Once upon a dream... (4th Wall Event/TDM Combo platter)

[missrecalled_mods]

[((OOC note: This fourth wall is open to any character who would be game legal. If a character who posted here reserves or apps in September, these threads can be considered game canon as long as all involved agree. If a character doesn't app, for those in game already... wow that was a weird dream. Wait, what did you dream about again?))]


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For Jordan, still comatose after the magical mishap that had resulted in the first Misrecalled being summoned, it began with a dream. A dream so strong, that it had her stirring fitfully even in her current state; and eventually caused her to release an uncontrolled burst of magic.

For everyone else, unaware of what was coming, it began with falling asleep. Whether or not someone was tired before hand, whether they even could sleep, they simply fell asleep - or a reasonable facsimile - wherever they happened to be. Maybe they remembered falling asleep, maybe they didn't. But either way they suddenly found themselves in... a very strange place.

First all there was that they could see was a vast featureless plain in shining gold and silken draperies. But that was only a glimpse, for just by existing in this space, each dreamer warps it. Changes it. Not all at once, but bits, constantly changing between them and whomever they encounter. Each person brings with them bits of three places... where they had been last, a familiar place from memory, and whatever place they call home. But this is constantly changing and shifting, more so the more dreamers are present in any space. Before long, Bits of different landscapes, different environments, even different weather conditions will cover the landscape like some crazy patchwork quilt. Here a bit of a sunny, idyllic garden, there a section of shadowy, graffiti covered slum. To one side, a chunk of charming cobblestone streets under sunset tinged skies, to the other, a forest of towering trees, some of which seem to be moving. And glimpsed through the gaps between some of the odd terrain sections, some remainder of the poorly defined golden space, hung with colorful draperies could still be seen.

And the ground itself was not immune to the changes. While the ground on which they stood might seem stable enough, if someone walked more than a few paces in any direction, that could change. Solid ground could become shifting sand. Or water. Or a wall might suddenly appear to block their path. Doors might lead to places they definitely shouldn't or open to the edge of a sheer cliff. And if the complete lack of logic to the landscape wasn't enough of an indication that this was some sort of dream, then the unreadable signs would clinch it. Because any signs - or indeed, anything with writing on it that they didn't have on their person when they arrived - was covered with nothing but unreadable gibberish.

And it got even more surreal when a dreamer spotted anyone else in the dreamspace, or even looked at their own reflection - for each person appears in the dream in whatever way they see themselves. So someone with low self confidence might be short, someone with a huge ego might tower. If someone sees themselves as a horrible criminal who needs to repent, they might be in prison togs. If the change is dramatic enough people who know each other well might still fail to recognize each other within the dreaming.

Now normally such a bizarre dream might have been put down to stress, a meal that disagreed with them, or maybe indulging in some sort of illicit substance, but this clearly was no ordinary dream, if for no other reason than that in this dream, they weren't alone. The other people they encounter are not just figments of their imagination, and they too change the shared dream space.

Those already either on the Isle or in the kingdom of Auradon proper would find themselves all thrown together in the bizarre dreamworld. And that would have been strange enough. But more than the current populations of Auradon and the Isle could be found in this place. Maybe the faces where familiar. Maybe they weren't. But they definitely hadn't turned up in the physical world that was home to Ben and Mal. Yet anyway.

Given the extremely variable geography, exploring the area might be dangerous. At least as dangerous as anything in a dream could be. But investigating might help them find a way back to the physical world faster, for those who realize they are dreaming. Or they could just stand around and talk or complain about the latest bit of magical weirdness to happen to them and hope they woke up soon. Or they could go with it and enjoy the weird. It was their dream, after all. They could pretty much do what they liked. Or at least try to. Either way, they seemed stuck there for the present, for better or worse.

Comments

[logic_in_unity]

Skisan considered this a while. That the stranger had customized his appearance did not seem to surprise him at all. "That does not change the fact that we are both unfamiliar with each other. I have seen any number of life forms, but not one that can achieve customizations of the sort you have. It also seems to me that you have no familiarity with my own species, Vulcans."

He didn't focus overmuch on watching what the stranger was doing, but on how he reacted to those words. It had not escaped his attention that he had been initially wary and then calmed down after taking in something about Skisan. He had become increasingly convinced this had to do with appearance more than demeanor. Though he did keep his calm and still.

[elvendryad]

"Is that the name?" He shook his head, making his right arm close again around that shiny shape, and looked back up to Skisan again. "We're the same. We're kin. I changed. I'm... like them now. I remember that much." A gesture toward the trees close behind him, and then a slight pause, and he looked more confused, turning to look at them more directly. "...Aren't I? I'm...."

