agogelogs | i think to myself

Entry tags:

i think to myself

WHO? henry & you
WHAT? dream stuff, ota
WHEN? when the hotspots spread
ANYTHING ELSE? mostly violence

[dream log 01]

You wake up in the middle of a tranquil field, muted and chilly but covered in delicate white flowers. The ground slopes gently where a small stream cuts through the grass. The sky is a greyish blue, like it might start snowing any second. Next to you, Henry is shivering, like he's sick and grumbling under his breath like he's experiencing a nightmare. A dream within a dream?

It's only when he awakes with a start that the dream seems to move forward.

"What the—?"

In the distance, there's a mechanical sound of...something. Maybe it's footsteps? Either way, it's getting closer, and she looks ready to rumble. Wait, she? Yes, she. This time, she's not alone, however. Behind her, like a nightmare train of anime and terrible boss fights (he's pretty sure he sees Pizza Batt Jr. in there somewhere), they bubble out from underground and follow her towards the both of you. It's not too bad, there's like ten of them.

"Oh bloody hell," he gets up, then looks down at you with resigned sort of sigh. "Come on, get up. They're not going to leave us alone until we kill them all."

If you want to go back to the other side, I have no choice... I've got to kill you.

[dream log 02]

You're in a house, it's about 10PM. Henry seems to be in a rush to get his things in order: gloves on, tie straight, skull pin fastened, and making sure his cross saber is fastened to his belt chain. He pats himself down, making sure he hasn't forgotten anything and then flicks his head in the direction of the door. If you make any noise above the sound of a whisper, he'll hiss at you with a finger in front of his lips.

Once the door opens though, a small, sleepy voice comes down from the top of the stairs. She's not entirely visible, as the hallway is dark and obscures her from the shoulders up. From her silhouette alone, she appears to be 6-7 years old.

"Papa?"

Henry freezes, then lets his shoulders sag a little in defeat. He gives you a brief flash of an apologetic look (or depending on how loud you were earlier, a bit of an accusatory one) and turns to her.

"Jeane, why aren't you in bed?"

She shifts a little, almost guiltily, going silent before taking a small breath to answer...

(ooc: feel free to npc her, any reply is a-ok. it's dreamverse, after all!)

[dream log 03]

A younger man, in his late teens, sits rigidly in a chair in the middle of a room. It is unmistakably Henry. His hairstyle is the same and he's dressed in a dress shirt with a tie, slacks, and dress shoes. The walls are a soft reddish pink color, easy on the eyes. You stand right across from him, a good twenty feet away.

From seemingly nowhere, a young girl wearing a white, slip-on dress possibly no older than 15 approaches Henry from the side with a small dagger in her hand. She seems very casual about it, a smile on her face, her heels clacking on the floor which is also the same color as the walls. She acknowledges your presence by glancing at you over her shoulder with a knowing look in her eyes.

She eases into his lap, straddling him while letting the blade drag up his neck. He doesn't react, his eyes only flickering down to meet her eyes and maybe catch yours if you're still watching. A thin, red line forms, and while you can't physically see it from there, dream logic dictates that you know exactly what's going on.

The longer you wait, the more lines she cuts into his skin.

[hotspot 01]

He fell asleep by the training area, sitting on a bench of sorts to take a quick break from his sets. Sweating profusely, it's a good thing he's wearing only what he needs for a work out. Unlike his sleeping dreamself, he doesn't make any noise or stir too much, though sometimes his eyebrows pinch together and he grimaces in his sleep.

Any slight noise wakes him though with a start, and his hand automatically goes down by his hip where his saber would normally be resting. Nothing. A wave of panic washes over him before immediately settling again as he realizes he's just sitting on the bench.

"Jesus..."

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He can't take the dagger from her hand, but Henry could run, he could -

Eames looks down at him with wide eyes. Of all the things he thought Henry might say... that... that was not one of them.

"I..." He can't do that. There's no way he's doing that. "No! Henry, get away right now!"

And he moves to drag her off him, his right hand still gripped tightly around her wrist. "Why are you doing this?!" he can't help but grunt in her direction, confused and a little terrified for Henry.

The young Henry is completely enamored by the woman hurting him, and if he were to awake and analyze this dream, he'd concur that it's pretty accurate. She's lost quite a bit of her charm now, but back then, he was wrapped around her pinky.

