![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Dreamlands is just as mysterious as usual, and hard to quantify at the best of times. At present, it is business as usual in that other place. Whether traversing the oddness between domains, or residing within those islands of personal space, something is sending little signals. Weak ripples at the extent of their influence, gently fluttering at the outskirts of personal dream domains. A unique breeze ruffling the hair of a Dream Walker on a fabulous stroll. A peculiar scent tempting to distract the schnoz of a Dream Stalker. These ripples are so weak as to be ignorable to those that have their metaphysical ~do-not-disturb~ signs hanging up. This effect is not intrusive, but rather enticing with an innocent questing quality.
Those that have their rabbit ears on, and curious, would pick up on the sing-song quality of a song that once seeped through shadow with a more undermining quality. But in the present, there is a child-like quality. Those familiar with Dream Guides may find some remarkably similar qualities in these ripples, like someone mistakenly hit send-all with their dreamMail account.
Mel stands in the middle of a somewhat nondescript field. it takes several minutes for her to realize this is not her own head even though she recognizes the tune. perhaps it has taken on a sort of omnipresent quality in her brain. she looks about for the source of the present variant
It is a wandering, a meandering, a whisper with a hint of child's play. It catches Maggie's dream and shifts it toward a playful, questing curiosity. Familiarity tugs at her subconsciousness, hinting at older awareness with all of the uncertainty of a past only dimly remembered. For Maggie it remains faint, shifting, tantalizing and beckoning. Stepping toward the call, she extends a hand on either side, seeking companions, comforting and familiar. Loved. For an instant, she is uncertain, a memory tugging through the faint song. Looking left, then right, she stops her forward motion when her feet echo on wood and the outlines of a familiar ship manifests beneath her boots.
Within moments, or so it seems, time having been exceedingly fluid until their presence of will arrived to bring it to heel, the brothers Lirre and Sorensen are there on the ship and at Maggie's side. How they got there becomes less of a puzzle and more of a solidifying backstory they will recall with blithe surety. Their vessels had hailed one another through a jolly storm, naturally. Confusion with the blinking lamp lights, and then the naval flags, had ensued, and the chase was on. Of course they would come upon her bonny ship from below, at last, swimming up from the Metasepia Eclipse as it lurked beneath the waves. So here they are now, with the warm of Captain Flame to dry their soggy clothes. Yes, their clothes were soggy, or hadn't you noticed?
"I've heard the siren song," remarks the pirate, frowning. "You do know, Flame, you turn the boat away from the temptress on the rocks, not toward?"
To Melina's curiosity an effect of a subtle path is laid out through her field. The flattening of grass, the suggestion of a more well-worn route to paint itself atop her dreamscape. A few hiccups of zig-zagging to make this faint path have it further trying to assert itself within her own domain. The path manifesting tries to clear its portion of the field of tripping hazards and ruts with broad swaths of an invisible rake. "Gather, gather, hear a dumble...ah ah, a zumble...a song. Yes." Just over the horizon there's a fog of the dreamlands in-between. This path cuts through the misty stuff with a destination that looks nice and tropical.
It seems Maggie’s receptiveness is rewarded with playful winds trying to fill sails, be they manifest or not. One need not have an abundance of sklob to detect that headwind. Hey dream signal, over eager much? The wind attempts to go one further and send not only favourable winds, but…wafted to the dreams Maggie, Lirre and Sorensen the scent of…ash? “Gather, gather, they come from…frommmm ah…~a raspberry sound~…gather gather bo-bather, banana-fanner doop doop doopy doo.” A favourable channels offers a swift course from the here...to the tropical there.
mel hesitates wary of the beckoning tempted to follow her own path just to be contrary but ultimately decides to take the path. no point in delaying the inevitable
Sorensen is silent and listening intently, displaying his tolerance for his brother's brash mockery with a raised hand, wait... wait. "Right, does that sound like a seductress from the deep, Lirre? No, Maggie is on the track of a wayward toddler."
Maggie beams when she is joined by the brothers, one hand given to each if they wish. She regards them in turn, then nods to the pirate's declaration, "Oh, I know, dear heart. But..." The wind catches and drops, then catches again. Maggie glances up at the sails that may or may not be manifest. "There is something about it, you know? It is familiar and yet not." The channel before them catches the prow and Maggie nods, allowing the tug though she may not have had the choice she believes she has, "Let's go see what is calling to us. Who knows? Maybe it will be a pleasant afternoon in a tropical paradise. A picnic with children. Worst case scenario? We find the young spawn of some monstrosity. We've defeated worse. Together." She flashes Sorensen a grin and a wink as she agrees with his assessment.
The siblings recoil somewhat and share a dubious glance. Have they? That would suggest they could even work as a team for an extended length of time. It isn't something either could just spin into the tapestry of their pasts. Then again, they must have collaborated somehow to catch up with the Dream Dancer, mustn't they have? Yes, they must have.
The source of the signal…
An archipelago is laid out in all its glory to the travellers. Some quite vivid colours have painted the place. There are striking silhouettes of volcanoes, and beaches of sand surrounding them. Additional subtle paths, like smudges on a window pane, snake their way to half of a mighty islands’ circumference. Means to arrive at the island are possible via water or land paths that could only seem possible in a dream.
