crescentview | the dreamer has nightmares

[ What's it like to dream of yourself, Syrlya?

Because once Syrlya finds himself in this nightmare, he'll be met with a closeup of his own face. He hovers, wide eyes characteristically distant and uncaring. When he moves, a surge of uncomfortable pleasure courses through the dreamer's senses, yet dream-Syrlya's expression remains unchanged.

A hand comes to rest on the dreamer's cheek.

"Is this what you wanted?" ]

[Syrlya is used to seeing his own face. Perhaps it's the nature of being a Mesmer that requires enough vanity to always look deeply at yourself. The direction is odd, the expression is as blank as his clones often are.

And then an awkward pleasure roils through him and oh, wait, okay that part isn't normal at all--

He jumps back, trying to shake his senses as he puts distance to the clone.] Um--what?

[ Syrlya finds that, when he speaks, his voice is not his own at all. It's Trahearne's.

Now with distance between them, Syrlya will also see that his dream self is lacking a shirt. At least. No burn scar.

Dream-Syrlya swiftly steps in to close the distance again, tightly wrapping his arms around Syrlya's shoulders. There is no affection in the motion--it feels more as though he's trying to keep him in place.

Another shift, another wave of uncomfortable pleasure.

"I'm giving you want you want, Trahearne. Then perhaps you'll leave me alone." ]

What? [Syrlya squirms to try and look down at himself. Is he dreaming he's Trahearne? Is this coming from that kiss? What the hell was wrong with what he ate last night.]

H-hold on. [He tries to take another step back anyway because this feeling in response to his own face is weird. Even if he's not Trahearne right now.] Whatever this is, I don't want it.

[ Dream-Syrlya doesn't let go. If anything, he holds tighter.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

He pulls himself higher--or perhaps Syrlya-in-Trahearne's-body gets dragged lower--getting uncomfortably close. It's now that a brief semblance of emotion passes through his expression, at once sickly sweet and disgusted.

"Because if you are? Then good."

He presses their lips together. Awkwardly. Unfeeling.

"I don't want to see you ever again." ]

[The tighter hold sets off a visceral discomfort that chills him. It's his most primal urge to need to escape a predator and as this weird dream-clone closes the distance he moves quickly on a surge of instinct.

And swings a firm punch right at his stomach.]

Edited 2023-01-09 18:40 (UTC)

[ Dream-Syrlya chokes and sputters, loosening his hold and stumbling backwards. He doubles over, clutching his stomach. And after a second, he bursts out in laughter, his voice stinging like a thousand needles.

"I never thought you had it in you." ]

[Thank goodness, he's free! And with that, Syrlya (Trahearne?) turns and runs away. He'll figure out where he's going once he's left that weirdo himself behind.]

[ Syrlya-in-Trahearne's-body does successfully get away from naked dream-Syrlya.

But the moment he turns, he's greeted with the sight of Crescentview's town square. People of familiar and unfamiliar faces mill about, sharing in laughter. The bright sun beams above, birds sing in the distance. But all color, all sound is muted--like it all happens in the distance.

There's a shift, and another dream-Syrlya comes to stand beside him. This one is clothed. This one pays no mind to Trahearne (or rather, the real Syrlya), only gazing out over the sight. His voice is monotone.

"Look at this. So cheery and peaceful."

His head turns to look up at him.

"You don't deserve any of this." ]

[Just when he thought he found some peace. He glowers at the other-him, holding up a finger. First of all--] Shut up.

[And second of all... if he knows he's dreaming, can't he change it? He's a Mesmer, he shouldn't be struggling with illusions.

He presses his hands to his temples and closes his eyes to try and focus on being himself again.]

[ Try as he might, Syrlya finds his magic doesn't work. At most, he has control over Trahearne's dream body, but that's the extent of it. He is, for all intents and purposes, still Trahearne.

The dream-Syrlya doesn't react to the command for silence; his expression remains blank.

"You should have remained dead." ]

[Syrlya looks down at himself to still see... Trahearne hands. What's the point of lucid dreaming of he can't control the dream?

He can't even tell who that is supposed to be aimed at, Trahearne or Syrlya-inside-of-Trahearne. So he attempts to swat the other him away.] Why am I having such an absurd dream?

[ "Is it so absurd?"

Dream-Syrlya stares, at once blank and piercing.

"You have this dream nearly every night, in one manner or another. Your fears haunt you in your refusal to face them. Because you know they are true, despite how desperately you wish they weren't."

Syrlya will feel a horrible twisting in the pit of his stomach, and the faint sensation of tears rolling down his cheek. They may not be his reaction, no--it's at this point it should be clear that he is having this nightmare with Trahearne. And these are Trahearne's reactions.

