Truce Issues

[rassafraggin]

There is this coastline. Probably an island of sort, with high cliffs surrounded by cresting waves. It is shaped like a crescent, grassland sloping towards the sand in the protected bay, where Raph usually is. A bit up the coast, away from tidal marshes is a small stone house, windows always open and white curtains always fluttering through. Side of tha bay is cliffy and filled with caves, and throughout the island, overgrown cogs and rusting dead bits are somewhat visible. Thing is, island moves, as if it were on the back of a giant sting ray.

Raphaela, this time around, is again, ankle deep in the water, staring at the horizon with frightening stillness. One would think dreams are supposed to be fun. Maybe her fun extends to wearing a summer dress on a gloomy day. Whirring is nearly inaudible in range, deep below the surface.

Also nearly inaudible... the bickering. But just give it a few moments and...? Nope, it's still not that much, even as they approach along the sandy shoreline of the bay. The insurmountable cliffs behind them, bypassed or phased through without fuss, the men are talking quietly if not entirely amiably, and each has slung a fishing rod over their shoulders. A large basket of red woven reeds hangs between them, and each grasps one silvery reinforced handle. Indirect touchies!

Raph blinks, wind toying with her hair for a moment as the two brothers come in her focus. She bounces their way. "What do you have there?"

Sorensen looks up from examining the ebbing tide and the left-behind debris, now noticing the half-buried shapes of old gears. "I've been here before."

Lirre says distractedly, "How's that?" He's frowning, but it looks like that is his resting Lirreface, nothing to worry about. "Oh, well that explains that." He is gazing ahead and sees Raphaela first, responding to her hail. "Three guesses, Silver."

OOC 1) FISH
OOC 2) A Maggie Basket.
OOC 3) A Maggie Basket full of FISH

"Lunch!" Raphaela runs, reaching them with a grin. She is barefoot, something that seems to be habit this way or that, as she pauses a pace away and careens over, catching her breath as she stretches back. "I hate running." She coughs. "Where's ship?" She looks around, curiously. Weather is... permanently inclement here, on the brink of of a storm, althouogh never quite indulging in the release. Steely sky lends intensity in color to the wild flowers blooming on the grassy slopes, but the winds are warm, humid and salty, sticking to the hair and skin. Her dress is white, midlength and with simple plain cut, covering her shoulders and slithering around collarbone. Hair is braided away from face, but rest of it falls to her waist. "Lunch?" She repeats, hopefully.

"Be careful, Sister-Body." The Lethem's adrennal medula says.

Diana's particular means of exploring the radicalities of dreams, of the paleness of everyone's desires and less than conscious thoughts, is to get so god damn high that every electrochemical lump of saggy brain oozes juicy insight into what she might be observing. It sometimes makes concentrating on details more difficult, but every journey comes with a running commentary. Sometimes her organs even pitch in with some 'advice'. Or what may pass for that from her stomach.

She had been haunting the dreams of nearly all aboard. Not favoring any especially, but slipping between them as they bubbled into the White of the Dreamscape. She wasn't sure whose this one was at first, a pale ghost blown by the wind, hovering well overhead of the bickering pair but her attention narrows as another joins. "Ah, the Lady De Sorgo."

The men are not in their usual captainy-waptainy uniforms either. Pretty much dressed down for the fishing trip, the bright justacorps and vest missing from one and the toolbelt and googgles missing from the other. Their pant legs are folded away from the surf and reveal also the bare manfeets. The red basket looks to contain three sizable glistening blue-finned fish of coddish ancestry. They are just chillin' in there, in a non-dead state.

Lirre checks the basket before he answers, like you never can be too sure once someone else suggests what might be in there.... Schroedinger's Lunch, and all. "No and no again." His features hover in mild bemusement over Raphaela's more carefree appearance, and he sideglances at his half-brother with an unspoken curious thought. His eyes slide the other way when Diana manifests, and he's not as surprised or angry as he could be.

