eyemind | event } a dream is a wish your traitor brain makes

Entry tags:

event } a dream is a wish your traitor brain makes

WHO: All passengers currently aboard!
WHAT: Shared dreams.
WHERE: All y'all's subconscious...es.
WHEN: Nov. 7-21.
WARNINGS: If things get messy/triggering/sexually explicit, PLEASE put warnings in your comment subject lines! And if you die in the dream, you just move on to the next dream, no need to report deaths.

There's no warning - when the ship passes through the nebular cloud and Navi falls asleep, passengers on board will also find themselves dozing off at various times, and whether it’s after tucking themselves in for the night or passing out in the middle of doing something, unusual dreams will follow. Much like dreams normally behave, passengers will find themselves somewhere that may or may not be familiar, doing something that may be mundane or fantastical, but whatever and wherever the setting, dreamers will more or less accept it as reality.

Sweet dreams, passengers. Enjoy getting to know each other a little better!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I don't need you!

Mammon isn't thinking. He doesn't stop to consider that this is a nightmare, as that wasn't hinted at in the myriad of remembered perspectives that exploded into his mind. He certainly doesn't consider that this isn't his nightmare. He just lashes out, feeling trapped and crushed among the ranks of angels.

I'm not one of you! Get the hell away from me!

He has to break loose but he's frozen, standing in the enemy's formation. Can he strike out at them? Could he survive if he does? He has to. He has to fight back and get to his siblings, defend them, make sure none of these stupid spineless angels harm them. So why can't he move?

There was confusion at his rage, his insistence that this scenario was wrong. Again the scene seems to hesitate, to skip like an old video and blur. Suddenly it sped up, too fast around them to fully grasp and yet it was clear the battle waged on, now with their awareness disconnected.

You're right. This was long ago.

The voice murmured in his mind, seeming to acknowledge that they had fallen out of time.

It melted away, dissolving into something new. The perception of sight all around faded into what was more common, just one set of eyes looking in one direction. No sense of awareness spreading outward into all existence at once, but there remained a keen undercurrent of tactical perception. Practiced, not preternatural. But they weren't out of the fight yet, now they were somewhere else. Massive buildings, twisted and dark reached up into an even darker sky, like giant claws trying to tear down the night.

There was an unnatural crack of thunder, blindingly red that struck through one of those buildings, sending cracks and rubble dangerously through it. You/he wince away, ducking under the shadow of an alley. Two angels streaked by, one with four massive dark wings, the source of the lightning blast. The other with feathers that had been white, that now seemed to be stained with blood. A fury was there, cold and venomous, how dare they come here to wreak wanton destruction?

Beside you a massive dark griffon clicked its beak, feathers laid flat. For some reason you're aware the creature is concerned, even worried. It feels familiar and alien at the same time, like a memory you once held of an emotion you once could feel. The angel with fewer wings suddenly veers, beelining toward you, and you leap upon the griffon's back to make a swift retreat, for your wings are too tattered to fly.

A muttered word and a wall of ice rises in your wake. Insurance, but this time you will not stand your ground.

In the spirit of dreaming, Mammon accepts the transition easily. Again it's strangely familiar and he recognizes the setting as "Hell" in the same way he'd recognize several places he knows fused together into one setting. It's different than his experience in the Devildom's harsher areas, but he knows exactly what it means.

After that display of atmospheric expertise he's fine shying away from the two angels and hiding. He recognizes neither but catches more than enough of their auras to realize conflict would be wholly inconvenient at best, no matter how angry he was. They were trespassing and it's an insult, yes, one the angels deserved to pay for. But they haven't attacked demons yet, as far as he can see. They haven't attacked him yet. That's not enough for a fight.

The griffon is also unusual, as he'd never relied on anything more than his own speed and wings for a quick getaway, but the dreaming demon doesn't notice that. He just feels relief as the beast lifts him hastily away from the angels, a sense of heavy exhaustion weighing him down even as they lift upwards into the dark sky.

He's tired. They're getting nowhere through fighting. He can think of a thousand better ways to spend his time (most of them involving money). How much longer do they have to put up with this?

Edited 2020-11-16 03:16 (UTC)

Inconvenient, ill-advised, and probably result in death. Murmur knew this, Mammon his new passenger also seemed to understand. They would instead sound the alarm about the intruders, keeping well out of the way of the line of fire. One demon against an archangel and his right-hand was rarely going to end well for the demons involved.

He is absolutely sending them a bill for this damage.

Again, as dreams are wont to do, this vision faded and melted into others. More scuffles with those same angels, Murmur consistently dodging combat against them to the best of his abilities. Save for a few, one resulting in him pinned to a wall so very much like an insect by the angel's holy blades, the searing pain excruciating. Still he mocked the angel, hissing and snarling, daring him to finish the job like the savage he is. The savage they warned he would be. That seemed to strike a nerve, and he was unpinned, left bleeding out but mercifully alive. Some were against other demons, several in fact, and those he couldn't back out of so easily. Bids for power and status were vicious, any sign of weakness like fleeing or avoidance would only welcome more frequent challenges. They were swiftly and mercilessly dealt with.