The sun is approaching its zenith, making the sand of the beach sparkle with reflective particulate. The water is a lovely Sukho summer hue. Flat zippy fish, practically cartoons, chase one another. They occasionally breach and bear unhinged happy expressions. Beneath the waves are rich red crabs snip-snap as if in time to the beat of a song. Brilliant tropical birds within thousand yard stares and mouths clamped around bright green vegetables are perched on trees. The paths, sea and land, thread towards a large crescent shaped beach.
"Why not a picnic," Lirre makes this face that bristles up his golden beard and crosses up his eyes drunkenly, surely a comedic hit with the under-sixes. Sorry shakes his head, what was that about Maggie enjoying the company of children..?
"Look at that..." says Sorensen in quiet directive, as the destination is reached and the sprawl of geographical wonder and a naturalist's wet dream is before them. "It's just as you said, Captain."
mel pause looking around at the beautiful surrounding. the place is eirly perfect. She finds a seat to wait as her eyes roam and her ears listen, somewhat impatient in a scene that would normally invite relaxation. truth be told, she's having dificulty not relaxing
Maggie laughs, tickled by Lirre's gurning and Sorenson's reaction to it, "Come on. Picnics are fun." It takes her a moment to shake of a bit of dream-fog to remember the last time they thought to have a picnic. A shudder is banished as the island comes into focus. At first it appears that Maggie's idea of a lovely holiday might come true. She nods to Sorensen, her smile charmed, delighted. But as she turns back to the bay, the smile grows hesitant and fades. Fish with unhinged smiles. That is the first clue that not all is as it should be. Then there is the rhythm of the crabs claws because that isn't normal. Her smile dies when she remembers, even deep in dreams, where she has seen this before. She stands straighter, each hand squeezing that of the men at her sides. "This... Is unpleasantly familiar. Be on your guard." One hand drops to her belt, seeking her cutlass, fingers closing a bit too tightly about the pommel.
Within the domain, massive sandbox that it is, a solitary figure is hard at work. A wee brown-haired child is red-faced as she plays in the sand. She works nearly in the shadow of a chariot that has previously skidded to a halt upon the beach. A huge gouge in the beach shows the skipping progress it made through sand and palm trees before it nearly buried half its chassis. The child takes a break to go fish a juice flask from a hatch that lazily swings in the breeze. The hatch makes a loud ~skrrrreeet...eeeeeet~ after she's found her sippy. A big old wooden hat is repositioned on the child’s head to provide some shade when away from the shade. A soggy patchwork satchel drags behind her when she must shuffle about her tasks. She hums along to her song, mashing lyrics up, making lyrics up, losing and finding the tempo again. Her pudgy fingers work at the flash stopper without success. She tries her teeth and starts pitoo-pitoo'ing sand when that doesn't work. An odd backwards sounding language burbles from her lips in frustration.
mel walks with with delibrate slow easy pace and watches for several moments before easy greeting is made "Hey there. what are you making
"What is it... cannibals? I may prefer that to a parade of teacups.." Lirre reaches down to grip the basket handle of his poignard, but when Maggie retrieves her own hands to seek her weapon, his other lifts to point out the obvious pathways leading inland... then stops short and falls away. On his wrist is a silvery shackle, a short line of chain attaching him to Sorensen, who had his own plans which did not involve gesturing wildly at the extremely obvious. He tugs his hand back closer to his face and uses both to settle the goggled headset that had been resting across his collar. "Upright organic signature beyond those trees. Moving deeper toward the center," he reports. "Perhaps we should hurry before something ill befalls the child."
Cannibals'? Maggie growls, "Could be." Her tone is cautious now, gaze flickering from child to the direction Sorensen indicates, then back again. And of course there is a child. Children are precious. Her gaze narrows when a distinctive young woman approaches the child. Maggie's tone fades, then begins more strongly, "Isn't that... Lady Melina?" She looks again from the duo on the beach toward Sorensen's disturbance. "Come on," she begins, "Let's go. Before something foul happens to them both." The ship glides to a stop and sets anchor. A small boat drifts from the nebulous aft section of the ship, ready for the three to claim it and go to shore. Stepping up onto the railing, Maggie uses a ladder that fogged into existence for the occasion and climbs down into the small boat. She holds the ladder steady for the brothers,
The hat on the child’s head, already precariously placed, falls back and off as she turns to regard Melina and her greeting. The hat thuds into the sand like weighed a thousand pounds. The little girl faces Melina, one hand holding her juice flask and the other gritty with wet sand. “Father would say I'm making a mess." She pouts. "Well, I’m making a sculpture. I ~was~ looking for my things I got lost, but all I dug up were empty soggy holes. So I decided to do something with the sand cause I had so many lumps of it. Now I’m thirsty. Did you come to help me open this? I’m getting awful thirsty waiting for the ~big thing~ to happen. Do you like to sing?”
