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The Dreaming Gods
Apr. 2nd, 2017 05:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyan_maidWho: Jane Crocker (post Airlocked R1) and Dave Strider (post DRRP R3)
Where: Dream bubbles
When: Uh idk time is fuckin weird in space, but at the very least after the events of both rounds mentioned above.
Open/Closed: Closed
Rated: M for dead bodies and gore and all that shit
What: Murdergame crossover between two living canonmates
[Six hours to the Vegas Quadrant. Six hours to kill in a tiny spaceship with the people who have come to mean the entire world to Jane over the course of seven weeks - people she loves like family despite their faults, who love her in turn in their own ways, who are knit together through their pain and tears and stubborn wills to live, and one gleaming, distant goal that zips through the uncharted cosmos. And she is tired.
Granted, you could call what had been done to her an extended nap in and of itself, but being able to cry real tears and shout with real strength, and the thrilling rush of reclaiming her real belongings, holding Lightning's real knife in her hands and finding the weight just as comforting as it had been in the simulated space station...she was exhausted. And, well, they had plenty of blankets and horrid shipping shirts and clothes that weren't going to be worn. The others can have beds if they need them - Jane doesn't want one. The pile she makes in the office where she and Togami had found so many things is a private sanctuary, and despite the weird, lumpy accommodations she falls right asleep.
At first, her dreams - the first real dreams she's had in two months - are properly dreamlike and weird. Jake has rabbit ears and white eyes, bleeding profusely from a wound that cuts him straight through and makes her own scars ache as she chases him through a verdant wood and tumbles down an endless hole. Dirk pours tea for thirty-five empty settings, flickering and pixelating, sometimes missing his head, sometimes missing his shades to reveal white eyes. Roxy flits in and out of the corners of her vision, the pink of her own eyes brilliant and startling as a striped cat's tail brushes Jane's cheeks and she apologizes again and again, she didn't know, she had to go, John would fix everything Janey, they had to leave-
And then the dream shifts. Jane takes a step, and she's on the transporter of the space station, in the cafeteria. A chill overcomes her bones and blood until she realizes that no, she's not back there - they hadn't left Seth's horrid paintings up, after all. Chitanda's, Toby's, and the Griffin's mutilated portraits have been joined by the rest, for all the paintings, even the ones of the people she knows are alive, have been marked in some way. Xander's is slashed with red. The Doctor's is smeared with gold. Her own sports a tiara of cuts and blood left to drip down her face...she heaves a sob and falls to her knees.]
What is this...what is this...
[It has to be a dream. So why...why can't she wake up?]
Where: Dream bubbles
When: Uh idk time is fuckin weird in space, but at the very least after the events of both rounds mentioned above.
Open/Closed: Closed
Rated: M for dead bodies and gore and all that shit
What: Murdergame crossover between two living canonmates
[Six hours to the Vegas Quadrant. Six hours to kill in a tiny spaceship with the people who have come to mean the entire world to Jane over the course of seven weeks - people she loves like family despite their faults, who love her in turn in their own ways, who are knit together through their pain and tears and stubborn wills to live, and one gleaming, distant goal that zips through the uncharted cosmos. And she is tired.
Granted, you could call what had been done to her an extended nap in and of itself, but being able to cry real tears and shout with real strength, and the thrilling rush of reclaiming her real belongings, holding Lightning's real knife in her hands and finding the weight just as comforting as it had been in the simulated space station...she was exhausted. And, well, they had plenty of blankets and horrid shipping shirts and clothes that weren't going to be worn. The others can have beds if they need them - Jane doesn't want one. The pile she makes in the office where she and Togami had found so many things is a private sanctuary, and despite the weird, lumpy accommodations she falls right asleep.
At first, her dreams - the first real dreams she's had in two months - are properly dreamlike and weird. Jake has rabbit ears and white eyes, bleeding profusely from a wound that cuts him straight through and makes her own scars ache as she chases him through a verdant wood and tumbles down an endless hole. Dirk pours tea for thirty-five empty settings, flickering and pixelating, sometimes missing his head, sometimes missing his shades to reveal white eyes. Roxy flits in and out of the corners of her vision, the pink of her own eyes brilliant and startling as a striped cat's tail brushes Jane's cheeks and she apologizes again and again, she didn't know, she had to go, John would fix everything Janey, they had to leave-
And then the dream shifts. Jane takes a step, and she's on the transporter of the space station, in the cafeteria. A chill overcomes her bones and blood until she realizes that no, she's not back there - they hadn't left Seth's horrid paintings up, after all. Chitanda's, Toby's, and the Griffin's mutilated portraits have been joined by the rest, for all the paintings, even the ones of the people she knows are alive, have been marked in some way. Xander's is slashed with red. The Doctor's is smeared with gold. Her own sports a tiara of cuts and blood left to drip down her face...she heaves a sob and falls to her knees.]
What is this...what is this...
[It has to be a dream. So why...why can't she wake up?]