What dreams may come [Open, bendytimed to before GTFO plot]

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

In her sealed, silent, sensory-deprived meditation room, Roxie is sleeping. It's a special sleep: for all dreams are connected, she knows, and by spinning her mind out along the web of thought, she might step into others...

[Roxie is dream-hopping, getting a look at the subconsciousnesses of the other people on the ship. So, how it works - if you're interested, go ahead and post with a dream your character is having, and Roxie will slip into it, subtle at first but more obvious as she tries to satisfy her curiosity. Just her being around will make the dreamer more lucid and more likely to remember the whole thing when they wake up.

Also, feel free to ask any OOC questions in a thread here, or poke me on AIM at 'anagramarye'.]

Comments

[so-pregnable.livejournal.com]

Get out, Roxie! Get out!

"Cassie, you brought friends! S'up, Tyra Banks! Hey Wendy-- how's the werewolf stalking going? Why, yes, this is a clothing optional party."

Quick, get out!

Except...except Kon's funtimes are shattered by the chattering. The stupid chattering that never leaves him alone. It follows him even here.

"...ARRGH. STUPID TEETH. GO AWAY!"

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

It's traditional for monsters to hide underneath beds. Roxie is, perhaps, not quite a monster, but in the mode of her dream-passage, she always comes up, and so the darkness that could connect anywhere is as good a place as any.

She keeps her mouth shut tight, listening, though her face twists into something approaching humor.

[speedforbrains.livejournal.com]

Bart is throwing peanuts at a poster that is talking about chocolate chip cookies which they have to rescue from the bad guys but when they get to the evil fortress Max tells them that Bart's peanut butter is in another sandwich and there's Carol and she's telling him that he's a superstar and then Bart's playing Baseball like he did that one time with Carol and watching the ball as it goes through the air in slow motion so that by the time it gets to the plate he can hit it into space where they're roller blading and there's Carol again and she's smiling about something but every time Bart asks what she's happy about she just laughs and tells him that their teacher's gonna be mad if he sets the paper on fire again and now he's running running running running running running running running running running running running running running running running and there's Wally and he's telling Bart he's disappointed again and blah blah blah Bar just wants to run and now he's a supervillain but secretly working for the good guys and now he's all cramped up because everything's small and he's being forced to stay totally still and Inertia is laughing at him and Bart gets so mad he starts running again up Inertia's stupid face and hits him but then he explodes and Max is reminding him that it's very important never to leave the lawnmower on all night so that no one learns that Bart Allen is secretly Impulse because superheroes don't leave their lawn mowers on. Then he and Preston are eating cheeseburgers with Robin and Superboy and Bart's trying desperately to keep them from noticing each other because SECRET ID and if Preston finds out everything will be bad ever and then Cissie shows up and shoots Bart with a chocolate arrow which is good because he suddenly remembers that cheeseburgers are made by the Question and isn't he a bad guy or something so he starts eating the chocolate and then Helen is yelling at him for not eating his plate and then he's running again.

A second has passed.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

R

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[halfa-hero.livejournal.com]

Danny's dream is oddly completely normal. Just him, a another guy sitting and eating burgers next to him, and a girl looking at the red-hatted boy with a slight expression of disgust while eating a salad.

And then it stops, as if someone hit the pause button.

"Out. Now." Danny says, appearing right behind Roxie.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

She's not Roxie, exactly, to look at her. Just a nameless, almost faceless extra.. but as Danny focuses on her, things come more into focus as dreams do, and hints meld around the edges—

—and are gone. But the presence isn't gone, just moved to anotheer. There are many simple-made background characters to inhabit, after all.

Dude's got issues...

[top-teen-38.livejournal.com]

Slobo was standing on a planet that seemed like hell itself. In front of him stood a towering figure with glowing red eyes and a black skullcap and tunic. Behind this figure were two girls, one appearing to be darker and sixteen, the other fifteen and blonde. Both are bound.

"Well, creature, I am impressed." The figure stated."I had thought you would be no more problem after the last time. Either way, you will not be able to help them. You are simply begging for a repeat of events." Slobo seemed frozen, enraged and terrified all at once. Behind him, a new figure appears, one that looks like an older version of himself.

"C'mawn, wuss! Ya wanna be a 'HERO', ya wanna save yer little girlfriends! So fraggin' act!" Lobo laughed heartily. "But ya ain't gonna, are ya? How my blood could produce such a wimpy bastich, I WILL NEVER KNOW!" And so the scene continues, all the while the girls pleading for him to act.