Hell's Blue Bells, what are these finer details of ambulation and travel? As soon as the ladder is steady, it is receded into the distance, as the ship herself has done. The brothers are already forging ahead along the tropical path, and through their determination, so is Maggie. They did do all that ladder and boat business, though. Surely one need only think back to recall. Trivial details and technicalities, pay them no mind. "I say.. Lady Melina..?" Sorensen calls in the properly polite way to give a proper noblewoman advance notice of their approach. "We have also found this place and are on our way to your position!" Forthwith!
Mel nods "I like singing very much" she answers honestly "Do you?" She is wary for just a moment but a lost child asking for help is almost too much. She takes the sippy holding her hands but at just that moment, notes someone approaching and spins raising her arms, ready to hurl a sippy cup as sorenson calls "hello. Yes, it's me. this child appears to need help
\Somehow the dream dealation happens, leaving Maggie striding with Lirre and Sorensen, forging ahead to where Melina and the kiddo are. "Hello! Lady Melina! Hello!" The greeting cannot go uncompleted, but what doe one call an unknown child of uncertain origin. She settles on another, "Hello!" Slowing when they close the distance, she lifts a hand to foerstall the throwing of the sippy cup, "Woah there. She might want that, don't you think? And, we should be cautious. Something is coming."
The kiddo leans to peer past Melina at the new arrivals. Her hands are busy wiping themselves off on her legs. This only really succeeds in sharing the sand with her legs and sun dress. She offers a small smile, a missing tooth standing out amongst the pearly whites. “Hey, you thirsty?!?” She points towards the switching hatch that dangles from the side of the grounded chariot. A very dark interior awaits if someone is brave. Within the darkness, sometimes the outside light can seep in and glint off small sets of beady things.
The child shouts proudly, “I like singing so much, but it makes me croaky if I do it too much. There’s a worm in my ear with one song, but I prefer some others because they’re funner. Gotta sing the worm out I guess. There might be a competition where we’re going.” She trips over her hat and straightens, brushing more sand off and onto herself. “Did you come to see me or see the big thing? It’s supposed to happen. That’s what papa says. My name is Simone and the things I dream come true. So we came here first, I lost some stuff, I talked a lot and then Papa said he needed quiet time before we go off again, so here I am. I thought I could find the stuff I lost if I remember it right and it could come true I’d find it again but I think I thought that wrong maybe. Woah! You’re all interesting looking! Do you want to see the interesting thing that's gonna happen too?!?”
Raphaela in dream doesn't differ much from Raph in reality, unless it is someone else's dream that messes with the perception. She is dressed in her usual outfit, albeit in a different color scheme of matted silvers and blood reds, with her hair only half braided up, lenght of it fluttering in the wind, a crystalline bloob vaguely resembling a pink bunny on her head. How she came to be on a beach very similar to her own is beyond the point. She has her back to the others and the beach, a distant pale figure on an outcrop, looking inland. Watching. Waiting. Without any desire to join the others.
A large coconut crab disengages itself from a tree near to Raph. It laboriously crawls on over towards the solitary figure with the fluttery hair. Balanced on its back is a coconut, somehow. It has a hole in the top and a straw protrudes from said hole. As the creature comes closer and closer, it audibly huffs and puffs in effort.
Raphaela headtilts, meeting the crab half way, studying it up close. It was definitely not to help the crab out, he has his duty to do, we all do. Should keep itself in better shape. Also, how mad do you have to be not to be terrified of coconut crabs?
The coco-crab's eyestalks extend to fixate up towards the Raphaela. Mandibles undulate as it pants like a dog that's climbed uphill with two legs. The coconut rocking on its back is shifted with little bumps and wobbles until it is sliding and rolling top-heavy like, down carapace and bumpy weird bits on there, towards the ground. The straw is like a little aerial as it swizzles with the centripetal motion. The crab clears its throat and from its undercarriage it pulls forth a cigar and a lighter. Awkwardly jamming the stogie into its mouthmandibles and flicking a flame into being it gravely asks, "Sup, squishy?"
Raphaela crouches and studies the beast unblinkingly "Only on the outside, unlike some. May I inquire as to whose territory had I meandered into?"
The Coconut crab inhales and blows blue smoke that the wind takes and carries away. "Wellllll..." With some feet repositioning, the crab rotates its chassis and jabs a large honking claw towards the child, chariots and the three visitors on the beach over yonder. "Its that one's, temporary as it is, right? She made it, she made it, some sort of fate bit." Clearing its throat, the crab shakes itself as the wind tries to carry a backbeat to the crab and human's conversation. Boo-a-boop, run-a-tum-tum run-a-...The crab growls to dispel the musical accompaniment before it can fully assert itself. "If I had ears I'd plug them my pincers. You know how badly earworms and tunes bounce around on the inside of a shell? It's like a gods damned echo chamber." It takes another drag shakily, "Okay tough cookie, so you going to have this drink or is it all for me? Hey, it doesn't matter to me. I'd rather polish my thorax against a tree with some of those good rubs rather than lug around drinks."
Raphaela headtilts ""I can build you a good isolation chamber. With scratcher." she claims the drink but doesn't drink. "Thank you, very much, mr... Crab?"