Dream-Syrlya's eyes are cold. He steps back, never once blinking or breaking eye contact.

"I hate you. Don't ever think about kissing me again." ]

[He's never had a dreamshare before? The idea that Trahearne is secretly afraid he hates him is almost too absurd to contemplate. And his body--this body is reacting out of his control again. Even as he tries to wrestle it back by wiping the tears away. He never liked being caught crying.

He didn't think he was that upset about the kiss--no more than Trahearne was after the fact, when it was probably just the goddess pulling strings on his will anyway.

But he won't get real answers here, and dream-him is really pissing him off. How dare some illusion wear his face and then get him totally wromg?

So despite the draft bubbling up, he glares.] Did I not tell you to shut up?

[ At last, dream-Syrlya smiles.

He reaches to gently place a hand on the dreamer's cheek.

"Goodbye."

The dream comes to a sudden end, and Trahearne wakes with a start.

But he immediately rolls over in his bed, hiding his face in his pillow. The real Syrlya saw that, didn't he? At last, one if his nightmares have found their way to him. And one of the worst possible kind, too. ]

[Syrlya's eyes flutter open, leaving him to squint at the ceiling as he separates his thoughts from the dream. Definitely the strangest dream he's experienced in... well, ever.

It's a long while of silent deliberation before he rolls out of his bed, throwing on his clothes (maybe he needs something easier to pull on) and stepping out into the night air. Walking to Trahearne's farm will be the better part of an hour, in the middle of the night... but he supposes at worst he'll only embarrass himself a little by seeming not to have any real reason for paying a visit.

So, in an hour, there's a gentle knock on the door. but perhaps by then Trahearne and Kaspar are well asleep, and he won't get an answer at all...]

[ Kaspar is out on one of his nightly wanderings, and Trahearne has been unable to fall back asleep. The gears in his mind whir so loudly, trying to untangle and analyze everything. What did Syrlya's reactions mean?

The knock shocks him out of his frozen state. He slowly gets from his bed, makes his way through the house, and pulls open the door.

He knew who it was before he opened it, of course. He eyes Syrlya, embarrassed, before stepping out of the way to let him in. ]

Trahearne! [Syrlya jumps when the door opens, like he wasn't anticipating exactly that. He's already feeling some regrets about this.

But despite his misgivings, he walks into the entryway.] You're... probably wondering what I'm doing here in the middle of the night. I, ah...

--Saw my nightmare. I know.

[ He gestures to one of the sitting chairs in the living room as he takes a seat at his usual spot on the couch. ]

I...am sorry. You didn't have to come out all this way.

[ They don't live close. They don't even have to talk about this. And yet... ]

[Actually, this is the worst case scenario.

Syrlya stares dumbly at first, that having been a possibility he shoved far out of his mind before he even decided to make the walk here. He doesn't completely follow Trahearne, standing just a bit away from the sitting area as he stares and... attempts to make words come out of his gaping mouth.]

... You're. You... dream of that?

[ Trahearne doesn't respond at first. His eyes dip to the floor as he leans forward. He rests his elbows on his knees and folds his hands before his mouth.

The answer to that is pretty obvious, he thinks. So he leaps ahead a few steps. ]

I know none of it is real.

[ Before Syrlya goes reminding him what he would and wouldn't do. That doesn't erase any of his doubts, though. ]

[Syrlya purses his lips, loosely folding his arms.] But you... keep having it?

[He's not completely sure how he feels about it. Most immediately, it puts him ill at ease--why would Trahearne really have dreams of him of all people saying such hateful things? It wasn't like Trahearne had ever failed him. Syrlya has always been... sincere, if not up front about every feeling.]

I have no control over my dreams.

[ And why his most absurd fears and doubts use Syrlya's face are beyond him.

His eyes dart to the side, but Syrlya is far out of his field of vision. He doesn't see him. ]

... I see. [Syrlya, too, averts his gaze to the side.]

But--[He breathes in.] I'm sure you've considered if they mean something?

[This is Trahearne, he thinks about (and overthinks) everything.]

[ The knot of anxiety in his chest tells him that it means literally everything he thinks it means. That everything Syrlya says is a genuine reflection of what the real Syrlya thinks.

But rationally, that makes no sense. And he knows he's being emotional.

He presses his hands to his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut, suddenly aware of how close to shedding tears he is. He breathes, trying to kick his rational brain into gear. ]

It doesn't mean anything. It's noise—irrationalities using my memory of your face to voice themselves back to me.

[ His voice drops to a whisper. ]

I know you don't hate me.

syrlya 💔

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