Re: Dude's got issues...

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

The parademon that watches—one of many—is smirking.

But something changes, as it raises its weapon and fires—at the man-thing with the red eyes.

[potentialmonkey.livejournal.com]

If one listened closely when entering this dream, they could hear Thus Spake Zarathustra play as a gigantic cheese-wheel appeared on the horizon, along with a naked mole rat drooling over it.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

That's... a lot of cheese.

Roxie's mildly dumbfounded by it. Impressive, even in a dream.

[mynameisax.livejournal.com]

...And she stepped into an alien world. Literally.

Blue grass and pink trees that looked like puff balls and other trees that looked like asparagus stalks, all under a red and gold sky.

Ax was running across the grass, completely relaxed.

He was home.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

But to 'step' isn't quite the right word--for the Kafit bird that launches itself from a patch of tall grass much prefers to fly, instead. It smoothly rides the light wind currents, half-circling around Ax's route as the rippling motions of its six wings propel it higher.

[bonnypiperlad]

There's a girl in this dream - pretty, with brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a Victorian dress. There's a man as well, with darker hair than the girl, wearing a rumpled jacket that is too big for him, checked pants and a bow-tie. And there's Jamie, in his kilt. They're standing in a room of some sort, with roundels on the walls and a hexagonal pedestal in the middle. The pedestal has panels on it, with various levers, buttons and displays visible. A column in the center of the pedestal moves up and down, and a viewscreen of some sort can be glimpsed on one of the walls.

Jamie is teasing the girl while the man adjusts some of the controls on the panels. It's one of those dreams that seem more memory than dream, with only small things shifting. The girl's outfit cycles between the Victorian dress to more modern clothing, although some of the skirts seem awfully short. Jamie's shirts keep changing - his kilt, however, does not. The man's outfit doesn't seem to change at all, except for a recorder that occasionally flickers in and out of sight in a side pocket of the jacket.

Things seem peaceful, and happy.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

It's a simple and soft thing to slurk in along the shadows at the edges of the room, more mind than body. The gentle, pleasant emotions that radiate make her hesitant to interrupt: there's a certain calm peace she's lacked for a long time, herself.

[lilyofthedrills.livejournal.com]

This is an old theme for Yuri. She is in the same bright field. Giant flowers fall as liminal paratroopers, or are caught by the wind and dance back into the atmosphere.

There are her friends, lined up in a widely spaced semicircle. Noone is moving from the tableux. And behind them, from the ground...

Great jaws emerge from the ground. They are atavistic jaws. The faces are undeveloped, vestigial to the devouring machines. They are large enough to devour each of her friends in single bites, and they do just that, left to right.

Yuri reaches to each in turn, but her feet are nailed to the floor. Her legs are stone. They don't respond. She is shaking, gut wrenched up. If you could vomit in dreams, she would be.

She reaches for Vega as he shouts "COOOOOOOOoooooooooooo..." His final L is lost behind the Velociraptor razor sharp steakknives that close him away.

A Yellow Knife's ducklike bill takes Kasumi. Her final words as she flies back are "Don't you dare take this from me! I'm finally having f-"

Sherry goes behind the curtains of a Sunflower's 'petals' with a resigned sigh.

One by one they're all devoured by the jaws of her monsters.

Except Roxie. She's strangely absent. The spot where she should be blinks her outline.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

But, no, Roxie's there—or she is now, even if she wasn't before. Yuri just needs to look a few feet back.

She's casually picking bone-white splinters from her teeth with a gleaming silver toothpick that's almost more like a stiletto.

Maybe she bit first.

[worm-dancer.livejournal.com]

Sheeana isn't exactly dreaming. Or if she is, she's very lucid and blase about it.

She's in a study. Oak panelling, an ellacan fogwood sculpture entitled Sisters mounted on a dais. A large table jammed with reports. Person sized windows that look out on a city hazy with an impending dust cloud. Shelves jammed with actual books, ancient hardcover volumes: The Tleilaxu Godbuk, The Zensunni Whip, Stilgar's Commentaries. Things of use to a leader.

Sheeana was talking to two women: One was a woman with fiery orange hair, regal features with an upturned nose. She was beautiful in a way that tended to intimidate and quite a bit taller than Sheeana. This was former Mother Superior Darwi Odrade.