It would seem whoever's mind this was had endured a lot of combat. Some with some truly terrifying foes, one in particular that couldn't quite be defeated but could be contained, that one was interesting, a great dragon of a demon that swarmed with flies and death. As attention slipped, it began to break down. This was wrong, it was out of time.

When were they?

Edited 2020-11-16 22:46 (UTC)

Was this torture or a murder attempt? Mammon had been on the rack countless times: the blades aren't novel, the pain wasn't new, but the intensity is. This wasn't an exercise in punishment and prolonged agony. This wasn't an outburst of violent energy. This was pure hatred pouring out of aggressor and victor alike. When was the last time he'd been tortured like that?

At least the combat is easier to understand; demons kill or are killed. Those visions feel distant but normal, like a childhood memory resurfacing. But when was the last time he'd killed another demon?

When were they? Where were his brothers?

Why am I alone?

Given the hatred boiling off of both? Murder attempt, definitely a murder attempt. Fortunate the angel chose to let him live through that encounter, even if he did still leave him to bleed out for a time after.

Likewise the host Mammon was riding along with felt the same about the demon fights. They weren't a focus, they weren't distressing, in fact they were boring. No matter how fierce, Murmur remained patently bored with every one of them. Barely putting in any effort to swat his adversaries away. Just enough to make his point, enough to be left alone.

Alone. We are always alone. It wasn't a contrary tone, nor depressed, merely matter of fact. As though that's not only the way it's always been but the way it must always be.

This other voice was really starting to throw him off. Who was this, and why were they suddenly hanging around? He had work to do!

Mammon feels the echo of that enmity and doesn't question it. That angel has just stabbed him (them?), after all, even if he doesn't recognize him or understand why they despised each other so completely. Their conflict had brought that out, yes, but this was so personal.

When were they again?

No we're not! that other voice protests. We never were! Where are my brothers?

It's a running theme with that angry dark angel and his red, red aura. The animosity, the violence, none of it with much rhyme nor reason. Then again, dreams didn't require reason.

Confusion at Mammon's insistence. I have no brothers.

Who are you?

Things seemed to slow, hanging like molasses. Now that the intruder was more prominent Murmur understood something was amiss here.

He can accept all sorts of strangeness from a dream but he doesn't like this feeling of loneliness. This was a worse version of the worst it had ever been.

I shouldn't be alone.

Now he's even more confused. Is the dream fixing itself? Loading like the next scene in a video game?

What's going on?

You tell me.

Yes something here was very off. This wasn't right, there had never been another voice before. There couldn't be. Everything had to be handled alone by necessity, that's how it always was and always needed to be.

The dream wasn't "fixing" anything, just fading. Breaking apart, becoming less certain.

Or rather, moving more toward waking up. At least with that, Mammon can be freed. Murmur would like to not actually have to do that sleeping thing anymore ever again.

Mammon wakes up.

Despite his best efforts he can't sleep too well after that. He was used to the occasional nightmare, not being able to sleep well after dreams of violent witches or extreme humiliation in his daily life, but this is on a different level. That dream was too real and too vivid to be imagined, but it wasn't his experience.

He knows only one other being on board the ship who has anything like the experience he saw, and after a morning spent confused, sad, and sulking in his room he ventures out in search of Murmur. Or at least a shower and a snack.

The two coincide when he catches Murmur in the kitchen brewing water for tea. "HEY!" Mammon yells, bearing down on him in a somewhat intimidating manner but he's really just trying to get to the fridge. "What gives with the dream magic?"

0/10 Would not recommend. Sleeping, and the dreams and nightmares that came along with it Murmur would happily do without for the remainder of his existence.

He looked worn, more worn than a tireless immortal had any right to be. Wading through these dreams, his own and otherwise, was strangely taxing. Sure he'd been complaining about boredom internally but this isn't at all what he wanted to liven things up. At this point the tea was less a pleasure and more an attempt at necessarily calming his own nerves.

Something that was immediately shattered by Mammon's loud voice. Murmur just stared at him flatly, unmoving, uncertain if this was an attempt at intimidation or if Mammon just had no social graces.

"It isn't me," He gestures vaguely, to indicate the entirety of the ship. "It would appear we're all afflicted." So, Navi, the psychic link they're all tied to? Likely culprit. Somehow.

"Yeah? Well if it ain't you who is it, huh? Navi? Is this a Navi thing that they do?" He'd started off angrily interrogating Murmur and ended up asking a civil question. Mammon's a little embarrased by that and stands up straighter to appear more intimidating and respectable.

"So that was your dream, huh?" He frowns.