"Crabulous Septimus." The crab admits. It sighs gravelly, tapping some ash from the end of its cigar. "Oh, I appreciate the offer, but it doesn't really matter for this place. It won't exist long beyond what the kid is doing over there. See, she saw me on the beach earlier and recreated me and thinks this is my personality, on account I wouldn't play with her when she and her dad had a stop over. How am /I/ supposed to play catch? And she's the worst litter bug I've ever seen, and that's saying something...cause I'm like a bug. She's so undisciplined as a dreamer and a tourist. I'll be glad when they head on off to the next place. After the big thing here happens of course."
Raphaela moves to rectify the classification, it is all about leg count you see, but it is impolite to intrude onto other's self identities. She rises and looks towards the child. "Seventh, eh. Well." Her eyes find the crab again and she bows "It was a pleasure to meet such a perfect gentleman. Shortterm or not, you made my dream."
Lirre takes a look at the chariot on the way in, his brows going off kilter as he scans the sand for sets of footprints, which would of course be glowing hintfully, to figure out where the occupants had shied off or indeed the presumed team of horses. He observes the ongoing encounter after a grin toward Melina's cup-wielding gesture, contrasting the more genteel nod from his brother. He then pulls Sorensen off balance with an unexpected yank, drawing him by the chain behind Maggie so that they may approach the chariot without clotheslining her. "What have you got here, little Sprite?" Lirre asks sunnily, glancing down at the tot. He drops to a squat beside her.
"Hey, you're alright, toots." The coco-crab fires off a salute to Raph with the stogie, making little whirls of smoke in the process. It starts to crab-walk backwards towards the nearest treeline. It gravelly grunts out a Sinatra tune because it can't help itself.
Sorensen stays resolutely standing, the chain allowing for some independence at least. "Simone is her name," he points out without much expectation of Lirre ever paying anyone that minimum of respect. "We shouldn't even be questioning her without her guardian present." His interest is more for the chariot's mechanisms anyway, and assessing its damages from its violent arrest in the dune.
Raph watches the crab leave, starting to whistle the dune herself. Goddamit. She returns to the outcrop with the best view, inspecting the chariot, or perhaps people gathered there, from a distance. Comfortable where she is. She sniffs at the coconut suspiciously.
The child has a bit of a skeptical look cross her face when she sees chain connecting the Lirre and Sorensen. "Which one of you is the bad guy and which is the good guy? Are you bringing him in for justice?" Her eyes go round. "Is one of you a sheriff?!" This is a cause of some excitement. She hops up and down.
The coconut smells faintly alcoholic and coconut-y. The chariot is bereft of any beast of burden to carry it...unless they've been plowed straight underground from the impact. Though there's no evidence of horrible guts and whatnot to indicate it. The vehicle is in alright condition, resembling something halfway between Santa's sled and an old timey wild-west coach. Lots of hatches. The one that's loose is a black rectangle, the space larger on the inside than the outside. Darn dreamlands Tardis type thingy. It is cavernous inside, apart from some flasks filled with orange and yellow liquids, and a suspiciously laid out series of animal crackers that leads off into greater, deeper, darknesses. The child waves at the hatch that swings without wind present. "Oh Papa is around somewhere." She giggles and snorts. "Oh, would you help me find my stuff? It dropped out of my magic bag. I was hoping if I could find it here, I could find it there. Once Kzakibakiquak has done eating we'll be able to leave, but he's not allowed in my dreams because I hate the stupid gross noises his mouths make when he eats."
Mel nearly laghsbut manages to hold it "Well I'm not sure depends on whether the interesting thing is a good thing or a bad thing. I don't like anyone to get heart you see. Because I have a little girl too you see and I want her to be able to sing and play without worrying about bad things. But dreaming things that come true. That's a neat thing. What do you want to happen?
She opens the sippy and hands it to the little one
Lirre laughs brightly, radiating warm delight over the childish presumptions. While Melina is speaking he takes a knee in order to slide the blade of his poignard back into its sheath. He glances over his shoulder to wink as Maggie approaches the playgroup more warily than the brothers, her sword still drawn. Beyond the insouciant demeanor, his gaze on her is one of crafty inquiry. What are you feeling, Flame? Where is it coming from? "You know, Sprite," he remarks cheerfully to the child, "your instincts aren't half-bad, but make no mistake, Junior here has lobbed his share of firebombs at the big bad ruling class. So it's more like we've both escaped justice.."
Sorensen coolly disregards the allegations, stepping as far from his brother as the chains allow in order to lean in and eyeball those hatches. For the gaping one, he takes the supergoogles up again and holds it over his eyes while clicking through the fantas-tech functions for an indepth scope into the trunk o' junk. He murmurs absently, "Simone will have to describe this lost 'stuff', if there's to be any hope of locating it."
Raph eyes the coconut suspiciously for another moment, then finds a perch on her upper ground and sips tentatively, eyes scanning the surroundings for potential trouble and or lost things.
Lifting her nose as though to scent the air, Maggie taps the senses she dreams she still has here, and therefore pretty much does, perhaps even to greater effect in the presence of lucid dreamers. If there is a non-native magic at work manipulating this bizarre Sukhotian domain, she may be able to sniff it out.