The other was the complete opposite. Squat and wrinkled, she carried fat in front of her proudly. Her blue within blue eyes were wise though, owlish. Reverend Mother Bellonda, head of Archives.

"Too dangerous. Far too dangerous. You risk Muad'dib's entrapment." Bellonda's voice was a rumble from the gut.

"Even Muad'dib himself couldn't control all these creatures from all these different universes. The only ending will be if whatever is up in that control room activates the Thinking Machine's defenses. We can safely-" Darwi Odrade's reply was cut off.

"Nothing is safe! You yourself said that. The universe gives us no guarantees.

She watched these two from Other Memory argue back and forth for a minute, getting nowhere. Then: "Actually i'd like to talk about Arha. I need your a...Someone else is here." Sheeana is thinking of Abominations. She knows what the sisterhood does to them. She is thinking about her food, if there was anything added to it that she hadn't noticed. She is thinking of Alia Atreides.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Here, it is a hard dream, strict with its own rules. Roxie can twist them sometimes, certainly, but to be an unannounced visitor is bad enough. Instead, she moves as herself, or almost herself: quicker, quieter, more coordinated. It's all in the self-image, after all.

Outside the door, she slinks like a young spider, almost flat to the floor, angled just right to hear a little inside. But as Sheeana's voice speaks to notice her, she slides back and straightens, plausibly-deniable might-have-been extra joints vanishing away. Perhaps she is not to be entirely unannounced, after all...

[redeyes_andblue]

The dream starts fairly disconnected - flickers of imagery, the impression of a long time passing as they jump from scene to scene like quick cuts in a film. There's nothing there long enough to focus on - a glimpse of a battlefield, feet pounding against red rock to try and reach a target in desperation, dead silence in a plush castle hall until something huge strikes the side and shatters mortar and dust inwards...

And then, for a long period, just darkness, and whispers all around, and the sound of a bell.

And then, a song in the darkness - soft, at first, just the notes of an ocarina before a simple lyre joins it.

And then, a soft voice in an unfamiliar tongue, whispering words to call him back, and then there's a girl - young and beautiful and afraid, and glowing with such a bright golden glow that her features are utterly obscured. Around her right hand, the golden glow is tinged blue.

And behind her, a young man, similarly obscured. There is a sword in his left hand, and it, too, glows green.

And a dark figure looming behind them, golden glow corrupted and wrong, traced with tendrils of darkness deeper even than the darkness that surrounds them. He holds up his right hand, and red and violet swirl around it, an angry maelstrom of power.

They are at a deadlock.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

The song...

The song draws Roxie in, and she moves like a snake, dark sinuous presence studded by glimmering light. It isn't a dichotomy, something disjointed-it's a natural union, like the sun and the moon, though the deep darkness is predominant.

As she circles the three figures, her nonexistent scales shift, and metaphorical spiracles play soft notes in a multipart melody (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pr8AnrhbIk0) to echo that of the ocarina.

[in-venting.livejournal.com]

Sherry is standing on a beach. It's strange, because she's never been to the beach before, only seen it on TV. She's never even been to the lake in the Arklay mountains before (too full of bacteria, your father's allergic, we don't have time). The sand squishes between her toes, an alien, but interesting, feeling.

She wears a knee-length red dress with a full skirt. There are four people out on the water ahead of her. Two of them, Roxie already knows, but the other two she does not. They are dressed in office wear and lab coats. The man is roughly the same height as Leon, the woman roughly the same height as Claire, but both the unnamed man and woman are blond, with cold, blue eyes. The man is unkempt, several days of stubble on his chin, his tie askew and his shirt dirty, his labcoat has a mustard stain on one lapel, though it's very old. The woman, comparatively, is immaculate.

There is a tidal wave coming, threatening both sets of parents, and while Sherry is dressed nicely, she cannot move.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Roxie stands a little behind Sherry. She has a t-shirt, and overalls, and her jacket, and little but solid boots—she's never dressed very well.

For a few long moments, she watches Sherry watch the four adults.

[riseupnchargem.livejournal.com]

It's the first time he's dreamed in a long time.