He was still trying to figure this out, but he seemed pretty certain that, somehow, the two of them were somehow alike. The idea that they weren't looked like one he was simply not entertaining seriously; whatever his understanding of this all was, it seemed quite different from the Vulcan's.

"I know I look different. But I'm not." He looked to him again, back to trying to explain, as though Skisan were the one who was confused here, of the two of them. "We're...." A pause again, struggling to figure out how to articulate whatever idea it was he had... but he still wasn't getting anywhere with it.

And then he seemed to think of something else, expression changing a little as it dawned on him. "...Trees can share...." Another brief glance back at the trees and then back to him, and then Skisan would be able to detect what this tree-person was trying to do: share the thought through what seemed to be his own less-developed telepathy. It was very inexpertly done, but it was an attempt anyway, and if the Vulcan wanted to try focusing on it to take it from him, he might be able to make it out....

[logic_in_unity]

Skisan picked up the brush of telepathy and allowed himself to listen, sending a message as well. It wasn't so much words as a cue that he was listening and ready for whatever this person had to share.

He could go back to broaching the idea that he wasn't whatever species the stranger thought he was later. And in fact, he wanted to. Not because the stranger needed to understand. This was a dreamscape, the stranger might well wake up later and forget all of this. He wanted to make it understood so that he could learn about this species. If there was another group of vulcanoids in the galaxy, he wanted to find them.

[elvendryad]

The idea he was trying to give him was still nebulous, so no wonder he was having trouble with explaining it, but the concept of people was there, at least: humanoid shape, with pointed ears, and... well, it was hard to make out the other details, like the exact ear shape, or precise facial features, but it would at least be much more understandable why Skisan had matched well enough. Within it, connected to it, the idea of family... and something beyond it, of kindred other species that weren't this one, but had something very important in common, though it wasn't part of the thought he was actively trying to offer. It was maybe there in enough clarity to see some part of it, if Skisan wanted to try reaching for it; he wasn't trying to hide anything, but give what little understanding he could, nebulous though it was.

But perhaps more interesting was another thing that accompanied it: the sense of the mind attempting to share the idea with him. The humanoid tree-person's was surely well enough within the realm of the sorts one might encounter in the already-known, inhabited regions of universe. It wasn't too far from a human's, in some regards, though the sense that he was still very much struggling to focus was unmistakable. The lights were on and the wheels spinning, to mangle the sayings, but the hamsters were banging on the doors, trying to get back into their home after getting locked out, somehow. At least they weren't dead?

And just barely past that, there was another presence: the patterns that were interrupting his, keeping them from resuming normal operation, keeping his focus entangled. That was similar enough that it was no wonder they'd managed to intermingle, but different enough that he couldn't quite reconcile the two, or use them effectively himself, at least not the way he was trying to... which was causing the problem. There was no sense of intent to sabotage him, just an issue with perspective and routing, so to speak, him trying to follow their thoughts' tendencies when he ought not to, attempting to roll dice when he needed to draw cards instead. They worked differently, an intelligence without the same sense of self inherent. There definitely was one, but it was more... vague? No, less ego and more rational, organized id, something like one might suspect of forming from a biological computer, a necessarily non-artificial AI, rather than a more conventional animal-based mind. It -- they? -- were calm, their attention on Skisan as well, as this odd knight-looking figure's was, taking his lead. There was no sense of wariness, merely relaxed, comfortable acceptance, given that he'd already identified the Vulcan as family in some way.

It seemed like something akin to the result of a very clumsily, half-ended, long-term mind-meld while he'd been asleep, so the guess at him having been hibernating was almost certainly correct. No wonder he hadn't figured out his own name, when his perspective was so mixed up with the sense of being something other than himself... and he was still figuring out to disengage, even as he did so. Waking was slow, but it was happening, at least?

It might be trivial for Skisan to lend a hand, so to speak, and pull him away from his entourage mentally, so he could properly think on his own....? It wouldn't take much; he was already trying, but fumbling in his attempts, and the trees didn't seem to understand that there was an issue, let alone what the issue was, or that they and their link to him was causing it.... And if not, well, he'd probably get there well enough on his own, though more slowly.

But those trees... those apparently actually very intelligent, if only for plants, trees... might actually also be a decent enough possible explanation for why this guy looked as he did? He wasn't quite so focused yet, for his self-idea to be as firm as this, as sure as he seemed that it was correct, as he looked himself over. But if it were a result of that outside point of view... if it were due to him seeing himself from the trees' eyes, or whatever passed for them... then it was also possible that his appearance here was entirely accurate to what he physically looked like in the waking world.