Sorenson tips his chin to Raphaela in a friendly salute, while his non-baskethandling hand dips into his jumpsuit hip pocket and finds a fun-sized model of the Metasepia Eclipse. With its narwhal nose and bronze sails folded down for portability, it looks more like a fanciful spaceship than an submarine out of water, right now. He looks at Diana, then between the two ladies, and tips the Dabbler a polite nod. "Is that yours, Raphaela?" he indicates the little cottage.

Raphaela pouts at Lirre, "What, that is perfectly good potential lunch in there, Pouty McFrownface." she ooohs and bounces to Sor's side to lean over the ship, curiously, never making an attempt to poke at it. Respect and boundries. "Oh that is so incredibly...practical! It is so... so cute!" She doesn't seem to notice the ghostly presence, but something else in her dream does. Suddenly, a crystalline floofball of a bunny pops up into an existence by Diana's ghost. It is no more than fist sized. It bristles before tongue lashes out of it, human sized, giving Di ghost a lick. It is a salt lick! Finally Raph looks up "Ah, you've stirred its curiosity." her pale eyes meet Sor's again. "Sure. I think. Want to investigate?"

AH, COLD AND SALTY Screams the Varibul system, nerve endings popping like fireworks visibly beneath her translucent skin. She touches her cheek with a wry smile. "Rabbits?" Psychologically speaking, not a mighty heraldic animal but one often underlooked. Finding strength in weakness. Of course, being taller than she is, weakness might be relative. She sidles away, lucid within another's dream, comfortable here in the Dreamscape. She returns one of the brother's nods. "This should 'all' be her's."

'ohlistentomeihavesomeinterestingtheoriesaboutthenatureofthepalewalkingofdreamsandhowweareallconnectedbyanephemeralwebofconsciousnessthatwastheprogenitorofthestructuralizedpatternthatoberonlaiduponthefoundingofamber!' The Temporal Lobe? Diana echoes a smile at the enthuiasm even as she clamps down on the desire. A healthy ego has its place but nobody ACTUALLY cares to hear her blather on a subject solely to feed such impulses. "Should we check out the cottage then?" Raphael's matching desire is met with a wider, more honest smile. "Excellent idea."

Salt bunny reduces itself to a crystalline bristle eared ball, shows its scary teeth and just gnaws onto Di's ghost head like a hairpin. Of pink doom.

Sorensen nods shortly, largely disregarding the spot of chaos in their midst. It's a fine day for discovery, but one thing at a time, is his motto. "Let's," he prompts, setting off.

Lirre pouts predictably as the rabbit makes its appearance and monitors it for shenanigans. He relaxes again once it starts harassing the voyeur instead, and turns his attention back to Raphaela and Sorensen. Smirking, he pats his own hip pocket. "Go on, Junior. If she breaks it, I've still got the other." The smug is short-lived though, as Diana's incessant patter brings his attention back around to her. "You're an odd sprite." To Raphaela he points out, "She's your problem," and seems content to leave the bunny and the phantom to work out their issues.

There is a small trail, etched in rock and vegetation, leading sideways up the elevation towards teh house on the ridge. One storey cottage is white washed stone, with narrow windows and thick walls, huddled rooftop adding to the aerodynamics and windproofing. It seems to flex a bit through a variety of materials as it attracts people's attention, finally landing on a kelp roof held down by weighted fishermen nets. Trail widens into the slate plates embedded into the wind beaten, besalted grass. It is sheltered from the worst weather by the slopes, while retaining the beauty of the view. It has a well and a low dry wall as a boundry of the tiny garden.

Raphaela looks up "Eh, it took liking to her. This way." She leads away from the beach, the sound of the surf enveloping them and the taste of it lingering on the wind. She finds the start of a thin, frail trail and starts to climb diagonally up the slope of the ridge. Truly, views are stunning. Top of the mountains behind which is the steep drop are decorated with low clouds pretending to be a mist. "Are you sure you have time to detour from your lunch? Fishies might not like it.

"Uh.. no." Sorensen re-pockets the miniship after considering it for a time. He gives Raphaela a smile of cool apology.

Never wanted to touch it anyway! having a look was satisfying enough. Raph knows things are precious. And how annoying people pawing at them can be.

Raph bops Sor's shoulder for that look. No need for apologizing among friends.

