faderift | [open] a little bit freaked out

WHO: Benedict and you
WHAT: bad dreams + demons + homeschooled mage problems
WHEN: During Nightmare Time
WHERE: The Gallows (mostly)
NOTES: hmu if you want a specific starter

I. Nightmares

Though normally a quiet and inoffensive sleeper, lately Benedict has been talking in his sleep. Anyone listening carefully would notice that it usually begins calmly, perhaps incredulously, and escalates from this to whining protest and the inevitable gasping awake in a cold sweat.

The first few times, he tried to go back to sleep afterward; now, he'll get out of bed and pace the room or leave it entirely, rubbing his hands up and down his upper arms and shivering, compulsively pushing his hair back out of his face.

As time wears on, it becomes less and less likely to see Benedict in his bed at all.

II. No Rest for the Wicked

If everyone weren't having such awful dreams, it might be less clear why Benedict seems to have gone on a sleep strike. He can be found in odd places at night, folded around a book in the library or staring into the middle distance while submerged up to the ears in the baths, usually with a cup of coffee nearby and terrible dark bags under his eyes in defiance of his obsessive skincare routine.
After months of improvement he has also become unusually terrible in his combat training, and the reason for this is clearly the exhaustion he's imposing on himself.

On more than one occasion, he's simply walked facefirst into a wall, a door, or even another person, then stood looking a bit lost, like he isn't sure how he got there.

III. On the Job

Those coming to the Diplomacy office looking for Byerly generally have to get through his secretary first, but lately there's a 50% chance said attaché will be asleep with his head on his desk and a half-drunk cup of coffee next to his face. Perhaps a word on a page becomes a scribble, a long inkstain leading from the last intentional stroke across the desk to where the quill now rests on the floor.
The chances of this being the case grow higher with each passing day.

IV. Wildcard

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I wasn't really listening." He isn't looking at her, but past her. Honestly, Abby knows the feeling. It's confronting to see somebody else trying to wake themselves up, she's realising this is probably what she's looked like to the people who have caught her trying to fall asleep standing up.

"And it was nonsense," she adds, "What I did hear, I mean."

But... "You sounded scared."

Even if Benedict has no idea what he himself was saying, it's reassuring to hear that nobody else does either. He certainly remembers the dream well enough.

"Sorry," he murmurs, realizing that if Abby was here in the library doing work, he almost certainly wasn't contributing to her productivity. He's about to excuse himself when he remembers something she said a moment ago:
"you said 'you too'."

She ignores his apology, because nightmares aren't anybody's fault, and she knows that well enough– but pauses in the middle of turning away, to return to where she was sitting.

"Yeah. I've... been having a similar problem." Falling asleep during the day, because she hasn't been sleeping well at night; having short, intensely bad nightmares that jolt her awake in cold sweat.

"Really?"

He watches her with curiosity-- Abby's a Rifter, but not a mage, as far as he knows. The only thing they have in common is their anchor shard, but his dreams haven't concerned themselves with that, as far as he can recall.

"About what?"

Only after he's asked does he realize the question is invasive, and his glance toward her is apologetic if still curious.

She levels him with a flat stare, before she concedes. She's fine with saying this much, and there's no need to provide details. Maybe it will make him feel better? Her arms fold across herself.

"About this place getting overrun with infected." Her voice is low, almost casual. "And being the only one here who knows how to fight them. But I can't get to anybody in time to help."

Bodies, everywhere. She's used to bodies, in her dreams and out of them, but these are of her friends, rendered in disturbing, twisted detail.

"You?" Seems only fair.

"Infected?"

He dodges the question, perhaps only because this use of the word is unfamiliar to him. "Infected with what?"

She raises an eyebrow, but supplies the answer anyway. "A parasite called Cordyceps. A kind of fungus, that attacks the brain."

A shrug, "It's from where I was before I was here. It's not in Thedas." I.e it's not something he has to worry about.

He's still worried about it, judging by his expression.

"It attacks the brain?" It is safe to say Benedict is Spooked. "What happens?"

Abby puffs out her cheeks, and exhales.

"Uh..." Is this a good idea, telling him this shit? Whatever. "Removes all control, but makes you hyper-aggressive. Within a couple weeks it takes over your eyesight. And you get this- fungal growth, all over your skin."

She gestures with one hand, around her neck and face. "It mutates the longer the host stays alive. Gets worse."

Bene sits there quietly, considering this information. After several long moments, he exhales an emphatic "fuck."

Awkwardly, "... Yeah."

It seems imperative that she emphasise, "It isn't here, though." Muttered, "Kinda nice to get a break from it, actually."

That is a relief, even if it's still somewhere. Waiting, watching, on the other side of a rift perhaps.

"...no shit," he sighs, and actually smirks a bit, recognizing what a relief that would, in fact, be. "Just got the Blight here, but I suppose that's pretty easy to avoid in comparison."

The third person now to compare it to the Blight; Abby nods, vaguely, suppressing the need to ask more questions. Everybody else who has brought it up definitely did not want to talk about it. Typically, Benedict does, but only because he's trying to distract her.

"If you don't want to talk about what you were dreaming, you don't have to." Figured she'd let him know. He doesn't owe her an explanation. Just, "It might help though." That's all.

Her statement blindsides him, albeit gently, and Benedict drops his gaze.

"It's just," he says with a wince, "it's different for mages."
Different when they dream, different when their dreams are interpreted: in plenty of cases this is because they're completely literal, and certain implications can have life-ruining results. Discussing it in mixed company is not a risk taken lightly.

"Yeah," Abby says, watching him, "I know."

She doesn't know. But she knows. And she gets all the other shit too, the awkwardness of sleeping badly, having other people notice that. It's no fun to talk about and if you don't, it eats away at you. Shit all around, really.

A soft sigh. "I hope it stops. Whatever it is." Not just for him, for all of them.

He hadn't expected such a gentle response, and Benedict pauses for a moment to blink at Abby, as though only now seeing her in a new way.

"Thank you," he says, with surprised sincerity. "...I hope so too."

Surprise: she's multi-faceted.

"Yeah."

And, suddenly awkward now that she doesn't really have anything left to say to him other than, "See you," as she takes her leave, attention returning to her book and finding her page.

[open] a little bit freaked out

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