That, or he looked like a tree because that was all the trees knew, and he was basically taking their word for it, so to speak. That was possible here too.

[logic_in_unity]

Skisan shifted his focus between the different presences that were only partially there, through their connection with the stranger, and the memories passed along. They could be vulcanoids, but the memory just wasn't clear enough to tell. But what he did pick up for certain were beings he was entirely unfamiliar with. Which only solidified his impression that even if they were related to Vulcans, they were not Vulcans.

"If you wish, I can offer my aid in waking. You will still be in this dream, but it may be of assistance in collecting yourself." He could pick up the lingering hibernation fog, the sense of self muddled by the presence of others. Something he must have had a while, which meant Skisan would need to exercise care if he agreed to the offer.

[elvendryad]

And he did. Having already decided that Skisan counted as kin, the offer to try waking him up more was easy to agree to. He didn't really know what it might entail, but this case of mistaken identity seemed to amount to a great lot of leeway and trust for the Vulcan....

He nodded, almost absently, already setting aside the attempt to give over those ideas from a few minutes ago, and try focusing again, now that it'd been brought up.

And the trees... didn't seem to be parsing the offer, to agree or disagree. They weren't offering any judgments or opinions at all, if they were even actually there to begin with, rather than simply being what echoes this odd person was dragging with them....

[logic_in_unity]

Given that it was a dreamscape, Skisan did not actually need physical contact to get a stronger connection, but he held out a hand for the other to take anyway. It would be a good indication to the other of when the expect his influence.

Only when after the other took his hand would he act to help reinforce this being's sense of self, as it were. He didn't know him well enough to know what that was, but he could help stabilize and allow him to separate himself from the lingering presence of other. Skisan's caution here was primarily wanting to make sure he didn't get tangled up into this person's sense of self. If he hadn't existed on his own in a very long time, it was entirely possible, which meant the best bet was adding as little actual influence of his own as possible.

[elvendryad]

He took the hint, taking the offered hand without any real hesitance to speak of....

It would probably be enough, to just help keep him from slipping back into the trees' thought patterns, as he tried to focus. And he was still trying. The question of his name, from the abandoned attempt to introduce himself... the idea of the people he'd figured Skisan must be one of... the general question of what he remembered....

(Cut because long; it uh. Kinda got away from me... oops? XD)

He pulled at what he could, trying to think back, and Skisan would catch a few other hazy things while he tried to figure out what his past had even been, tried to remember a single point of view rather than being able to see, to feel everywhere -- himself, themselves, inside the forest and outside -- all at once. Maybe he'd needed the trees' mind, to handle that sort of information without being overwhelmed and breaking? But keeping him from slipping back into it was helping....

Some bit of memory that felt brief, a recent one, of another of that half-remembered family sort: someone with pale hair, who smiled and came with happiness that was easy to read, the sort of joy they'd almost forgotten existed. He'd wanted them to come, and they let go of the ground, undug themselves, discarded the things that had hurt, things of metal that had torn and screamed until they were crushed up within their branches and roots, things the hateful ones, the fearful ones had brought to them... they pushed them aside, they pulled apart some from one another, they began to leave their camp.... and as they had, the awareness was a little less clear, the connection between clusters of ents weakened as some broke away from the group to move more easily as that blond one -- the gentle one, the happy one, more family -- led them elsewhere....

He pushed it aside; there was more. Those things that tore... it was so long, and so many, the memories melted together like rain, puddled and mixed until it was all a mess. Bright, shiny things that smelled horrible, that those hateful, fearful others would carry, or ride in.... They looked a lot like family, but they weren't, and they caused pain and screamed, themselves, when told that they had to leave, when they were screamed at in the way the trees knew how, and ran. They ran, when their hurtful things were taken away and crushed, they ran, when they swung their shiny things and caused them injury, only for those shiny things to be grabbed away and swung back at them....

He tried to push much of that aside too; thinking about it hurt. The metal, cutting into them, the wounds hard to heal, they ran so deep... He remembered holding a trunk together as the two halves healed again, aching all the while....

He remembered it still, in this body, too....

There. There was something to that, right there, that memory of the pain, of pressing the pieces back together. The smell of blood in the air, and the pain through his chest, through his back.... Through all the places those hair-fine marks ran.

He tried to remember: he'd reached, hit those hateful ones. He'd screamed, he'd thrashed at them with the forest itself, he'd tried to catch them. Their animals had left as ordered. The hateful ones had screamed back, and fought him off. There was a sense of failure that tainted it. He'd had to be carried, held together -- no, he didn't want to think about that. He had to, though, had to remember... There had been family there... and so much pain.