Diana float-walks behind the trio, a bright pink bob 'gnawing' at the top of her head. She bares the indignity with as much grace as she can manage. Which is a fair bit being a dream and all. A stylish accessory of teeth! She does not inquire as to where all this is going even as the others converse. Directors like to direct, taking a firm hand in the play's act. She was just a voyeur.
and they prefer to watch.

Sorensen looks appreciatively at the detail put into the scenery, idly batting at a stand of cattails along the trail, with a kick of his foot, trailing beach sand. He inhales the mist before it escapes from view as mist elusively does. "Ah, this isn't lunch, it's..." He contemplates the basket still lugged between himself and the sibling. "...Migration."

Lirre pays attention to the terrain but more guardedly, as though expecting bandits around every hairpin turn. Once in a while, he looks over his shoulder at Diana, just to eyefully remind her that she isn't his problem and should stay that way. Once they get closer to the house, he gazes at it for a much longer moment, its sturdy serenity perhaps having a calming effect. Afterwards, he looks distracted, lost in thought.

Raph grins impishly. "Whatever it is, I am caling it lunch now. I promise not to eat it, however." She crosses her heart. She looks around. "Not a lot to look at, I know." She doesn't seem to mind her dreams are boring. In fact, shee seems toenjoy it this way. She opens the heavy door for them. There is a ticking coming from within. Albeit from the outside, glimpse of the single floor is very spartan. A cottage. Filled with normal cottagy things. Pictures of lighthouse. One particular lighthouse. Quaint and neat and tidy. Drawing board lifted where light is best. Nothing suspicious. At all. "Venturing further in is an entirely different matter though."

Diana's dark eyes stare back, mirror neurons firing off beneath her ghostly skin. 'STARE BACK. SHOW HIM YOUR TEETH. DANGER.' She exhales slowly as a fight or flight response, elevated through a potent cocktail of drugs, urges her to elevate. To fight or flee. She listens to Raphael instead of the instinct. "Why do you say that, De Sorgo?"

Raphaela looks at the Diana ghost and smiles sweetly. "Gnothiseauton, was it. I know myself pretty well. It is only fair to give a warning."

Sorensen enters first, edging his shoulders sideways to account for the basket still joining he and Lirre by the handles. They aren't shackled to it, and yet the mirrored nature of the grips maintains the presence and influence of the tearstone. "A bare house for an uncluttered mind," he declares with a professorial air, with enough of an exaggeration of propriety to suggest he doesn't quite believe that applies to Raphaela. They are in mixed company, however, so that's as far as it goes.

Lirre leans his head back before entering, snatching a last glance at the sweeping arc of the cove below. His trip through the memory banks has led to a clue or two pertaining to this location. He swivels a darting glance about the interior, at the obsessive lighthouse decor, and then around the floor. Like a cat watching a mouse or a dot of red light.

"Not familiar," Diana admits in ignorance of Raphael's reference. Somethings are always in your blindspot. She slips about the house. She makes slight adjustments to the cottage. Brushing 'dust' from a picture or straightening a vase. Finding balance or simply disrupting the dream can be a delicate line to cross. There isn't much to do before she settles before the picture of the lighthouse.

Ticking and whirring and vibration come from the basement. House as is, is a lovely blank of museum worthy authenticity and hotel worthy blandness anyone can project their dreams upon. Beige. It is tre beige. Although trinkets around are definitely raph. Salt crystals, a bottle, picture of a cookie. Tinkered toys. There is positively lovely hardwood floor space beneath which sounds hollow, and a dead massive fireplace. "Whatever do you mean?" Raphaela grins at Sorensen, sand covered toes wriggling against the floor. "Workshop is below. It is not for polite company." So that disqualifies Lirre from being safe. "But I can show it to you." She looks at Diana, though. "You might want to leave."

"I'm a snoop," Diana says with an even smile. "But, even I know sometimes you have to let something be private." She draws a cigarette into her hand. Or wills it? Dreams, right? Placing between her lips she waves them on. To a secret she was denied. "Dream on, Babydolls."

