability to tell reality apart.
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Katan continues speaking, smoothly as though nothing's amiss still.]
Usually, I at least recall the moment before falling asleep, or have some awareness of the boundaries of dreams. Just as here, we're aware that we're viewing the subconscious, even if we still don't know its layers.
Even if we don't see things while fully awake, it may become difficult to tell when we are awake.
[Which bodes real well for whenever they have to deal with the latter half of the week.]
no subject
It all comes back to the same thing with this place, doesn't it? [Disrupting their sense of stability, of reality, that makes them all the easier to manipulate.
(And then Wednesday is gonna just be snow cones.)]
no subject
Katan waits, even as fog drifts about their feet, even as the lightning itself snakes along the floor, slowly, slowly encroaching.
The forest doesn't want to be ignored any more than their local snowcone deliverer (future) does.]
I'm not sure. There are still far more things that can happen in a dream than can happen in reality without disrupting... how things go.
[He sounds a little absent-minded about it. There are feathers drifting, shedding messily from his wings, though there are perhaps too many just for normal dramatic feather drifting.]
no subject
So he reaches for Katan's arm.] Regardless, standing around will provide neither relief nor answers. It'd be best to look around.
cw: body horror (slight)
[He lets his arm be taken and lets himself be taken along whichever direction Alhaitham may end up choosing -- everything looks very similar in all directions anyways, though it's not yet a case of the fog and the storm hemming them in. It's just a little bit of a rain from the forest above: cables slithering closer, lightning-electricity jumping between them, feathers and not leaves drifting down to join Katan's, dark as ash. The length of the dance floor looks a little more promising, burnished almost gold in comparison.
(His arm feels by turns incorrect and insubstantial, not quite like a container of flesh or bone at all -- when pulled or under pressure there's too much give and too much stretch as though his skeleton or muscles or everything is slowly liquifying, quietly under the intermittent lights.)
He ignores that as well, with the ease of practice.]
I don't know that there will be any useful answers, though. We may be better served just to keep moving.
no subject