To Melina, the little kid (Simone) mouths an elaborate 'wow' and looks upon the Solaris with a new light in her eyes. "You must very soooo old! I didn't think you were but if you have a little one like me, then I made an thinking oopsie. I don't usually have to want anything, because things just are...and will be...a certain way? Papa calls it something but I have my own name for it...stubbornis...isms. Time just seems to be full of stubbornisms and they never want to change their ways." She gestures to the volcano, and dim shapes can now be seen trudging up the incline that is become steeper the nearer they get to the caldera. They lug heavy objects. "
Lirre and Sorensen have Simone's attention reeling back to them to impossibly try to give each equal attention. She's trying her best to peer at Maggie and Raph because they are all quite real. "My bag has a rip...see?" She proffers her over-patchworked satchel of multi-coloured swatches. Yes, there's a 'Hello Cthulhu' one amongst the others. "This one is fixed because I want it to be here, and it /never/ rips. But when we were traveling in the real place, it /never/ stays fixed. All my favourite masks and hats and things slip out like skittering creepers. A dog pushed his face into one near the island village and..." She hiccups a short-lived sob. "Dog body now...but the face is not a dog. The face is a hole that doesn't have a bottom and he ran and ran...and...I couldn't catch him." She folds her hands and taps her thumb pads together. "It's best if he stops and gets it off before a day and night passes. Something comes out of the hole after a day and a night. But! I lost most of the things on this beach, and it looks just like the other beach and smokey mountain here so, I was hoping there'd be a clue before we have to go." She takes a deep breath and exhales. A small hiccup and her mood passes into one of sunshine again. "I have a riddle! Ready GO! ~My thunder comes before the lightning; my lightning comes before the clouds; my rain dries all the land it touches~ What. Am. I?"
Raphaela sips her cocktail cautiously, sitting on a what appears to be safe enough rock with 360 view, albeit facing the beach. Probably betting with crabs on wether Sorensen is gonna get sucked in or not into the void. "Creepy." she mutters into the coconut. She must hate riddles, sour soul. Or you know she might be sweating in her three piece outfit. It would get anyone cranky. "That coach reminds me of Vladimir. Pisses me off." Mad, I tell you, she's mad. Rambling to herself. Or crab is a vicious cocktail maker. Raph adds a very peculiar, "I miss his head."
melina thinks carefully, mmming solfly looking about her for cluues "a volcanic eruption?" she answers questioning "Things change slowly. Beings don't like change much either. even thoughts are stubborn. But we can learn, change the way we think about things, like learning new songs, takes time, practice and effort but it's worth it
Turning to look at the child with Melina, Maggie can't help but smile. A laugh ripples from her as she glances at the brothers with their silvery manacles. "Oh, well... They are both wonderfully talented people, Simonie. As I am sure that you are if you dream things into being and can sing on top of it. I can't sing." Her gaze flickers around, looking to see what is what and where they are. Sklobing is such a useful talent. Spotting a familiar person on a ridge, she lifts a salute, then turns to study the distant mountain. Still, she is listening. "Hats and masks? And a ... a faceless dog?" Her attention turns to the child, then the brothers. She shakes her head, "I don't know what her big thing is, but there is something down the beach. Let's go see what that might be."
Raph lifts her coconut at the gathered assorted nuts, absolutely unhelpful.
OOC When the hatch was partially closed and swinging, the light that managed to shine in did reflect off of lots of beady eyes. If someone pokes their head inside with goggles or light, they'd see more sippy flasks and a bread crumb trail of animal crackers leading off into deeper darkness (in a space that's larger on the inside than outside, like a Tardis.
Sorensen says of the riddle in his preoccupation, "Sounds quite a bit like how an engine starts up and must be cooled..." Hunching over beside the chariot with one hand still holding the goggles and his other stretched out behind him at the anchoring weight that is his brother, he mutters curiously while trying to get a better look inside the opening.
Lirre probably accidentally saves his brother's damned soul by abruptly bounding to his feet to join Maggie in gazing back along the beach. "I don't know but I think the sprout just copped to turning a dog's face inside out..." he growls in her ear. "I like Goldie's solution better," he mentions aside to Sorensen. "I mean, just look about you." He readily goes along to where Maggie is headed, and Sorensen follows once he recovers from the yoink and gets turned right side around.
Down the beach a ways is a distance that closes remarkably fast for dreamers. The distance between the chariot, child and company warps to show another wobbly crescent of beach. There are hundreds of footprints that go from the surf, all the way to the treeline, and up towards the top of the volcano. Partially covered by the sand is a snake looking thing. Very long and wavy. It's actually a wick if you pay attention long enough. Perhaps the dreamer of the 'here' is interpreting things, or a sklob can pierce the fog of interpretations? It's definitely a looooong wick, with the bit you light near the beach, and presumably the thing its attached to is...Those figures in the distance hauling a thing that's attached up to the caldera.