He's working with his teammates in the hangar. Bright late-morning sunshine spills through the open bay doors, and the noise of a blaring radio is overlaid with the sounds of idle chatter - shouted, to carry across the vast open space, but casual nonetheless - and tools clanging against metal. Jamie takes all this in somewhat distantly; his attention is focussed more on an open panel near his Zoid's shoulder. He contemplates its mess of wires and components for a few beats, reaching in with a pair of needle-nosed pliers -

- and there's a sudden lurch, a jump, like a sloppily-edited video, an unidentified span of time abruptly cut out. Jamie can't tell how much time is missing, just that it's gone, there's a different song on the radio than there was just a second ago and the quality of the light is different and what happened to the pliers he'd been holding?

He blinks and looks around for them, his concern over their disappearance disproportionate to anything else occurring in the dream right now. They're lying at the opposite end of the gantry on which he's standing. He knows, with that weird sense of intuition that people sometimes have when they dream, that someone took them during the missing span of time and put them there. Someone - he doesn't know who. The not knowing angers him as much as the fact that it was done in the first place.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Roxie has had her own blackouts sometimes. Even as tough as she is, being rendered momentarily unconscious is rather common when she gets battered through a wall or shaken like a ragdoll by a thing with eyeteeth and teetheyes. But it's rarely been more than a second or two, just long enough to turn life into a strobe-flicker as her head recovers. For it to be as long as this, without warning, disturbs her. It makes her think of drugging or other, more insidious things.

She leans from one of the upper catwalks, looking down at Jamie. Shadows cloak her lightly, but don't completely hide her away.

[friend-of-samus.livejournal.com]

For Pikachu, the dream was both memory and nightmare. It was the same one he'd had every single night since he arrived on the meatship.

He's with his new friends, and with Samus, confronting a large glowing figure (http://www.tvlesson.com/lessonimages/12632.jpg) floating in the sky. The land surrounding them is both dark and colored in a dazzling array. It all seems ... surreal, but something tells the electric mouse that things are very wrong. He stares up at the figure, his legs shaking and his courage faltering. He refuses to back dowb, however, refuses to let his friends face this challenge alone. Gathering his remaining nerves, he prepares to launch an offensive alongside Samus and the others.

He never gets the chance.

Large and shining wings unfurl, the figure curls in on itself for just a moment, and then a large shockwave extends suddenly, too suddenly for Pikachu to do anything but get caught in it like all the others. It hurts, horribly, but only for the briefest of moments, as the Pokemon is turned into a Trophy. Normally Pikachu wakes up now, shocked out of sleep by the sudden twinge of remembered pain. Not tonight. Since talking to Buffy, since learning about death, Pikachu's memory has progressed into a staggering terror for him. He's no comatose figurine, no sleeping Trophy at all, but awake! Awake and trapped in a form that can do nothing, say nothing. He tries to scream from his new prison. No sound emerges.

Staring, Pikachu watches as each Trophy of his friends is sucked into Subspace, cast adrift along with pieces of their world, left to float forever asleep. Not Pikachu. He is very awake, and very alone, unable to be woken up from his prison, and unable to fade into unconsciousness like the other Smashers.

Outside of the dream, the sleeping form of Pikachu twitched and curled even tighter on himself, his cheeks sparking.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

In the surrealist landscape, Roxie moves like a whsiper. And that's almost what she is--for in substance she's little more than an empty outline.

But the cast-aside trophy draws her, and as she comes to it her form darkens, sprouting a multitude of shining stars. It's like a girl-shaped statue hewn out of the night sky, gently faceless.

A hand, softly warm with the heat of a hundred Main Sequence stars, reaches to touch the Trophy that Pikachu's become, to at the very least set it up properly on its base rather than leave it lying discarded on its side.

[birthmural]

“Daimon.” It was his mother’s voice.

Daimon Hellstrom opened his eyes and saw his mother staring back at him, smiling.

“I’m so proud of you, Daimon.”

“Mother…” He fell to his knees. “You are wrong, Mother. I have done so much, so many sins, I can’t-”

Victoria Hellstrom knelt beside her son and placed an arm on his shoulder. “No, Daimon. I love you. I am so proud of you.” Within moments the skin on her face withered and rotted before it peeled away from her skull. “I am so proud of you,” She repeated, her voice closer to a shriek. She held Daimon in place while someone behind him bound him with chains. “You have much of your father in you.” Her hands as devoid of flesh as her skull, she thrust her fingers into Daimon’s chest, breaking through the skin, muscle, and bone before reaching his heart.