Cool Daddy-O The Cerebal Cortex croons.

"Fuck if it wasn't all too good to be true," drawls Lirre at the ceiling, standing eyes shut with laidback ease upon the thrumming floorboards, as though expecting it to open up beneath him any moment... So that if he drops through, he does so with defiant style. He cracks one eye open and peeks at Diana's dismissive withdrawal. That is one strange sprite.

Sorensen regards Raphaela with quiet intent, a smile just edging his lips. He is of course terribly interested in scoping out the private depths beyond the normalcy, but is quite the gentleman about it. He gestures a 'whenever you are ready' to her. Where did those fishing rods get to? Dissolved somewhere along the way, as the sea dropped out of reach.

Maggie peers though one of the open windows, her smile lighting the emerald of her eyes. Peering around for a moment or two to assess who is whom and where they all are, she takes them all in for a silent moment. Then, turning away from the window she moves to the door. The crunch of gravel and salt sounds outside just before a knock sounds.

"I've noticed. I am used to snoops, I do not take kindly when people touch my things, and I'd rather not feel hostile below. Come another time, we can hang out, and I might show you. Come in Maggie. You've seen the workshop already, of course. "Raphaela eyes teh bunny "What, you staying here?" Salt bunny gnaws the head, salivating around the response in crystalline crunch. "Whatever, she is interesting, yes. Feel free to linger about Lady, but lady... you float right?" Riiiight? Nothing suspicious about that particular phrase.
Raphaela reaches for an entirely innocent candlebra.

Not entirely innocent, it is a naked dude posing prettily in matted bronze. But innocent enough. All lonely. On the fireplace.

Diana just tilts her head, "Well, yes. In a manner of speaking. I have very limited control over the dream but I am quite capable of influencing how I interact with it. In truth... I just like how it feels to move without touching the ground." She pauses at the knock, her lit cigarette burning like a star. "Oh, another. Does EVERYONE here just dance in the thoughts?"

The knock upon the dream door grabs the attention of the brothers, as first Lirre, then Sorensen, stop in the midst of their dramatics or lack thereof, and gaze toward the door. The basket develops a tear at that moment, and the fish are loose, skipping and slipping across the floor, glittering it up with fleeting scales.

The door opens and Maggie peeks in around it, smile warm with anticipation. "Hello!" Stepping in, she pauses to close it behind her before almost taking a step forward. She pauses when the basket tears. A fishing net weaves itself out of strands of seaweed mingled with her own hair. The one to give it strength and the other color, but which is which? Stepping forward cautiously so she does not hurt them, she angles to sweep them up if she can catch them, "Come here, pretty fish. The floor is not a safe place for you to be. Also, hello, everyone!"

Raph also crouches trying to catch fishies, which proves hard when you're scattering laughter at the same time. So much for visit below. Other fish to catch. She kneels down and spreads her dress, hoarding them at Maggie.

The woven basket is already out of mind, if not entirely sight, by the time Maggie comes through the door. The odd cods skitter on separate escape vectors, veering past the fireplace in which there is no chance of jumping into frypan or fire. Similarly freed of one another, the men ignore the ensuing chase at first.

Lirre calls out unnecessarily loudly in the small confines, "What in the devil, Flame?" He waltzes over the skating seafood to wind up beside Maggie, reaching for her. He perhaps expects something other than hairnets spinning out of the woman's head.

Sorry tips a warm nod in Maggie's direction, looks at the detached silver handle still in his grasp, and slides it into his pocket. "Hm. Perhaps we ought to have released them in the cove when we had the chance, Brother." He leans over Raph to cover the blindspots in shepherding the cod in one direction.

"Hell no. What kind of fish whiz are you? They're bound for sanctuary, not just any old Where!" Lirre crouches beside Maggie, resigned to help her scoop the cod into the net as they come.

Raph is still chuckling as she dives to preempt the codescape, accepting Sorry's help and utilizing his added reach with simple ease. "Any old Where? Why thank you, Pouty. I did need the name for the cove." The one that flops too close to the fireplace slips into a nearly invisible gap between the wall and the floor. Her eyes track it as it flops, reaching. "Nonnononono!" Aaaand it slipped through. "Oh no." Plop. It vanishes.