Simone chirps to Melina, "Oh yeah, it sure does! I don't feel like anything changes except for the places I get to visit sometimes. But never us, which is fine I guess. Once I eat Papa maybe I'll grow. But I don't want to, sooooo..." She flaps her hands. "I think you're alllll correct! The funny thing about this volcano engine is it wasn't supposed to start up for many years and years. Hey, its kind of like stubborness! I guess there's exceptions to allll the rules, when enough people are also just as stubborness? Boy, mortals sure can do a lot even though their candle sticks are so stubby and short. You win a prize for the riddle! Oh no! I don't actually have anything in here here. Only here there..." She waves at Maggie and Sorensen 'n Lirre, "Watch out for the hole on four legs if you accidentally wake up!"
melina blinks "Wait, the mortals are starting the valcano engine or your dad wants it too/ She asks looking at the wick with trepidation "and why do they want it to start
mel starts following the footprints up the beach
Nodding to Lirre, Maggie looks a bit pale. "Sounds like it to me," she murmurs in reply. Turning a bit, she offers Sorensen an arm to steady himself after the yoink, though he might not need it. While turned toward the child, she catches more that is said. Her expression turns grim then pensive. Speaking to those nearby, she adds, "And... that she has to eat her dad to grow. At least she is reluctant. Looking at the footprints, from sea to jungle, she blinks twice. Then the wick. And up to the volcano. And over to Melina. "Be careful." Shaking her head, she scans the island once more, "Okay, so a volcano engine that is being forcefully started. Why?" Other than to, maybe eliminate a wild child? "Where are her parents?"
Lirre stares down at the winding rope, plays his gaze hectically along its course and on and on to the presumed finish line. "Was this here before we started talking about firebombs?" he muses, but it doesn't really matter now, does it? "Any rate, it's here now, and someone's stubborness keeps it here." He scowls in thought. "I say we grab everything nearby worth saving and hit the waves, Flame," he nods to Maggie's ship anchored off the coast. "The kid included." He isn't bloody leaving an abandoned tyke to get blown to smithereens, no matter how many hell portal masks she has.
"Oh yeah, they sure are!" Simone exclaims to Melina. "But when aren't they starting something?" She offers a knowing smile, her expression threatening to veer into the more conspiratorial. "Well, I'm not sure why they're doing what they're doing. Whenever I try and tell some of them to do something, the words get jumbled almost like everything is backwards or upside down. Papa says something is always lost in the translation. I guess they would leak gooey icky if it was straight from our lips to their ears. Papa is quiet proud of his interpretive visions but...hmmm...I don't think these mortals are any of ours. But that doesn't mean they aren't trying to make 'somebody' happy, right? Usually that's why mortals do things, right? Papa is more about observing than smiting and biting." She laughs and goes to collect a small wooden shovel, tripping over a partially buried mask in the sand. "C'mon, pick up a shovel and help me finish my sandman. See? I was making a big one on the beach from all my diggies."
It wasn't there before, but now the beach's sand shifts to show that not only are there diggy-holes where she tried to find her lost things, but a rough facsimile of a humanoid has been crudely lumped as if the entity was sleeping on its back, in a Leonardo Davinci pose (a la Vitruvian man)...from the excess dug up sand. If it stood upright it would be approximately 15 feet tall or more. It's head has a crown of urchins and a conch shell for a mouth. Small barnacle feets lightly wave at the air...fwoo-fwoo. She whispers in a voice that lowers a few octaves, "Guess how I made the shape soooo goooouuuud?"
The end of the winding wick near the beach line sparks to life. A rich sazzling sparking conflagration. Like a weird snake consuming its own tail.
Sorensen nods quickly to Maggie when she offers support, but keeps his free arm free in case more goggle action is in order. "Capital notion, brother. If we take up this end of the fuse, and tow it along with us on the Wave Dancer, we might prevent the other end from reaching that... Uh." He stops abruptly upon seeing the end he was gesturing at suddenly parf into flame. He withdraws his hand and almost guiltily pockets it. He did not do that.
The shifting of the beach sands catches Maggie by surprise. She half dances a step or two to avoid a hole that opens near one foot. Turning, she spies the form in the sand,. Her lips part and she is about to point it out needlessly to the brothers when the sound of the girl's voice dropping into a lower register, coupled with the hiss and sizzle of the wick sets her off. Her attention moves in an instant to the burning rope, gliding by Sorensen on the way. She grins at him, well aware that his talents are not in the realm of dream fire even if he could have brought a tech-manufactured fire-starter. He is good that way. Extending one hand, she calls on her own fire to snuff and wind to blow spray to wet the wick in an attempt to put it out and keep it that way. Nodding, she watches the wick, "Good idea, Lirre. Let's gather Melina and Raphaela too. We don't want to leave anyone behind."
Raphaela has quite a nice vantage point to see the golem like sand castle. She tchs at Lirre's choice. No surprise there. Pillage and run. Next blink and she's sipping somewhere between giant's head and Simone, leaning on a shovel and ignoring the world's wick is on fire, while eyeing the gaping hole of the carriage one should definitely not venture into to explore. "Sandman assistant builder reports to duty, miss Simone. What can I do? Excavate whatever is sleeping underneath or pile on more sand on top?" She deadpans. She isn't anyone's to leave or not leave behind. What with that curiosity. It is to die for. "Don't want to ruin the masterpiece."
