arthur "angrily eats salad" (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pointedlook) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
agogelogs2017-12-12 05:58 pm
pointedlook) wrote in agogelogs2017-12-12 05:58 pm
[OPEN] i ain't a gambler
WHO? Arthur and [insert your character here]
WHAT? Shared dreaming, sans PASIV, because aliens.
WHEN? When the hotspots really start expanding and taking over hallways.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, trauma, suicidal imagery (ala Inception), angst.
WHAT? Shared dreaming, sans PASIV, because aliens.
WHEN? When the hotspots really start expanding and taking over hallways.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, trauma, suicidal imagery (ala Inception), angst.
i. physics can be imitated with a controlled explosion
[ It's a hallway of a hotel.
Somewhat upscale, plush carpeting, nicely labeled doors, polished elevator. There's silence and everything seems fairly normal except some things are floating. Down one section of the hallway, a housekeeping cart is unaffected by gravity, hovering in the air along with all of its accoutrements. The other section of the hall has a body, unconscious (or dead), suspended and creepily still. One door opens and Arthur pokes his head out, face alert, serious, exhausted.
If anyone looks in the room, there's more bodies, though they look less lifeless and more like they're asleep. ]
You're not supposed to be here.
[ Hope you're used to having a gun pointed in your face. If not, well, have fun. Arthur doesn't look happy to see you. ]
ii. you're waiting for a train
[ A cityscape is laid out before you, streets stretching and winding into the familiar beat of traffic patterns and neighborhoods. Cars are all along, parked curbside or sitting next to each other in their respective lanes as the lights change from red to green. It's not gridlock, but it's busy, just shy of rush hour. Rain comes down in sheets, pattering off of windshields, umbrellas, raincoats. Overfull gutters create a rushing background noise of water.
Above all the natural sounds of a city enduring inclement weather is gunfire and shouting, the screech of tires. Behind you is the distinct slap! of shoes hitting wet pavement at a rapid clip. ]
Get down!
[ If you don't react in time, you're getting tackled to the ground by Arthur, just as bullets go whizzing by. Unmistakable sounds of glass shattering and someone letting out a panicked scream pop up when those bullets connect to their end point. Arthur pops back up, annoyed and soaked through, gun in hand. He takes aim, ready to shoot at someone down the street when all other noise is drowned out by the horrible whistle and crunch of asphalt as a train comes barreling into the middle of the city street. ]
Fuck.
iii. sweet dreams are made of this
[ The house is lovely. A craftsman style, with real wood floors, wood furnishings, because that's how they've decorated it. Because she said that wood was inviting, warm, home-like. They're sitting in the living room, papers scattered all over the table and on the desk, where Dom is scribbling down notes. Mal is across from Arthur in her favorite chair, legs curled up and tucked under her – 'Dom, I want to be able to drown in this chair, that's how I'd like to go.' 'Honey, that's very unlikely.' 'Still, it's what I want.'
The PASIV sits open on a side table they borrowed from the den, one they use for dinner and movie night. Mal's been working on a new version of somnacin, one with less side effects. Arthur has his legs stretched out in front of him, a sheaf of papers on his lap and some in hand, a pen slanted behind his ear. The beginning of grey is coming in at his temples and a second look at Mal or Dom will show similar signs of age. In the background, through the doorway that leads to the kitchen, a young lady with blonde hair passes through, holds up a coffee pot and a quirked eyebrow.
"How'd you know, Philippa?"
"You're a coffee addict."
"Be nice, dear."
"Mom, you know it's true."
"Yes, that's no reason to say it aloud."
Arthur pretends to look offended, but the smile on his face is too fond to be anything but. Turning, he glances over to you, hand extended. ]
Can you pass me that folder? I think the information I need is in there. This client's case is getting tougher and tougher.
iv. don't build what you know
[ The casket isn't open, her body too mangled to save.
Instead, it's closed, matte and dark wood, as they lower it into the ground. His hands are at his side, gripped into fists so hard his knuckles have turned white.
The weather is beautiful, sunny, blue skies and fluffy clouds. It's California.