Daimon screamed. Through his tears, through the agony, he cried aloud. “God help me!” But the pain did not stop.

His mother wrenched his heart free from his body. “There, don’t you feel better now?”

“My God, please…”

“Oh Daimon,” The voice came from behind him now, a woman, but not his mother. Two hands stroked the cheeks of his face. “You know he can’t hear you.”

“Patsy…”

She moved in front of him. He saw that it was not truly Patsy but the demon Satan had turned her into months before, branding her untainted soul with his darkness.

“Don’t you like me? Oh but what if I look like this?” Her body returned to normal, save the unearthly smile on her face. “You like me innocent, don’t you Daimon?” Patsy pushed Daimon back onto the floor and straddled him. “You can take my innocence all over again.” Her eyes glowed red and her grin widened. “And I don’t mean my virginity.”

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Roxie wears a torn and tattered red cloak, and under it black in layers. The hood pulled up covers her ears, leaving only pinpricks of light to watch over Daimon as she shuffles forward, an unknown figure at the periphery of the scene. If there's any innocence here, it's already gone--or, at least, it would seem to be, filtered as it is by Daimon's own mindset...

[kaya-waterwave.livejournal.com]

Katara had done her best to keep her thoughts at bay as soon as she'd left the cells, but there was still lingering ideas in her head, and she found that all of her time imprisoned had made for rather unsettling dreams. In a way, she understood that. She'd had no idea when she was going to get out, and every day she was stuck there was another day she didn't get to look for Aang. Knowing that she had an appointment with Jaime soon had done nothing to quiet the scared feeling that surfaced since knowing Stacy had Aang somewhere.

When she slept (she never thought she'd ever be so glad to have to deal with the claustrophobic bed again), her dream was a little different. She could see she was on board Stacy, approaching the city. Now, however, it was no longer the city as she knew it.

While it was clear Katara had not cared for Daimon and his religious rantings, there was one thing that stuck out: the concept of hell, a place of ruin and desperation for the wicked. Katara stared into the Stacy version now: the statuary was totalled, the Vatican was reduced to rubble, and all manners of buildings there burned: there was nowhere one could go without seeing fire. Shrapnel was all over the floor, and she could see, in all of these buildings, memebers of the crew screaming, yelling, sevberal of them lay dead before her. She knew certain familiar faces: Carol, Jaime, Luna. Katara

Katara could not believe her eyes, and fell to her knees, weeping. This was all vivid, clear: her heart ached to see the acranage of it all, the deaths of her friends. What monsters lived on Stacy that could be capable of such evil?

"I think you know," she heard a voice say, and turned to see who engaged her: it was her, the girl of her nightmares, the one opponent who she had to overcome to save Zuko once. The person who had hurt Aang to the point of almost killing him: the worst person she had ever faced.

Azula.

"Well," she said, looking over the destruction, "I think this place is much improved, don't you? Oh, I know what you're thinking: I'm cold, cruel, horrible person, the whole speech. And you are right, I am all of those things. And you know what? You're really scared one day that someone like me is going to be on the ship. Well, let's face it...your Aang can't be held here by nice people. I think you know that you're going to have some rather tough decisions to make soon, don't you? Unless you want this place to be like this. It's quite possible, you know."

The scene seemed to be bright with red, and Katara felt both her anger at Azula and then at her situation. When Katara got up, her eyes were bold, determined, even a little scary.

"I don't care. I will find him!"

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Roxie is dressed much as she normally is, in this setting. Plantsuit, jacket... But twisted by the fire, burnt and crispy and shrapnel-torn in parts. The phantom pain tugs at her, but it doesn't stop her from stepping out from behind a building and taking the impulsive action of cucking a small rock at Azula's head with the speed of a fastball.

[shes-intense.livejournal.com]

Brenda's dreams are rarely lucid, rarely well connected. She floats from one reality to another, slipping between the gaps of what she saw that day, heard last week, felt last month and tasted years ago, train of thought parting ways with it's main line over and over until she's miles from where she started.

Only her nightmares are linear and locked in, although even those are an amalgamation of yesterday's fears and tomorrow's uncertainties.

Tonight she's in the pod caverns, fully clothed but newly coated in pod slime. She hoists a glass lantern, flame flickering inside, high above her head and casts around trying to find her way in the dim slick green and black depths of the cavern. There's no light but what comes from the pods, but there is noise - the slow wet clap of slimy footsteps echoing so that she can't tell where they are coming from...