It had been a slightly different sort of family, though, not the idea of what might have been vulcanoids, but something more animal-looking -- he'd mentioned unicorns, and the term fit here, somehow -- browns and grays and whites and blacks, on long thin legs, that had stumbled and fallen, the hateful ones after them, terrified, in pain, coming to the forest, to him, for help, and he'd rushed forward....

He'd beaten those hateful ones, but the family was gone, and he couldn't heal them. He only remembered it from the trees' view then, cradling the family in his -- in the trees' -- branches, but being unable to wake them again. He remembered gathering his parts... apparently he did look like this, even then, with the dark armor. The blood hadn't been his. He was sticky with something golden and clear, and the trees carried his parts carefully....

It was getting easier, figuring out how to see from just his own eyes instead of the millions of dark little gems in the trees' smooth bark. It was getting easier, pulling up the memories of moving as himself, climbing up the trees that moved their limbs to make the way easy for him, walking through the forest as roots dug themselves down and trunks leaned aside to make a path. It was getting easier, remembering the feeling of his shield sliding out from his arm, directing the forest to foil the hateful ones' efforts. Asking the forces of life itself -- wasn't it that, somehow? -- to aid them, willing them to cause the thorns to appear, the ivies to grow and cling, to fight back, to take the shiny things away from them, to chase them back out....

There had been family, too. The hateful ones chased them sometimes, and he dealt with them then too, took their shiny things and sent them running. He'd helped his family, those possible vulcanoids, the--

He tried to remember, tried to focus on them, on that idea of that family, those kin... It was so far away, buried deeper. He came back to that idea of the one that'd visited, the happy one who'd bid them to follow....

Was blond hair and such light eyes a normal part of Vulcan gene pools? The ears weren't the same, either, too small... if only he could remember him better, though. There was the thought of the other one, with dark hair and darker clothes. As light as the other's heart was, dark one's had practically collapsed under the loneliness and sorrow it carried. She was familiar, though, someone he knew from before, somehow, and she came and sobbed and slept in the trees, rested with him... and she'd been family too, she'd looked right, she'd felt right, that similar something that the hateful ones hadn't had correctly....

It was a similar feeling to the healing, to the thorns and vines growing madly to defend against the shiny things, to what connected him to the forest, to what he and Skisan were connected with currently....

Maybe this family hadn't been Vulcans exactly, but they'd had some sort of ability, one that had something to do with that shiny bit of something in the tree-person's arm.

There was something to the idea of her coming to him. Something to the notion that she'd not just come to the trees, but to him, hugged onto what was around him and tried to sleep.... He tried remembering; she'd been faint after a while, asleep with him among the trees, calm again... but before then...?

It would take him another good moment to puzzle it out, but the image was at least clearer; she'd looked at least mostly like the vulcanoids, and like humans, and like... well, like a good many other similar species in the universe. Her eyes hadn't been as black as his, though. Those smaller points to her ears, that expression that should have been a smile, but wasn't, and even while she'd slept with him among the trees, she and he and they would lash out again and again at those hateful ones and their shiny things that always came and caused more and more pain and damage....

It still didn't explain why he looked like a tree himself. But the image of this family was at least a little clearer... and those hateful ones, which looked suspiciously like they might actually be humans....

The trees' mental patterns had fallen aside, bit by bit; whether it was his memory of them, or simply what of them he'd adopted, they still didn't seem to mind one way or the other, though their attention was more directed to Skisan now: Curiosity, and the still-held acceptance and trust of him that their person here had already settled on.

The trouble now was simply how far away and buried those other memories of his were, rather than the inability to think as himself, to be able to handle them. But there was a better sense of the overall again, at least, and he hid nothing of it from Skisan now: his usual calm... his want to help those others, the weight of the failure in doing so... his feelings about the hateful ones, he pushed aside; he didn't want to think about them. He'd tried, and tried, and failed, and that's why he'd been asleep all this time, wasn't it....

Or maybe he wasn't so calm; he couldn't tell. There was an ache that didn't quite register as it should, but it brought tears with it regardless. Apparently he had those, tree or not; perhaps it was this place allowing for them?

But somewhere in all this digging, he'd come across a few other tidbits: having had a wooden doll form, when the world was much bigger around him. The knowledge of another kin-kind, a quiet, sad one that came in patterns and colors, serpentine with long necks and longer body and tail, and some sort of wings or fins or the like, he wasn't sure. The notion of that family living in houses built among other trees, around and under them, perhaps using their living forms as support. The certainty, its associated memories long buried, that it was those hateful ones that had killed them. The carefully-kept remnants of the almost-lost memories of the warm embraces of adults, as a child -- he'd had parents, grandparents, siblings and cousins, a direct family among those potential vulcanoids. His name.

