SEEMS I GOT IT WRONG—

[dipolar]

WHO? hei dipolar and some various other punks
WHAT? closed prompts for dreamshares, hit me up if you want in on this
WHEN? december 12th to december 23rd
ANYTHING ELSE? content warning: child soldiers, suicidal ideation, graphic violence/gore

ＡＲＴＨＵＲ．

(russian winter in vladivostok. a stone's throw from north korea. despite how close it sits to japan, its cold bites as mercilessly as the rest of the country's weather does. arthur can still feel it, even seated inside the dining car of a train headed for — where? with nothing outside but a vast expanse of inexplicable ocean, it's difficult to tell direction. with a sky that looks caught between dusk and dawn, it's difficult to tell time. the dreamer's impression of these oddities is bleakly accepting, finding them to be something run of the mill.

the only heat in the area rolls off of a wide spread of food laid out across a too-small table. overwhelming overtones of a gnawing hunger make it irresistible.

hei sits across from arthur in a nineties parka, forking bite after bite after bite of his meal into his mouth with a numbness that threatens to sink the scene into the waves lapping at salt-stained window panes. looking at him, he's almost unrecognizable with long, unwashed hair pulled away from his neck in a thick ponytail and an unkempt face of patchy scruff. the reality of it becomes stark when his hand stills and dead eyes lift with a response so quiet it'd be easy to miss under the anvil-like weight of a flask dragged closer.)

I killed Pavlichenko. Is that all you wanted to discuss?

(hei's sure he knows who's there as he raises the flask to drink — an action that triggers a worrisome groan of the train's metal skeleton trying to hide its shame. but it's just not arthur he's seeing, not really.)

ＭＩＤＮＩＧＨＴＥＲ

(up, down, left, right— it's all the same underwater. it rushes and surrounds, cuts off air supply and threatens to drown him. there's no supernatural quality, no ethereal glow to guide him out of the blackness of it. what it is in reality? a submerged hall of a building that fell victim to land subsidence, abandoned and left to sink.

if that wasn't stressful enough already, there's no obvious exit in this research and development department. logic would tell anyone to follow the gradual upward slant of the ceiling if it manages to be found in the dark, but what's another potential cause for alarm is the sound of a struggle close by. the crackle of movement that's swift when unchallenged by current. turning to face it will bump midnighter into someone who's been searching for him since the plunge and bring him within arm's reach of gloved hands.

while m isn't who he's been expecting, hei's mind makes up for the oddity by slotting the man into the place of whoever it belonged to first. the change, albeit convenient, fills the room with a contagious, sick kind of panic that sets the mood for the entire nightmare. eyes narrowing at the foggy outline, he tries to grab at an arm to get the teenager's attention. it's obvious why: he has the only ventilator, one that fits snugly in the mouth without oxygen tank or tube.

one he's insisting on giving to him, offering it out with a slow shake.)

ＲＹＵＪＩ

(ryuji stands in a lake at twilight, full moon high and shedding an eerie lambency that seems to dance on blond hair. a dense rainforest grows up around him and, from the shore, great, timeless roots sneak into the shallows to sponge up what drink they can. it'd be a peaceful scene, but something's innately wrong. something's off and it's hard to pick out any one thing until he's taken his first step — only to meet the resistance of a liquid so unlike water that the viscous surface rolls instead of splashes.

red. the vast body of water sits still and dark like blood, so rich a colour it blocks light from seeing beneath its layers at the unevenness he can feel underfoot.

a foreboding atmosphere, giving ryuji the unique sense that this is somewhere he shouldn't be. it makes the air thick and difficult to breathe, but that could be the clouding mugginess that weighs on unaccustomed lungs in a climate so shockingly divorced from all others. or the sudden sighting of a lost child on the shore of the teenager's macabre bath. the haunting image of a small boy no older than twelve with a runt's stature and bruised eyes that point out from beneath a familiar mop of unevenly cut hair.

it's over the lake he stares, calm. the feeling around him is not, rather strikes as something a fearful resolution.)

Area secure; we're moving on.

(a lengthy pause, like the child's wondering if he's been heard, but avoids a direct look at ryuji when he turns away to wipe at a round cheek. it only serves to smear more grime into his skin, only glancing back once to address his idleness.)

You'll die if you stay here with them.

ＡＣＨＩＬＬＥＳ

(a satake telescope sits at the edge of a pond in a park long abandoned by the day. insects and tree frogs chirp, a warm breeze ripples grass, no dangers lurk in the setting. there's a serene calm to this dreamscape and a startling expanse of stars, a memory visited and revisited often, which is perhaps what makes it the most troubling kind— no one wants to wake up from something like this, no one wants to lose this boneless kind of relaxation.

there's something lonely about the child sitting in the grass beside the tripod. he doesn't look the least bit bothered, but the mood inward borders melancholic. it's the sense of him being the only one, the last one. of what?)

A shooting star is the light that escapes whenever God opens the lid to the sky...

(as though talking to himself, his voice is soft. quiet enough to be a whisper but carrying well to spite reality's rules. then he moves with slow purpose, breaking the scene's stagnancy with a raise of a hand. palm up like an offering to the starry ceiling above them, wanting to give something back to the glittering little lights, as though he could present himself and be taken away by them. something that should be possible in this world he's found a shred of restfulness in, but he just can't seem to part with any piece of his soul.

moments pass and there's a sudden shift, a movie reel missing a frame, and hei's smiling shyly at achilles like he's been there with him the whole time, sharing in this as friends, as family.)

If you make a wish when you see one, God will listen to it.

Comments

[dipolar]

(the nose pinch gets a choked noise from him, raising his hands to pull at achilles' wrist,) Hey, ow, ow— she can do it all on her own, but—

I want to help her. I need to help her. So no matter what, I'll be there for her so she won't ever be lonely. That's what big brothers are for.

(pulling the hand away from his face, aiming a weak shove at his friend's shoulders.)

There's nothing I wouldn't do. Nothing.