As Lirre comes closer, Maggie offers him a distracted smile and a wink, "Right back at you!" Ah! A fish is scooped into her impromptu net. "Thanks." Her eyes sparkle with amusement when it is caught. Looking up, she grins up at Sorenson and Raphaela, "One down! How many did you have?" Sanctuary. For a moment, but only that, her attention wavers. Another flip-flops nearby and she blinks, then sweeps it into the net-bag. She almost misses the fish in the fireplace until Raphaela tries to catch it. Her smile falters, fades and dies away, "Uh. Maybe it is downstairs?"

AaaaAAAH! The mingled howl from both Lirre and Sorensen fills the stone house, when the third fish just slips through the crack in a cloud of shiny scales. Frozen in place and staring at the base of the fireplace for several moments, their gazes slowly swivel to meet across the room.

"Cod damn it."

Wait, it only sounded like that.

Lirre rocks back on his heels and looks philosophical. "Two in the net is worth three in the sea," he growls. Then glances at Maggie, while standing and offering her a hand up. "Downstairs.. in Silver's mad lab, you mean?" He glances at Sorensen again, ire beginning its inevitable uptick. "I don't know about that, Junior. I say we take what we've got left and make the delivery."

Sorensen shakes his head, taking up an almost The Thinker pose while he's down on one knee. "No... No. Well. I suppose. No. Raphaela, is it safe? You know..." He meets her gaze, and gives a very not subtle couple of head jerks in Lirre's direction. Will it make him go berserk?

Raph kneels by the Thinker, sitting on her heels and brushing off scalles of her dress. "Depends. Do you need it alive or... for lunch." she looks aside, guiltly "It is a mighty big drop. With a lot of mobile parts and salt. "It might end up really delicious." She leans in. "And hey. We could just... Go fetch it." She grins impishly. Hay! Nekkid dude was never a thing. She closes her eyes and the floor drops below them. Explains the crack on the edges of the floor by the walls. Whole goddamn cottage is an elevator. And fast dropping, too.

Maggie watches the brothers, concern growing in her gaze. Reaching for Lirre's hand, she flashes him a smile, "Thanks." It does not last, though and once she is upright she squeezes Lirre's hand gently before releasing it. Slowly, she begins to move toward Sorenson and Raphaela, "I suspect that it needs to be three, Raph. This is Dream and there is probably a reason for the threesome." Her eyes track to Sorenson first as his concern for his brother rises. She smiles at him, heart warmed by his apparent consideration of his brother's known preferences. She does not even think 'frailties' or 'weaknesses'. Nope. Looking down at Raphaela then, she arches a brow and nods, "Let's..." And the cottage moves, lowering with a suddenness that almost sets her off balance. Her stance automatically widens and one arm lifts away from her body to assist in stability. "Woah."

MaggieYesterday at 6:45 PM
ooc Hah. Sorry. My brain tried unsuccessfully to translate the different types of bonds in minerals to the relationships between the four people still in the scene. And Maggie has an annoying tendency to look for patterns where there are not necessarily any. She apparently likes symbolism and feels that symbols belong in the Dreaming so is more likely to see them where they aren't than when out of the Dreaming.

"It might be alright, Raphaela. Either way, it should be disposed following correct procedures... aaah?!" Sorensen lurches to his feet once the floor falls, steadies, and weaves toward his brother with one hand out as though to ward away panic. He does still track his own gaze upwards over the walls of the chute, looking with interest for the rigging mechanisms in spite of himself.

Lirre had been expecting something like a trapdoor, but not this, and not at this moment. He's got his sea legs though, bracing them on the floor as it drops fast. His arm flashes up under Maggie's as she balances but merely hovers without outright grabbing. His eyes are blazing bright in high-octane ferocity, in response to the crazy rush into a nightmare tech level. He gives Raphaela a look in passing, but focuses on Maggie instead, warning.