He doesn't listen, naturally, as his expression starting to finally bleed through and form on his once stoic face. It's a bit of panic and confusion, as he clings to her weakly.

"Stop—"

Sylvia stops struggling as Eames drags her off, seemingly OK with being pried away from Henry all of a sudden. Her limbs go a little slack and instead of a young girl, it's now a full grown woman. Twisting around in his grip, she manages to face him. Her eyes narrow, predatory, and she presses herself against him before leaning in close to his ear.

"Because I can, silly."

Maybe Henry's subconscious interpretation of why Sylvia does what she does is a little dramatic (he'd blame the break-up)... but it's probably not entirely wrong. He's probably the only person that knows her best besides her own parents. Her knife hand is still in his grip, but it's very clear that she intends on stabbing him if he lets go.

Edited 2017-12-14 03:23 (UTC)

He doesn't pay Henry much attention except a confused look. He doesn't understand his attachment to her, the relationship there. It's kind of disturbing, whatever the dream means, and he's curious to find out.

They just keep saying disturbing things, and therefore Eames is positive that him pulling away from her is a natural reaction. Unfortunately, it looses his hold on her wrist.

Ah, an opening. Even Henry sees it, as fingers part ever so slightly and giver her slender wrists just enough room to wrench herself out of it. Her expression is cool and pleasant, eyelids heavy as she smiles at him while raising her arm, dagger pointed down. It comes down swiftly, planting itself halfway into Eames' shoulder.

In that instant, Henry gets up out of his chair and he's no longer a teenager. Before Sylvia can strike again, he grabs her arm and pulls her off of Eames. He looks a little dazed, like he'd just snapped out of a trance.

As it is, as quick as Eames' reflexes are, they're not this quick. The knife sinks halfway into his shoulder, and he gasps in pain, pulling back just as Henry pulls Sylvia off him, which wrenches the dagger out of his shoulder. He cries out at that, putting a hand to his wound. It's only a dream. It's okay...

Eames looks pretty dazed, too, surprised to see that his rescuer is all grown up. "Henry. Try to make her disappear. You're in control."

If this dream even follows the rules of dream sharing, it might work. Or Eames could kill her. That seems unnecessarily traumatic for Henry, though.

The dagger clatters to the floor, splattering little droplets of red on impact. Sylvia turns on Henry slightly, but without her weapon she's not as threatening. He grabs her around the waist, pulling her in close almost like an embrace, almost warm if it weren't for the face he was making. His expression finally clears up a little and then hardens as he's slowly realizing yeah, this is just a dream. Even Eames over there, bleeding out of his shoulder, confirms it.

Yeah, lucid dreaming at its worst. He's in control though.... control...

With his free hand, fingers curl around something metallic— a handle with a green cube-like thing at the end, an emitter of sorts on each face of the cube except where the handle is placed. Sylvia doesn't react, she seems almost static and machine-like, still wearing that soft smile and heavy-set eyes. He nestles the cubed side against her stomach, touching his forehead to hers.

"Yeah, disappear."

A bright flash of light bursts out through her midsection.

He watches, a little bit horrified, and then confused. He's embracing her. Eames' expression softens, not quite understanding but not about to give up on Henry. And then Henry takes out - a weapon? Something...

It's bright when it happens, and he lets out a startled noise, fingers slipping over his wound. He still doesn't understand what's happening, but he just watches, remaining quiet and waiting for Henry to say something to him.

Sylvia drops to the floor, merely a shell with a smoking hole through her stomach. He almost looks disgusted, though if it's with himself or the doll on the floor it's hard to say. He deactivates the beam saber, now just a harmless metal handle again.

"Thanks for that," he says, letting out a harsh sigh. Then with a pinch of his brows, he takes a few steps towards Eames, stepping over the dagger. His gaze flickers over the shoulder wound. "And I'm sorry."

Now as for how to get out of this dream, he's not entirely sure.

Eames sighs heavily, shaking his head. "You're sorry? I mean, that hurt, but this is bloody invasive, whatever keeps happening with these dreams."

He glances up at him, expression softer. "Are you okay?"

Oh, uh... well, then. He has to admit, he wasn't expecting a reaction like this. Maybe expected some upset yelling, or complaining about the weird dream-pain. Instead, he gets kindness. Very strange. He looks at him, then at the wound, then back at him before rubbing the back of his neck.