Mel hms and very reluctantly does an about face "Shame we have to make a choice between leaving and finding out what they're up to up there but if we delay we may lose our chance at stopping things from going furthe south as it were" She closes the distance back to where the others stand and eyes the sandman carefully "Who are you making there? He looks pretty important. I was wondering if you'd like to see my friend Maggie's really neat boat?"
The wick can apparently be extinguished with a Will, but the measure might only be temporary as it keeps wanting to spark back to life when left to its own devices. Very, very stubbornly at that.
The child meanwhile starts scooping more sand upon her sculpture, adding frantic pat-pats of her sandy palms to squarsh the shape good and proper. "Add more sand and squash it good. When there's big rumble-tumbles, sometimes it shakes and quakes way too much and ruins everything." she says as only a super serious kiddo can manage about things as important as sand castles and sculptures. "Oh!" She turns to Melina and says brightly, "It's gonna happen. It hasn't happened just yet...I think." She squints her eyes real tight. Tight enough that her eyeballs sink deeper into her sockets and stretch lines become more prominent as she concentrates real hard. She points slowly towards the top of the volcano. "I can't remember, if this is where a bunch are locked up, or something gets hatched, but it needed, will need, did need...a nudge? Papa calls some things nudges that I wouldn't. A Grrruption isn't a nudge if you ask me. Oh, I hope your boat is Grrruption proof. I would hate to see a neat boat get blowd up."
Raphaela crouches and patpatpats the sand she just shoveled in. SMACK SMACK SMACK, with perfectionist's focus. "Depends on your father's perspective, doesn't it. Eruption, human sacrifice... certainly would nudge certain things in certain directions."
Don't be so certain, Mags.. maybe it was all true about Sorensen's part in underground rebellion! And 'almost guilty' is pretty close to a confession. He's watching the wick sputtering in and out of life with a look like he might be okay with the big Badaboom. He too traces its eventual path to the figures at the edge of the caldera. "Is that what this island is called, or the crater specifically... Ka... Kzakibakiquak," he repeats with fair accuracy.
"Yes. So the little kneebiter's in Sukho. Or was. Or will be," shrugs Lirre. He nods over to Melina's precipitous return to the beach. "Tourists shouldn't go messing with the local culture," he says with more than one level of pointed meaning in his tone, then he too gives the sprawled sand giant a onceover. "Maybe this is Quack-back-Quack.. ack," he startles as Raphaela leans into view, with shovel, watching her antics suspiciously a moment before looking back at Maggie. "This place goes, Flame, you'll all be fine.. just tossed back to.. y'know. Junior and I, however..."
It is kind of like a giant riddle, isn't it? The child missing her things, masks and hats that potentially hold doorways to strange places, the figures on the volcano working to throw things into it, the fuse that stubbornly wants to stay lite. And then there is that ominous child building far too accurate sand sculptures of men. Whose father is missing but is destined to become her dinner so she can grow. Then there is the carriage with its very evident child trap. She nods to Lirre, then frowns, "I can keep the wick from lighting but only if I concentrate." Turning the full of her attention onto it again, she draws her cutlass once more, though she does not recall actually sheathing it. Moving forward, she swings the sword to try to sever the burning end from the rest. She cuts it close with a seaward swipe at the end to fling the smoldering mess into the water. "You and Sorensen are not expendable, Lirre." Figuring it is now a race, she nods to Melina in greeting, then turns, "Come on. Everyone to my ship. The shore boat is right there." She gestures with the glittering sword's blade to where the shore boat lies two thirds up on the beach.
Mel shakes her her head at Lirre "you are quite late with yhat warning captain. We've already done more mucking than our fair share and are now more than responsponsible for making sure sukho doesn't go kablooey here or elsewhere and i'm not inclined to leave friends to die"she finishes as she moves shipward at a quickened pace
Pat pat pat. Sand golem now has a magnificent stache.
The sand sculpture makes a muffled 'murf....urf?' kind of sound. Simone leans her head back and groans with all the anguish of a six year old told the Storytime Whale can't be booked for her birthday part. "Oh nooOOOooooo...he's waking up! I thought I had enough saaaaAAAaaand this time..."
The severed wick splooshes into the water and sazzles like a frenzied snake. Woob-woob-woob. The severed end of the wick remaining on the island is delayed in igniting again, though it clearly wants to.
Let it fulfill its destiny damnit. "It's because all of those people are slackers who didn't want to shovel in." She says, deadpan, leaning on her shovel. She is freakishly comfortable with it for a noble woman. How many bodies lie in htat garden? Who knows. "Your attempt at murder has been thwarted."
Lirre looks at Melina, tilting his head in a puzzled manner as she speaks of things he either doesn't recall or never witnessed. "Thought Sukho liked going kablooey," he mutters, turning back to Maggie in time to see her lop the wick dramatically in two, and nods to her, impressed. "Good to know, Flame.. but what about the tot?" He gestures, then stares wide-eyed as the voice burbles up from the sand. Aha! "Bloody blue hells, Silver, you covered over the breathing hole!" She totally did. Sand-stache, a likely story.
