open | brain heat meme

[cozen]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: Nightmares, slumber parties, etc.
WHEN: Throughout Justinian
WHERE: Kirkwall and surrounding areas
NOTES: Ignore the first prompt if you're bothered by bugs. Also, while this is primarily to help people RP about their nightmares, feel free to use it for any kind of RP you want. (I.e., you have permission to set up a truth or dare game at the slumber party.) Talk about dreams OOC over here

This month, our heroes' sleep is getting more and more troubled. Here are some excuses to write about it.

I. SLUMBER PARTY: Mid-month, an infestation of hardy, prolific Antivan fleas requires everyone to avoid spending prolonged periods of time in their bedrooms while local alchemist Lloyd Meyers eradicates the bugs with his proprietary smoke bombs (and an equally proprietary flea bath for the Gallows' many pets). While the rooms air out for two or three nights post-treatment, bed rolls are available on the floor of the unstaffed dining hall. Sleeping outside in the courtyards is also an option, but a sudden squall of a thunderstorm will drive people inside on the second night.

Footnote: Characters who live in the city are welcome to join this slumber party anyway. Maybe they miss the ferry ashore, maybe they're afraid of tracking fleas into their own homes, maybe they already did track fleas into their homes and Lloyd is treating them too, etc.

II. ROOM SHARE: Does the thought of sleeping in the dining hall with all of your coworkers make you break out in hives? Have you missed the ferry on any other evening of the month? Lowtown has inns, and Riftwatch has a docks-side warehouse with a few side rooms outfitted as bedrooms. But there are only so many rooms available, so you might wind up sharing a room (or a bed) with a friend or whoever is nearby and desperate.

III. CAT NAP: A lack of sleep—whether it be from the nightmares, the workload, routine insomnia, or staying up too late playing Truth or Dare during the Antivan Flea Incident—might make a cat nap on a desk, in a reading nook, or over breakfast particularly appealing. And bad dreams don't need more than a few minutes to get rolling.

IV. CAMP OUT: Investigating reports of enemy scouts in the mountains, traveling along the roads to a neighboring city-state on a diplomatic errand, looking into reports of weird magic on the Wounded Coast, or heading north to provide some assistance to the war effort? All might require pitching a tent and bunking down for the night with your colleague, whether you like them or loathe them.

V. NORMAL NIGHT: If you’re already sharing a room or bed with someone, you don't need this post. But you can still use it for your nightmare threads.

VI. BETTER IDEA: Do whatever you want. Live your dreams.

Comments

[hassaran]

She does recognize the familiar pattern of his gait, the soft scuff of bare feet on stone, and so rather than jolting upright as she might've under other scrutiny she only slowly straightens, leaning back into the weight of his hand. She reaches back to set her own over it, the shake of her head too narrow to shake him loose.

"Sit," she suggests, "Water should boil soon." She gestures vaguely behind her toward the tea kettle on the stove, the loose flap of her wrist more evidence of sleepiness, even before she tips her head onto his shoulder. "I'm too awake to sleep, but not awake enough to work." Nightmares within nightmares.

[staysail]

"Awake enough to want to be more awake."

He plants a kiss on top of her head, not so dramatic a move that she'll be forced to move her head from his shoulder--and he's not sitting just yet, content to remain where he is with her leaned against him like this.

"I was dreaming of a fish, I think. A large fish. It was a fine dream, hadn't turned bad yet."

[hassaran]

She nods a little, though in truth she'd be happier to be more asleep instead. But this is nearly as good, and she lets her head rest where it is and her eyes drift shut, though she keeps her hand on Darras's. The dream gets a smile.

"Were you going to catch this fish? Or ride it? Or befriend it?"

[staysail]

"Last two. I wasn't at all hungry, I'd eaten a huge dinner just before. Six courses, plus a soup that I'm counting separately because it was very, very good. I'm glad we're talking about this, I'd hate to forget a dream of such significance."