"Erm, just fine. Nothing I can't handle, I suppose. Violent dreams and all that."

He furrows his brows, heaving another sigh and wandering over to the chair Henry had been in.

"I have to admit that I don't know how to escape these dreams. I don't know if they operate like the dream sharing dreams, and shooting yourself is rather drastic if you don't know the consequences."

Okay, now here comes the whining, as he sits down heavily in the chair. "You owe me a shit drink when we wake up and an explanation."

When they wake up, huh? He's not entirely sure how much time will pass until that happens, but he's starting to dread the possible awkward moment of silence where he just stands there and Eames just sits there. Sounds like a real bad time for everyone.

"Don't think I can really explain the nature of this dream, but I suppose I owe you that much. At least with what just happened and who."

He twirls the metal handle idly, scrunching up his nose a little in mild disgust.

"It's a shame they've nothing better."

"Ugh," he complains, ripping off the bottom of his shirt and tying the cloth around his arm.

"We'll probably have time, if you feel like trying to interpret your own dream. Just give me a minute. If I entered this dream, there has to be an exit."

Yeah, he's not sure how to interpret the dream right this moment, so he gives Eames a minute. Looking around the reddish-pink room, he can't really see anything else beyond the color. It simply stretches on for what seems like miles.

"Maybe you fell in from the sky."

He looks up and notices that the pink does eventually fade into a white nothingness.

Eames looks up skeptically, blinking up at the pink sky. He sees the same thing, but...

"How do you leave by way of sky?"

Henry could think of a few ways, but he's not entirely sure about the physics in a dreamworld. If it's a dream, he could... bend it to his will, could he not?

"I don't know," he answers a bit plainly, but his expression grows even more somber. "It's not the method that makes me hesitate. I'm just not sure what going up there would do."

With a sharp thud on the ground, he kicks off and jumps...very impossibly high for a human being. For an instant, he seems suspended in the air. As it looks like he's about to start falling, he just sort of...floats.

So he just does it. Okay.

Well, this isn't the weirdest thing that's happened to Eames.

"Give me a hand, hm?" he calls up, head turned up to watch him.

Henry tries to rotate midair but fails. Instead, he decides to just lower himself closer to the ground so that he can reach for Eames this way. He holds out a gloved hand, ready to hoist him into the air with him like that's how this actually works. Crazy. He knows.

"Ready?"

Eames watches from below still, sort of impatient. It looked kind of awesome, and Eames is nothing if not completely childish. Let him up there!

He takes his hand tightly, smirking. "Ready!"

Maybe Eames will chalk this up to being a dream, but Henry thinks what he does next as pretty standard fare stuff. Gripping tight, he musters up all the strength he can and still trying to keep up with the lack of physics in his dream he slings him towards the ceiling.

He can throw someone pretty hard ~~especially if he's trying to use an insane meteror move on someone~~, so Eames will find him a good lengths away from Henry, just floating closer towards the whited-out ceiling.

"How's the view up there?"

That's a pretty crazy way to get closer, and yet Eames finds it completely thrilling, whooping as he gets closer. He reaches out, wondering if he can touch a surface to it, or if it just goes on and on forever. Pausing, he looks over his shoulder at him with a grin.

"Not so bad."

Well, at least somebody is enjoying themselves despite having a terrible wound in their shoulder. Floating up towards the ceiling alongside him, he returns the grin a little. Then back at the white out in front of them, a vast unknown of ...something. Nothing. He's not sure at all.

"Not nervous of where it might lead? I know I'm hoping it's out of this dream but... sometimes I find my dreams rather untrustworthy."

"Nothing we can't find a way out of, I'm sure," he says with his grin still firmly in place, though now he's beginning to feel the affect of being thrown with an injured arm. Ow.

"Though I think I might be more adventurous than the average chap."

He tries to move forward like Henry, experimenting.

A thoughtful hum. He squints at the blank space in front of him, then turns his head to see Eames floating on a head a little. At least he's in good company; one who isn't afraid to toe at some boundaries where realities and the subconscious are involved.

"Do you fear death, Eames?"

Edited 2018-01-03 09:01 (UTC)

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i think to myself

well stop being a difficult damsel, henry!!

never!!!!! dramatic turn

B(

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