He tried to say something, and found that he couldn't. That was what finally brought him out of it, that feeling in his chest and throat. He gave Skisan's hand a slight squeeze as he worked to push those oddly disconnected feelings aside. Maybe he still needed to mourn, but not yet, not while he wasn't going to feel it properly, still waking up as he was. At least finding a proper calm was easier than not, even now, though the tears were still present. Whatever he was like normally, however he'd been while floundering in the trees' patterns, he was rather self-controlled now.

He drew a breath, swallowed, and tried again, quiet.

"I'm Chell."

[logic_in_unity]

Skisan kept his own thoughts tightly shielded and in so doing, did his best to keep out of the memories and emotions coming from the other. Some leaked over. It was hardly avoidable when his mind was helping maintain separation while he went through those memories, particularly the more intense of the memories. Fortunately he was at one remove from any emotions. As to the other presences, or the echoes thereof, he acknowledged them mentally, but did not do much more. He was not considered a threat and did not consider them a threat either to him or to Chell.

After Chell spoke, he withdrew his hand and gave a nod. "Are you well?" he asked. While concern only faintly made it into his tone, it did make it, and that was saying something.

He did not understand many of those memories. Wherever Chell had come from was entirely foreign to Skisan, more so than any place he had been before. But he did not need to know everything to understand there had been no small amount of trauma in them. He would not pry further into the content of the memories, perhaps it was his time around Romulans, but that very idea felt intently rude, in spite of the fact that he had witnessed only glimpses.

[elvendryad]

It took him a few seconds to figure out how to respond. Despite his eyes being how they were, it was easy to tell he'd looked down. Even if it weren't for them, that slight change in how he held his shoulders and head... he may have been calm, but he wasn't happy.

Even quieter, "My wounds healed." No, no he was not doing well. Physically, perhaps. But with what he could remember? His hand went, half-absently, to the hairline scars across his armor.

"...And theirs did not." That, there... that was what he focused on.

It took him another second or two to manage, but he did. "Thank you."

[logic_in_unity]

"I am sorry if that brought what you endured back to the surface too quickly." Skisan said softly. For all he didn't visibly show much emotion, somehow he entirely avoided a monotone, his inflections staying calm and supportive rather than blank.

[elvendryad]

Chell shook his head. "I would have remembered anyway."

He inhaled more deeply, letting it out again slowly, making sure he'd collected himself. "Are you well?" He looked back up again, frowning a bit with concern. Surely Skisan had seen a few things, he reasoned... and if he hadn't liked much of it, and they were his own memories, surely Skisan wouldn't have enjoyed them either?

[logic_in_unity]

He did not bring up that it might have been slower, more controlled. He suspected Chell was aware of this. Perhaps he preferred to get the flood of emotions over with.

Skisan shook his head. "I am well. I kept myself at a remove while assisting, for both of our sakes. Thus, all of your experiences were observed at a distance rather than catching me up within them."

[elvendryad]

Chell nodded. "I'm glad. ...You need not suffer that for helping." He peeked back up at Skisan again, not quite trying to offer some bit of a smile; he wasn't exactly feeling up to it just then, still trying to set it more fully aside. "If there is any way I can aid you in return... I would like to know."

[logic_in_unity]

Skisan shook his head, just shy of dismissing the offer. Accepting it with something that might be of use to both of them seemed far more logical. "It was a simple matter to allow you to assist yourself. If you wish to aid, we should seek out the cause of this shared dream space together. I am quite curious what brought us here."

[elvendryad]

Chell nodded, quiet a moment, thinking about it, and then looked around. Skisan's part of the surroundings rather dwarfed his own contribution, which seemed to amount to those trees that were following him around. Behind him, the way he'd come... it looked to mostly still be Skisan's influence again. He hadn't overridden much of it on his way in, if any at all.

"Do we... start looking?" A little pause, "How will we know when we've found whatever it is?"

[logic_in_unity]

"I am uncertain. It is possible we will simply awaken when the shared dream ends. One possibility is there is a powerful telepath or otherwise gifted being at the center of it. If so they may realize they have pulled others into the dream and may simply need aid in ending it."

He looked between his contributions to the space and Chell's. "I believe if we are to find more certain answers we should search for signs of the dreams of others."

[elvendryad]

He nodded again. "We pick a direction and walk? I thought I saw gold, in the distance. Trying to follow it... was how I came here."

Sure, leave it to shiny visuals to catch the attention of someone who'd been unable to focus and think straight. At least it had ended well.