He kisses her again.

"Should I keep going with this, or d'you want to tell me about yours?"

[hassaran]

"Six courses and a soup," Yseult marvels, drawing his hand down from her neck until his arm is draped across her chest. "Quite a dream. I'm sorry I interrupted it before you could make a fish friend." She rubs his forearm with her thumb where it's clasped, just above the wrist, and lets out a breath heavy enough to suggest maybe she will tell him about hers, in a moment.

"The usual thing," she says with a little lift of her shoulders that bumps against his chest. "People dying in the next room, not being able to move to prevent it. Knowing it's my fault for putting them there in the first place."

[staysail]

He makes a quiet sound of acknowledgement, his arm tightening just a little so that she's held that much closer to him. There's nothing anyone can do to stop a dream from happening. There's nothing Yseult has done--or not done, as so many of her nightmares are full of inaction--to deserve such dreams.

"What do you think it means?" Well. He makes a face at himself, even if she's not looking to see it. "Not the dream itself. That makes a kind of sense. But--having the dream, over and over, nearly the same every time."

[hassaran]

That a lot of people have died because of her, or may yet. That she's out of her depth and always has been. He's wrong on one count--she's done plenty to earn her nightmares. It's easier to tell him about the mistakes, the tragedies, those she's lost, those she's tried to save and couldn't. She lets them populate her dreams, for him, instead of those she betrayed, ruined, left for dead because the mission demanded it. She thinks she knows what he'd say, and it's not an argument she can stomach.

"That something is wrong in the Fade. Gates, or the enemy, somehow. I've always had dreams, just never so often."

[staysail]

"Not ones you remember. More often than you think, probably." A quiet, light correction. "I sleep next to you, remember? I would know. When I don't sleep through 'em myself," copping to that before she can raise the point for him. Darras kisses her again.

"Do you like hearing about people's dreams? I don't think I know that about you. You've put up with me telling you about mine for, what, years upon years now. But do you like it?"

[hassaran]

Yseult cocks her head up to look at him at that correction, a frown digging a little trench between her brows. Not at him, but at the idea. It's true he'd know. She squeezes his arm, hand sliding down from elbow to wrist, and nods before he presses lips to her hair again.

"I like hearing about yours. Other people's are rarely as interesting or enlightening as they think. But yours are too strange not to be interesting, though I suspect you make most of them up. What do you think your fish meant? "

[staysail]

He gives a little laugh at her honesty--that's Yseult, blunt and matter-of-fact.

"Well, as long as you find mine interesting, I s'ppose I can't complain at all. As to what my fish meant, I think I need to go track down some rum to get very philosophical and thoughtful, but... Well, I wanted to befriend it, so maybe I'm lonely. Except you're here, so that can't be it. I wanted to ride it, so maybe I'm longing for freedom. Except I'm mostly content, so that can't be it..."

[hassaran]

Maybe it means you need to make new friends.

[ It's not a serious suggestion, but not quite a joke, either. She fits her thumb into the joint of his wrist, seeing how the pad of it fits in the curve of bone. ]

Or you need to give horses another chance.

[staysail]

[His nose wrinkles instantly at that second suggestion.]

That's what they want. Another chance. And that's when they'll strike. Never going to happen with me, sorry.

[hassaran]

[ Yseult snaps her fingers, though the motion is so casual her finger barely strikes hard enough to make much sound. ]

You've seen right through the ruse. New friends, then. Any ideas?

[staysail]

[Darras laughs, first. But, more seriously--]

Ah, I don't know. I'm happy with what I have.

[hassaran]

Are you? [ The question is mild, but not rhetorical. She slides her fingers between his where they drape over her shoulder. ] Before we came here you always seemed to know everyone. Have I held you back?

[staysail]

No.

[He kisses her again, firm.]

