crescentview | the dreamer has nightmares

[ 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 sure hopes he knows it, because he isn't really sure what to do with the idea that he doesn't.

It takes a while for him to pull his gaze back at Trahearne, letting the awkward feelings between both of them try and find some equilibrium until Trahearne's sorrow is most prevalent. Then he moves slowly across the room, to sit down on the couch beside Trahearne and rub a soothing hand over his back.]

[ His fists unfold to cover his eyes as Syrlya's hand begins to rub his back. It helps. A bit. It relieves his tension, and Trahearne exhales audibly. He feels the tears stinging the back of his eyes, so he squeezes them shut. He doesn't want to cry.

After a few deep breaths, he calms himself. Enough to talk, at least. His mind has been whirring in the silence. And though he knows Syrlya doesn't hate him, or wishes he remains dead, there is one question that has been haunting him recently. ]

...So many Pact soldiers and sylvari died in Maguuma. [ His voice is thicker with tears than he expects. He pauses, trying to compose himself further. ] Why is it all right that I come back, and...none of them do?

[His gaze flickers up at Trahearne's face, then down. He isn't immediately sure if it's a subject change or if Trahearne is just so shaken from his disrupted sleep, but he takes it at its face anyway.]

Something like that... it isn't really a matter of fairness, is it? Were it so easy to bring back the dead, nobody would die at all. You do not deserve a second chance any less than our siblings or our soldiers we lost to the dragons. But to receive it at all is a gift of chance.

[ It just so happened this way, didn't it? If seen as random chance, a haphazard coincidence, then he would be more accepting of this. He would happy to accept his winnings of this odd-ass lottery.

But there are very clearly deliberate forces at play, and that makes him think. He holds his breath for a moment. It's why he's so eternally grateful to the goddess... Would doubting her will be an affront to her? She could just as easily take his life away as she gave it, couldn't she?

After a moment, he lowers his hands and turns to face Syrlya. There is clear distress over his face, yet twisted as though trying to hide it. ]

Is it really chance? If you consider...

[ He stops himself. Once he starts down that path, it's going to be hard to stop. He shakes his head. ]

Never mind. You're right.

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