Her shoulders tense and she casts around with the lantern, stumbling, shaking, turning in a circle. Her forehead is bleeding, somehow. It often is in all her dreams. So many of her nightmares just include that wound from her fight with the reach as a PART of her.

She doesn't feel the bravery that brought it on right now though, her eyes wide and round as she squints into the smothering black of the caverns, her lantern's flame guttering threateningly.

"H-hello?"

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Footsteps, footsteps... more than one set of feet, by the sound of it, though the overlapping echoes hide away the hints that might let one figure out how many.

And there's a cloaked figure in sight now, too, covered over by ragged red robes, slipping between the pods in the dim flickers of Brenda's lamp.

A high, chiming laugh comes from somewhere far behind her.

[dreamstolights.livejournal.com]

It was a place of shadows. Utter darkness. A deep pain and longing could be felt in the dream, but no details would form except for shadowy things moving, seemingly of nothingness.

Except for one.

But that's because this thing didn't belong in the dreamer's dream. No, this was a foreign entity, who had walked into the dream without knowing who it was. It was too vague to tell the person, so not knowing if it was crew or not, she chose to stay, to see if perhaps she could help relieve that longing pain that was around in the dream.

And there Dream Weaver was, her figure darkened, but not quite as dark as everything else in the world of this dream.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Roxie, as she slips through the darkness, is almost... vivid. Two pinpricks of light inside the hood of her cloak, but everything else inside all shadow—but the cloak itself is a blood red, like a fresh wound. It's the color of life and death that somehow contrasts sharply with the darkness.

She slips in a soft semicircle, catching sight of Selene.

[crazychanger.livejournal.com]

Blitzwing rarely sleeps nowadays, but this time it's unavoidable. He has to recharge sometime, anyway.
What do robots dream about?

His dream is, at first, red glowing symbols and miscellaneous data. The 'floor' of the dream is tinted red; purple seeps in here and there. A strange, prominent symbol is stamped randomly around the dreamscape.
And then it fades-proceeds?-into a battle. The symbols and data sharply convene into one screen, rearranging themselves as processes, analysing battle damage and opponents and everything else.

The dream jolts suddenly, then more and more as he is hit. The screen flashes with warning symbols as he takes more and more damage.

Everything suddenly shatters in one explosive moment, and then silence. The screen still beeps and flashes, but nothing seems to be happening just yet.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Roxie moves as a half-incarnate presence, a shadow wrapped in a red cloak. The dreamscape, though, it is certainly unusual, and she drifts with a caution that is usually unlike her as she moves to examine the screen.

[staturity]

Cassie was in her bed at her home but she wasn't alone. There was Jonas and Iron Lad and...

Roxie might not want to watch this dream.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

What are they...?

Oh.

Oh my, Roxie thinks as she watches from behind the crack of the barely-opened closet door. Are they really...?

You are corrupting the youth, Cassie. Even if Roxie can't really make out much of the particulars because of the half-covering sheets and obstructions here and there.

[cityship]

In the dreamspaces of the ship, there are stormclouds. Odd that. Perhaps they're worth looking into, Roxie? A place where everything twists and turns and the air roils with thunder. What is the storm hiding?

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Roxie moves on twisting, unsupported stone bridges and staircases. As long as she doesn't think too much about how they can be there, they're there. Some might have gone with thoughts of wings, but it's the... stylistic touch that makes her do it.

And she carries an imaginary umbrella to keep any imaginary rain off of her imaginary self.

[raptorwithagun.livejournal.com]

Red Snout sleeps and he dreams. He dreams of running, he dreams of rolling grasslands and sparse forest. A raptor, just one among others hurtling across the landscape at speeds no human being can match, and the massive herbivore they dog, leaping and harassing the creature, which is unable to fend them off. They are triumphant, and the prey, the food, the sustenance is dead or dying, the raptors gathering to hiss and screech in victory, words of congratulation and victory, teasing, rough housing as they wait for their leader to divide up the kill.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

One of the others is young, almost a child, but a prodigy despite that—fast, sharp-clawed, tough...

She waits a bit off to the side, though, disturbingly patient as the others roughhouse.

[ladyofthesands.livejournal.com]

This place was a desert, miles and miles of desert sand with nothing but rock and sand. There were no people, only the twist of sand devils that danced, washing away a trail of footprints. The faint sound of music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxjpYHhfRyI) lingered washing over the desert landscape.