Tche. Raphaela sideglances. Busted. Should've shoveled the damned man's face instead. Lirre and his amputated sense of fun.
Sorensen shakes out of fascination when the wick is cauterized, so to speak. "Right. There are aspects of this land over which our decisions will have scant impact. A good chance the pain will be real and lasting," he predicts for himself and Lirre. He scans the island details one last time. "Do you recall when we searched for the Narwhal, Maggie? We found it by recreating its environment." What's he getting at? No time to explain, especially as now he's distracted, looking from the animating sandman up to Raphaela, then back, as Lirre uncovers the Real Attempted Murderess among them.
Maggie tries to usher the brothers along after Melina but stops when she hears the sandman gurgle. Leaving the wick, she hurries toward the buried man. Panic rises as she imagines someone stuck under that much sand struggling to breath. Sukho? Melina's assertion hits her like a fresh fishslap in the face and the people still trying to kickstart a volcano ping ever more urgently in her consciousness. Rather than continuing forward, she stops and turns to Sorensen, "I do. Yes. Tell me what you are thinking, please." Lifting one hand, she tries to mentally grab the whirling dream, tries to slow it down to give them time, or her time, to understand what nasty little plot is playing out here. Successful or not, she is listening.
mel looks horribly confused. something is alive under there. How could se have missed that or did that just change in the last 10 minutes. she seems inclined to run
The domain seems to be in the grip of another's mind and stubbornly resists changes from guests beyond the minor.
Simone tosses her shovel and starts immediately rummaging around in her patchwork satchel, rifling out a mask after a good hair-tossing. She hums to herself, like she was trying to find the right pitch to sing along with a new song. "Mm mm mmmmm." She then leans down to the head of the sandman that is starting to attain more animation. "Papa, you should be not-asleep for hooooours more. I have friends over..." She adds petulantly almost under her breath, "...and I'm not done burying yoooooou." This doesn't seem to satisfy the buried figure who gains more movement each passing moment. Slowly sliding the mask down over her features, her face is partially obscured, but the mask being levered down has the mouth that's moving with her words. The holes for eyes exhume a octarine vapour that smells faintly of lavender. "Oh, nooow I remember where I must have dropped my stuff. All those turtle turtles in their lagoooon. At least /they/ can't wear 'em. Ha ha ha!" She squeals. "Better have my face on before Papa open his eyes..."
Nothing creepy there at all. Losing interest in the sand golem papa, Raphaela rests shovel on her impeccably dressed shoulder and heads over to the coach opening. Kid is way too creepy. Crackers leading into the darkness on the other hand.
It's telling that even the more-than-halfway-decent people in this Dream do not move to rescue the thing beneath the Vitruvian Mound. With his accusation against the Baroness registered for future conflict, heckling, and abuse, Lirre decidedly steps away from the twitching sand and the precocious inhuman youngster as she produces a more fitting face for her soulless demeanor. "Ugh.. we need to be away, now. What Junior's trying to say, Flame, is we were able to recreate a place in the Real. At least, real enough. C'mon, c'mon," He gives his mirror shackle chain a tug, already heading for the tideline.
Sorensen nods, resisting the pull long enough to glance after Raphaela's pursuing her own dream whims, and says, "Yes, it stands to reason the child has recreated this island in the same vein. If you go in search of this place, do be very careful, Maggie."
mel does consider for a half moment. if she planned to make her case to gods why not start with one but i'm sorry to wake you can we chat seems just a bit out there. Outloud she says 'maybe I could leave a note?"
Maggie blows a whoosh of air out as she finally gets it, "Well... Carp." Striding forward, she sheaths her sword and catches both brother's by a hand each. A squeeze is given and she pushes them toward the shore boat, "Go, please. I won't be far behind. Get Lady Melina to the ship." Spinning, she takes off toward the sand man, but is almost stopped in her tracks when she sees the child with the new face, "Damn..." Her aim is to swish the stache from the buried man's face, and, if she is lucky, catch the vanishing Raphaela by the waist and pull her back to the ship. Damn curious scientist chasing snacks into oblivion. "Good bye, Simone. We will have to catch up another time." She cannot stop the progression of time here, but can kind of dream hop from where she is to where she intends being. Maybe she will make it.
The colour of the beach starts to leech. And the sand is steadily swallowed by the rising sea. Details that were once crisp are falling into fuzz. Simone lays down beside the undulating sand sculpture with her mask in place, despite the waters rising...or is it the island simply sinking as slumber of the dreamer is soaking up a growing state of wakefulness? The sculpture mumbles like a man before his morning coffee, half-awake/asleep. ~Poppet...are you leaking dreams again? Why do I taste the scent of oranges and...others...~ Simone lightly swings her satchel onto Papa's face. Fwap. ~Poppet!~ "Oops, sorry, my fault O-voice-of-silk-and-velvet." She waves hastily with one arm at her guests.
Inside the hatch is darkness, and it is complete when the door swings shut with a click. Anyone Raphaela enough to venture inside is ejected back to their earlier dream domain like from the barrel of a nerf gun.
melina waves and sensds a whisper as she runs off " Make sioe friends and have some fun rember when all is said in done. We all should live together as one