Shortly into the trip there is a tugging sense about the brothers, and while the floor heads for sea level, they are left behind or rather ripped upwards by an opposing force. Lirre's hand closes about something and the red algae net with the two fish within leaves Maggie's possession. A rumble and roar as something huge and metallic passes by the windows of the empty cottage, shattering the panes. A burst of sea water splashes down, yet does not flood the chute, over just as soon as it began. But by then, the two men are gone.

It is nothing sea legs couldn't handle. After all, Raph trusts all present to be able to handle it. There are levels below, the whole island seems mostly empty. Rock sometimes seems of salt. Sometimes it is cogs and gears. Raph's eyes scoout the levels as they pass for a fish. When they get showered. "FUCK! Want to make this whole thing rust??!"

Maggie has regained her balance within a second or two, the focus of her upward angled arm changing as Lirre extends his hand toward her. She is willing to take his, it seems, though she also reaches for Sorensen as he approaches. The warning in Lirre's eyes is taken to mean a warning about what is below so when saltwater splooshes down upon them, she is splashed. Her eyes close, her mouth snaps shut and she hunches against the deluge. When she opens her eyes, she looks around for the men, for Raph, for the fish? Belatedly she realizes that the bag bearing the two fishes is gone. But that is far less important to her than the lose of the two brothers. She turns, hair and clothing dripping. Not finding either, she looks up realizing that they are both gone. "no." It is a whisper, then a howl of anguished dismay, "NO!" Damnit. Turning, she blinks at Raphaela when she speaks of rust.

Not to mention structure made of very disolvable salt. Elevator rocks, jumps and slips out of the guiding rails. Raph stands up, her hair tying itself up into a braid, her dress fading away to form black outfit she usually wears. She approaches Maggie her eyes freezing cold as rumbling sounds reach themm froom below. Another jolt. "Get out." She pushes Maggie up, expelling her out of the dream folding in on itself, with a force. "Wake up." Maggie finds herself on the island's surface, there is no house and no trace of raph as island growls deep under the surface.

"Raphaela!" Maggie's cry begins when her friend begins to push her up but is cut off when the Dream alters. Finding herself alone on the surface, her beloved, fractured husband off and away somewhere and her best friend lost somewhere inaccessible in the bowls of the Dream Island facing only Raphaela-knows-what down there without help. Wake up? Wake up? Sure, that would be easy. Right? For at least a moment, she stares at the earth where the cottage should be as her mind whirls. Raphaela, she knows, can take care of herself. If she needs help, she knows she can trump... Wait. This is dream. Raph knows this dream. So. She can handle it. Maggie must believe so. Her friend will be fine. So. Turning, she starts to walk back down to the beach as concern for Sorensen and Lirre vies with concern for Raph. Looking out to sea, she seeks the distinctive hybrid ship they Captain together. Wake up, Raphaela said. Probably a good idea but poor Kerf who will wake next to a softly crying wife.

Island is there. So Raphaela didn't wake. It didn't vanish or sink... so that is probably a good sign. But it would seem her disinclination on having people not touching things below had a fairly good reasoning behind it.

On the plus note. Raph might finally be getting enough sleep, as she doesn't really show up awake for a while.

Raphaela rolls off the elevator once the buffer starts slowing it down, imperfectly due to the one corner being derailed, butenough she can jump off level before it sends a cloud of salt dust exploding into the shaft's chimney. She dusts herself off in the darknes, clapping hands to activate the light threads in the walls. Each level is massive and cogs and wheels turn in groups. Smaller on big ones, all interconnected by cause and consequence. Some whirring into empty space. Potential for exploitation. She looks below, when a small bot rolls in with a fishbowl. WIth a zombie cod impostor. She crouched to look the cod in the eye coldly. It is Lirre she wants to smack against the wall, will the poor cod suffer the price of her wrath. The levels beneath her rumble. "Oh shut up, will ya. Go gnaw a ghost." She starts to walk off. Bot bleeps after her, sucttiling and pushing the bowl up at the baroness. "Boil it for all I care." Bot whimpers and hugs the bowl to itself. "Fine. Whatever." The bot and goldfish fuse and transform into a toy, creepily large with creaky joints. Like a kite made out of metal. Floating in a sea which is not there.