High above on a stone tower, flattened by scouring sands, Arha's laughter rang out as she put complex patterns together with incredible leaps, the bright orange and red flash of the gauzy dress she wore anything but Bene Gesserit. Her bare feet hit the stone and she twisted as the landscape changed. The sand melted away into blue trees with fragrant pale white flowers, and blood red plains of grass. Here and there the rotting corpses of Shai-Hulud had been left to disintegrate.

She was not dancing now as she looked up into a cloudy, storm filled sky. There were no people, here, either. Not even the phantom not-real Jed-Eye she sometimes found comfort in.

Arha was Bene Gesserit. A Reverend Mother. But she chose to filter her genetic memory, and though the women were there, they usually did not find their way into her dreams. It was her alone, supported by the blend of wisdom.

But she was not alone now.

She pulled at the dream, searching out what was not hers as the wind whipped at the bloody grass and tore at the soft petals.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Roxie moves across the grass with the swift smoothness of a phantom, the all-covering red cloak she wears making her nearly blend in. She's not running to or from anything—just running and enjoying the wind, for the moment.

[hero-sting.livejournal.com]

Chris Ramirez was dreaming, dreaming of something that had been happening recently back in his home. A scene was unfolding before his eyes: Kit, Len and himself in their guises of Dragon Knight, Wing Knight and Sting tried to hold off Thrust (a rhino-like Kamen Rider) and then result was he was 'vented'. Strike the cobra-like Rider stood triumphant as Thrust disappeared. Chris felt a touch of disappointment as Dragon Knight forced him off, and left.

[craaazyisland]

It was hard to tell whose dream it was, since there was nobody in sight-- just endless dark halls, lined in stone and steel bars. The air stank of wet rot and decaying flesh, mixed with the unmistakable smell of blood. Decomposing human bodies lay strewn about like rag dolls that somebody had tossed around, a trail leading deeper into the darkness, where the sound of heavy, raspy breathing was audible.

[toariversodeep.livejournal.com]

Roxie slips down the halls, soft on the soles of old, cheap, worn sneakers. The tang of decomposition and blood in the air don't discomfort her; in fact, they're almost comfortable.

There. She starts down the trail leading further in, careful not to step on anything loudly enough to give sharp warning of her presence.

[el-escarabajo.livejournal.com]

More often than not, he has simple, happy dreams. Sometimes he has strange alien ones, of a far off world, living in a massive hive in alien trees, where he wakes up tasting the tang of electricity on his tongue. It's easy to forget when talking to Jaime Reyes that he shares his life with another being, one that's become more familiar, but is still incredibly alien to him.

When he has nightmares, his fears often show up in the dreams in the form of failure. Failing his friends and family, failing the innocent. Sometimes he dreams that he loses control and hurts the people he loves, that he turns into a monster, but as he's become more familiar with the scarab, he's had those dreams less and less.

Still, control is a huge theme.

But this dream recurs every so often, when, for once, his fears turn towards what could happen to himself. When the worries about dying happen, usually rooted in fear of what will happen to his family after, fueled by his memories of returning after his missing year and finding out the anguish he put his family through.

What's playing out as he sleeps right now is simply an event that happened to him, but with a different ending. And this time there are witnesses. The entire GTFO Team is there watching him, all the people he has on his little list. They're behind glass, trying to get to him, pounding on it, but it's soundproof and can't be broken. They can only watch.

He kneels on the floor in a blue and black jumpsuit, hands bound behind his back.

In front of him is a being that looks much like Jaime does when he suits up, as if the scarab was meant to imitate the design of the being's species. Or at least, he looks that way for a moment. Then he shifts to look like a brunette man wearing a black shirt, someone Jaime's only seen on a computer screen. It doesn't matter who he is, really. It's what he's doing that matters--he's readying some sort of blaster.

[el-escarabajo.livejournal.com]

Over behind the glass, people are trying to tell Jaime something. Batman, and Chief, Paco, all of them. Something important, something that if he can understand what they're saying, could let him save himself, let him save everyone.

The shooter, whoever he is, says, "You knew it would come to this, Reyes. You knew this is how it would end. Did you really think you could escape it? That you're the third alone..."

Jaime just looks up at the man with an expression of grim-faced defiance.