[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.
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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