"I doubt it is intentional, but it is likely some side-effect yes." He's going to let the abrasiveness slide. Not like Murmur hasn't dealt with more than enough abrasive in his life, though he would be quite happy if Mammon could give him at least twelve inches more space and a few decibels lower in tone.

Just. Chill, a tiny bit Mammon.

He grimaced, wrinkling his nose. "Oh. It was you." Delightful.

The demon moves past Murmur with an irritated huff of breath, searching for foodstuffs as he grumbles. He's hungry, dammit. "Angels are such jerks, you know that?"

He finds a slice of bread and someone's jelly jar, immedatiately stealing both. "Yeah, it was! And what was that? I knew somethin' was wrong when no one was there for me. My brothers woulda been there! Where were your people?"

Edited 2020-11-18 02:57 (UTC)

"I am aware."

He grumbles right back, relieved now that Mammon has at least stopped doing the huffing and puffing directly at him. Just let him loom over this boiling water like a depressed vulture okay?

Oh no. Yes, of course he was going to ask questions. Sigh. "...I do not have people."

"Well GOOD!" he retorts as he spreads jelly on the bread. Not exactly a healthy breakfast, but it's at least something. He glances over at Murmur sighing and watching a pot boil, and softens a bit, considering his next words.

"...hey. I'll take some tea, too?"

Murmur's not really sure what that accomplished, other than an acknowledgement that the nightmare sucked. Which was true. Ugh, he'd really like to not fall out of time again like that thanks. He's not really one to judge on the quality of nutrition, it's not like he normally eats. Just subsists on tea.

"..." There's a moment where Murmur considers being irate, but this strikes him as Mammon's way of asking. Which, given it's unlikely he's going to be able to demand a please out of him, he'll just assume one is implied instead. "Sure. Sweetened or unsweetened, do you have a preference?" At least he went and scavenged up some real sugar on their last stop.

Murmur deduced correctly: this was about the most polite Mammon was capable of being, and he brightens when the angel seems to understand. "The sweeter the better!" he grins as he bites into his breakfast.

Mammon works on the food for a few moments as he thinks things over. After a mouthful of jammy bread he ventures, "So, that angel. Who was that?"

At least Mammon isn't being wholly unpleasant, so Murmur will tolerate it. Eventually the water finally reaches an acceptable boil and he can go to work getting a couple cups of tea steeping.

He's content not to offer more conversation than Mammon initiates right now, as it is he's seen far too much and he's really not sure what to do about that. His mind, pieces of his past, memories he thought were safe... It felt like a violation. One he wasn't entirely sure how to conceptualize.

And there they were, the questions. Again he's quiet for a few moments while he mulls over how best to answer. "Shateiel, Angel of Silence." He's not sure what role that angel might have played in Mammon's universe, if he was known at all, but in his he was Heaven's assassin. Not exactly well liked on either side of the fence.

Mammon indeed saw far too much. He saw so much he can't precisely process all of it and justify it with his own perspective. He isn't like Murmur, he hated sharing the view Murmur had, but he's trying to ignore the parts he can't understand.

He could perfectly understand the hatred between the angel and them. He wasn't going to say he felt a little sorry that Murmur had to go through everything the angel dealt out, but he certainly thought it.

"Huh." It's not a name that Mammon recognizes. "Well, screw him." He'd be happy not to think about it ever again, frankly. If only it were that easy for Murmur.

Thank goodness he wasn't asking more invasive questions, honestly. It wasn't exactly like Murmur wanted to talk about it, much less the parts where it was strongly implied he wasn't an angel during those times. He's happy to ignore them if Mammon is. That would lead to just too much invasion.

Heh, well, he got one thing right. Murmur let out an amused huff through his nose. "Screw him, indeed," He agreed. Loading Mammon's teacup with way too much sugar. He said he likes it sweet!

If only he could forget. It's just too bad Celestial brains don't work that way.

Mammon isn't thinking about the implied demonhood he saw, as he's mostly proud of himself for his "excellent" detective skills. And pleased with the overly sugary tea, which he accepts eagerly.

He too would like less invasion of his dreams. So he says "Don't do it again," as if Murmur has any control over it.

Thank goodness he's not bright enough to put the rest of it together. Murmur will let him believe he's done some excellent deduction in this case if it keeps him from asking too many questions. Yes, good, enjoy your sugar water. Murmur's just going to take his and go lean against a counter where he can try to pretend he doesn't exist for a moment.

Or stare flatly at Mammon. "Were that the choice was mine to make." He grumbled sourly. As though he enjoyed this somehow! "This dreaming thing is wholly unpleasant, do humans do it often?"

He's happy: he feels smart and his hot sugar water is better than the tea he gets at home. Lucifer loves to focus on fine tea's subtle flavors and fragrances, so Mammon never gets an overload of sugar from teatime.

"Humans?" He gives Murmur a confused look. "Yeah. Every night, just like everyone else."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject