⬬ still trapped in the pain of the past | quiet promise [The dreamer is spending the night in Altius's penthouse for one reason or another—its central location in downtown Alta, an international hub of a city, makes it a reasonable spot regardless of whether they're passing through or planning to stay. It's late—past midnight as the clocks will tell them—when they hear a muffled conversation between the man himself and a separate, airy but sullen voice. Glancing out of the guestroom's door will show the dark living room, a brown-haired teen silhouetted against the distant city lights behind the glass patio doors. He's turned halfway away from Altius, who's seated on a couch.]
I've seen the scrapes you've come back with, Ferran, [the man says, voice soft with concern.] I don't know what you're doing these late nights... I've been hoping you'd tell me if I were patient.
[The young man's shoulders stiffen, a hand crossed over his chest, holding his upper arm. Altius gets to his feet, a sigh passing through him at the lack of answer.]
I can still wait. But I need you to promise me you'll come home safe.
[Ferran, as Altius called him, blinks and turns to look up at his guardian with his emotions written clearly on his face: surprise, hesitance, guilt. There's a bright sheen in his eyes as he replies.]
Rion— [his voice momentarily catches in his throat.] I... I will.
[Altius reaches forward and pulls the young man close with an arm around his shoulder, the latter leaning into the embrace—but his dark eyes catch the other dreamer out of his periphery, and as he turns, so does Altius. Apologetically, he addresses them:]
Did we wake you? ⬬ holding infinities in the palm of your hand | a deal [At first it's hard to tell there's a dream here at all—there's a sense of nothingness, dark and empty. That changes quickly, the dreamer's senses suddenly struck with the feeling of being pulled by a whirling force, buzzing in their ears and an occasional flash of static-like energy that somehow emits only the idea of light while illuminating nothing. The idea of wrongness pervades the space and threatens to make them nauseous at best.
Somewhere in this process they'll become aware of another figure. Are they nearby or far away? Male, female, adult, child? The only thing discernible is the utter sense of defeat within them, as they address the energy within this void in a whisper:]
I've had enough.
[The figure is answered by a thousand voices at once, some in separate languages, some in sounds no human can make. No matter how smooth the tone, it's like nails on a chalkboard, just as unpleasant to hear as the rest of the dream is to experience.]
Then free me, and we will end it.
[The dreamer will suddenly realize that this entity's attention has turned to them.]
And you... what power do you seek? ⬬ this ain't no time for doubting your power | held hostage; cw: gun violence [It's almost something out of a movie: a group of robbers armed heavily, taking the patrons of a large bank hostage, police surrounding the building outside clearly visible through the glass doors. The dreamer sits next to the dark-haired man whose memories they've entered, his appearance not quite as refined as his present-day self—wavy hair not quite as tame, suit not as well-tailored, his eyes brighter.
He's been talking down one of the pistol-wielding captors, and while the tension in the air is palpable, you get the sense he might be getting through somehow, even earning a nervous nod between glances at the authorities outside. He wields sympathy and commiseration carefully, appealing to the man while not straying so far from reality to provoke a reaction.
But a woman with an automatic rifle slung over her shoulder calls out a warning that the cops have set up a sniper and it falls apart. Desperate, the man Altius was addressing mutters as he tightens his grip on his weapon.]
We're not gonna get out of here.
[Altius holds up a hand as he rises to a kneeling position.]
Wait. You don't h—
[He cuts himself off when he sees the pistol aimed at him with clear intent to shoot, and in the split second before that he throws an arm out to protect the dreamer next to him. The gun goes off, striking him in the side; his head hits something hard on the way down, and he falls, dazed, onto the one beside him. Chaos erupts as that shot elicits more, from both inside and out of the bank. Very few in the building will remain unscathed.] ⬬ see the ripples vanish in the distance | false peace [It's a bright day in the spring, and while it's impossible to get far enough in these woods to avoid the sounds of the city entirely, it's as peaceful as it can get. A young girl's voice calls out:]
Rion!
[If the dreamer turns, they'll see a ten-year-old redhead drop a loop of flowers onto the head of a napping teenager under a tree, his wavy hair past the shoulders of the denim jacket too small for his broad shoulders. He startles slightly from his doze, peeking through the leaves at the girl before sitting up and taking the thing into his large hands.]
Do you like it?
[He considers it for a moment before carefully setting it on his head.]
Yeah. Thanks.
[Satisfied, the girl turns to the dreamer with a bounce in her pigtails, offering a similar crown of wildflowers in various colors, a little sloppy but braided together enough to stay in shape.]
Here. You take this one.
[The look they're getting from the teenager might tell them there are consequences for saying no.] ⬬ you're climbing down from an ivory tower | wildcard
[Interested in something else? Want to plot more specifically? Hit me up via PM or lumieresdedragon and let me know!]
open
⬬ still trapped in the pain of the past | quiet promise
[The dreamer is spending the night in Altius's penthouse for one reason or another—its central location in downtown Alta, an international hub of a city, makes it a reasonable spot regardless of whether they're passing through or planning to stay. It's late—past midnight as the clocks will tell them—when they hear a muffled conversation between the man himself and a separate, airy but sullen voice. Glancing out of the guestroom's door will show the dark living room, a brown-haired teen silhouetted against the distant city lights behind the glass patio doors. He's turned halfway away from Altius, who's seated on a couch.]
I've seen the scrapes you've come back with, Ferran, [the man says, voice soft with concern.] I don't know what you're doing these late nights... I've been hoping you'd tell me if I were patient.
[The young man's shoulders stiffen, a hand crossed over his chest, holding his upper arm. Altius gets to his feet, a sigh passing through him at the lack of answer.]
I can still wait. But I need you to promise me you'll come home safe.
[Ferran, as Altius called him, blinks and turns to look up at his guardian with his emotions written clearly on his face: surprise, hesitance, guilt. There's a bright sheen in his eyes as he replies.]
Rion— [his voice momentarily catches in his throat.] I... I will.
[Altius reaches forward and pulls the young man close with an arm around his shoulder, the latter leaning into the embrace—but his dark eyes catch the other dreamer out of his periphery, and as he turns, so does Altius. Apologetically, he addresses them:]
Did we wake you?
⬬ holding infinities in the palm of your hand | a deal
[At first it's hard to tell there's a dream here at all—there's a sense of nothingness, dark and empty. That changes quickly, the dreamer's senses suddenly struck with the feeling of being pulled by a whirling force, buzzing in their ears and an occasional flash of static-like energy that somehow emits only the idea of light while illuminating nothing. The idea of wrongness pervades the space and threatens to make them nauseous at best.
Somewhere in this process they'll become aware of another figure. Are they nearby or far away? Male, female, adult, child? The only thing discernible is the utter sense of defeat within them, as they address the energy within this void in a whisper:]
I've had enough.
[The figure is answered by a thousand voices at once, some in separate languages, some in sounds no human can make. No matter how smooth the tone, it's like nails on a chalkboard, just as unpleasant to hear as the rest of the dream is to experience.]
Then free me, and we will end it.
[The dreamer will suddenly realize that this entity's attention has turned to them.]
And you... what power do you seek?
⬬ this ain't no time for doubting your power | held hostage; cw: gun violence
[It's almost something out of a movie: a group of robbers armed heavily, taking the patrons of a large bank hostage, police surrounding the building outside clearly visible through the glass doors. The dreamer sits next to the dark-haired man whose memories they've entered, his appearance not quite as refined as his present-day self—wavy hair not quite as tame, suit not as well-tailored, his eyes brighter.
He's been talking down one of the pistol-wielding captors, and while the tension in the air is palpable, you get the sense he might be getting through somehow, even earning a nervous nod between glances at the authorities outside. He wields sympathy and commiseration carefully, appealing to the man while not straying so far from reality to provoke a reaction.
But a woman with an automatic rifle slung over her shoulder calls out a warning that the cops have set up a sniper and it falls apart. Desperate, the man Altius was addressing mutters as he tightens his grip on his weapon.]
We're not gonna get out of here.
[Altius holds up a hand as he rises to a kneeling position.]
Wait. You don't h—
[He cuts himself off when he sees the pistol aimed at him with clear intent to shoot, and in the split second before that he throws an arm out to protect the dreamer next to him. The gun goes off, striking him in the side; his head hits something hard on the way down, and he falls, dazed, onto the one beside him. Chaos erupts as that shot elicits more, from both inside and out of the bank. Very few in the building will remain unscathed.]
⬬ see the ripples vanish in the distance | false peace
[It's a bright day in the spring, and while it's impossible to get far enough in these woods to avoid the sounds of the city entirely, it's as peaceful as it can get. A young girl's voice calls out:]
Rion!
[If the dreamer turns, they'll see a ten-year-old redhead drop a loop of flowers onto the head of a napping teenager under a tree, his wavy hair past the shoulders of the denim jacket too small for his broad shoulders. He startles slightly from his doze, peeking through the leaves at the girl before sitting up and taking the thing into his large hands.]
Do you like it?
[He considers it for a moment before carefully setting it on his head.]
Yeah. Thanks.
[Satisfied, the girl turns to the dreamer with a bounce in her pigtails, offering a similar crown of wildflowers in various colors, a little sloppy but braided together enough to stay in shape.]
Here. You take this one.
[The look they're getting from the teenager might tell them there are consequences for saying no.]
⬬ you're climbing down from an ivory tower | wildcard
[Interested in something else? Want to plot more specifically? Hit me up via PM or