It's more-- I don't know. I like the people here well enough. But it reminds me of my first ship. I liked them. They weren't my people. I like the work. I understand the work, and the cause--I do, by now. But I still feel I've got one foot on another ship.

[hassaran]

Sounds precarious. And damp.

[ The kettle on the stove finally begins to make some promising noises, and Yseult gives his wrist a squeeze and slides out of his grasp to get to her feet and move toward it. ]

At some point you have to pick one, or you'll always feel that way. I'm not asking you to give up the Fancy, just-- I've never known you so solitary. And you'd get on far better with people here than I do.

[staysail]

The farm, [he reminds her, as he rearranges himself--no Yseult to lean on means he's got to sit down, properly--] We're both of us solitary there. And I like it, when we're there.

[It's just the two of them in the kitchen. The sounds of Yseult making tea are small, domestic, and the kitchen is far enough removed from where everyone is sleeping that they're not likely to be discovered. That makes it safe to discuss this.]

D'you see us heading into the village every night, when we're living there?

[hassaran]

No. Of course not.

[ She takes her time at the stove, the rote motions of pouring and steeping and straining. A splash of milk, a wedge deftly cut from a lemon out of the cupboard. She reaches over Darras's shoulder to set his tea cup in front of him, taking the next seat to his left. ]

But when we're there for good, it might be nice to be a normal part of the village. Not the strange hermits up the hill. Don't you think?

[staysail]

What's wrong with hermits?

[He pulls his tea closer the moment it's set before him and wraps both hands around the cup. The warmth isn't needed--it's warm enough in the kitchen, and the weather is still fair outside, even off the sea--but it's habit.]

No, I s'ppose I've imagined us taking a part in things. Festivals and holidays, things like that. I'm not there to live in a village, I'm there to live with you. I do like it when we're there--comfortable, easy--and I do like knowing people.

I think the difference is that this-- [He nods, back over his shoulder.] It's work.

[hassaran]

[ She strokes a hand across the back of his neck and shoulder as she retakes her seat, palm still warm from the cups. ]

Your crew was work. [ The arch of a brow substitutes for the rising note that might've turned that into a question. ] I didn't think you separated them that way.

[ She's beating around the bushes, again. Yseult sets down her mug and reaches over the curl a hand around his, or at least around his wrist, to not disturb his grip. ] Could you try, if I asked you to? It could help me. Not to spy on them, just--better understanding. Connections I can't build myself. I can't lead any other way, but people might like me better if they knew you. Would you hate that?

[staysail]

[How to explain to a professional my-work-is-my-life sort of person that there's work and there's work? Actually, it ought to be easy, since for Darras, the Fancy is a life in a way that only Yseult has ever competed for--

But then she asks something of him directly and it's a bit like taking a step in the middle of a swell, when the deck rises up before your foot can even hit it and changes the way you're walking entirely.]

You'd be all right, with that? I wouldn't want to give too much of you away.

[hassaran]

I wouldn't want that either, [ Yseult confirms, with something like a grimace ] and knowing you tells them all sorts of things about me I'd as soon not share. [ One reason for her aversion to talking about (or for the first couple years in the Gallows even acknowledging) their relationship in public. ]

But it could be worthwhile, for us both. Just don't talk about me so much. [ She presses a blunt thumbnail briefly into his wrist to punctuate. ] It's one thing if they get hints, but you don't need to tell them things. And no one wants to hear about how great their employer is.

What do you think?

[staysail]

I think--

[He squirms his hand, twisting his wrist away from that short sharp pressure of her fingernail.]

I think I'll have a hard time not talking about the thing I like most in the world. The thing I love most, actually. How d'you expect me to manage?

[hassaran]

You used to be able to talk about all sorts of things. You didn't win me over talking about me, [ Yseult points out dryly. ] I'm sure you're still more than capable of talking about nearly anything. The sea, your crew, pirate exploits I wouldn't approve, Rosana, your dreams, the perfidy of horses--