There's not much sound, even though someone is saying something in the background. Last rites, maybe. Everything is muted and there's an overwhelming sense of unfairness. Next to his legs is a suitcase– he'd come straight from the airport when he heard the news. ]
He didn't do it.
[ Arthur doesn't turn, nor does he look at you, eyes fixed on where they're shoveling dirt in. ]
v. wake up and let's be young together
[ Maybe you'll find him in a hotspot in the hallway. Or the library. Or just outside his capsule door, slumped against the wall. Careful not to step into odd light, else you'll be pulled in too.
But it looks like he's starting to try and come to. Lend him a hand, if you're feeling generous. Let him sleep on, if you'd rather not interfere. He's a big boy, after all, and he can handle himself. ]
no subject
[Travis' hand falls limp to his side. He's well and truly confused now, staring at Arthur like he's leapt up out of the coffin or something himself.]
Wait, what're you talking about? I assumed this was some dreamwalking emotional journey type of shit. We don't have to do anything weird to leave, do we?
[brrrrrm]
no subject
[ With this being a dream, it sounds even weirder to an outsider, he's sure. ]
Like I said, there's two ways out. A kick, which essentially simulates the feeling of falling. Your body will automatically try and catch itself since your inner ear will flip out from the perceived lack of balance. Then you'll wake up.
[ A pause. ]
There isn't much to create a kick with here and trying to spook each other isn't going to do much. So it's option B.
[ He doesn't want to have to do this with a stranger but here they are. ]
1/2
2/2
You're... some kind of... dream monitor? Or dream maker? I don't even know what to ask about first. [So he won't, seeing as he only truly digested about half of the 'kick' bit and is now concerned that... Arthur's going to actually kick him.]
Whatever. My life's weird enough. What's your plan B?
no subject
Dream thief. I can explain later, when we're not in this mess.
[ Because talking about the mechanics of a lucid dream while they're in one that he doesn't have real control over is not something he wants to test. Maybe he'll introduce the PASIV, if there's interest. A monitored situation, with everything familiar and controlled.
Not whatever these hotspots on the ship are producing. ]
Sorry ahead of time. [ Arthur steps closer, presses the gun he's dreamed up to Travis' forehead and pulls the trigger. The second shot goes through his own temple
and
he wakes up on base with a jolt, inhaling sharply at the suddenness of reality. ]
no subject
You fucking shot me!
[is what he opens with, eyes wide a half a second after waking, his fist already balled up in the fabric of Arthur's shirt. He doesn't remember falling asleep and he definitely doesn't remember falling asleep next to Arthur, but if he's got to roll over to beat the shit out of him for killing him? He will.]
Y-- Jesus, my head. [Or not.] Feels like a car ran me over. [Or a train, maybe? Travis' grip loosens and he drops Arthur, which means that his nose is totally safe from being broken. For now.]
no subject
Face blank, he just holds his hands up in a surrender; a concession to the anger. He really doesn't want to have to throw a punch. ]
It'll linger for a couple days. Typical painkillers should curb the worst of it.
no subject
What'd you have to kill me for? Can't you just-- [His head's still throbbing; now seated on the ground beside Arthur, he grimaces, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers.] --you know. Wizard of Oz, click your heels together? No place like home?
[He continues to scowl, glaring down at Arthur.]
And you wanna explain why I was in your head?
no subject
It's the quickest way out, like I said. In lucid dreaming, you have to shock your mind into remembering it's a dream– dying is a fast way out. There's more delicate ways, like setting up a timer, musical countdowns; they have to be done prior to going in, though.
[ It's all laid out in a matter-of-fact way. Arthur knows this like the back of his hand. ]
I think it's these warm spots. They're inducing lucid dreaming, for some reason.
no subject
Okay, dream guy. Can you turn it off?
[the most important part of all of this, honestly.]
no subject
If I could, I wouldn't have been caught in one. So far as I know, there's no off-switch, like there would be when I'm usually dealing in lucid dreams.
[ Sorry bud. There isn't a PASIV in sight, which means it's something different. ]
Either way, we shouldn't linger here. I don't know what criteria the warm spots are using to induce the dreams; it's probably best to avoid them as much as possible.