Wrap the night around me/Blanket of black on my back...

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

[Wednesday night October 21st]

I close my eyes and fall into the dark behind my eyelids. I drift for the first little while and then I come to rest on the shores of a beach. Pull myself up onto the glowing white sand and look up at the glowing tree shaped hole in the sky. The thought comes to me that I'm dreaming. So I stand up and test it by causing a huge fish to jump out of the water and tell me it's a dream. The fish looks like a giant bottom fish from the river and its voice is thick and slurred. But it did say what I had told it to.

Now that I know I'm dreaming I have a choice to make, do I stay and play with stuff here or go walking and see what other people are dreamin?.  I play with my dream for a bit, changing the water for beer and playing with the shape of the light source. Finally come to the conclusion that of course other people's dreams are more fun because it's more challenging. Here I can do anything, out there I have to fit in a bit with the dream first before I can make significant changes.

This thought instantly brings up a road in front of me and I set off down it. The road is nothing special, just a dirt track thumping under my boots. I shift the bags on my shoulders and then dismiss them. I don't need baggage for a dreamwalk. I guess I've been on the road so long the physical memory is bleeding into my dreaming.


Reach the barrier of my dreamspace and with the briefest of glances go right through into the nearest dream. Let's see what's out here tonight.

[open to Frances' character]

[Closed]

Comments

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Somewhere a candle's burning, tiny dim spark. Somewhere there's a pumpkin hollowed to the rind, cut and carved to eyes and mouth. Somewhere clothes and canvas pieced back together, and brass is shining, and a kitten growing into a cat nestles on the straw and purrs warm and slow where a man would have a heart.

Only blackness here, and the thin curl of snuffed smoke unwinding. A grey skein against the dark, dull as gravel, smooth as air. And a dull scrape, like someone trying to strike a match on brick. Comes again, getting further away from somewhere and closer to here. Less of a scrape, now. More of a scuff. Sounds like bootheels coming down a, down a road...

It stretches dull and grey through the black, nothing to either side, nothing above or below. No stars. No smells. Not even cold.

There's a thin piece of smoke broken off from the solid rest of it that hasn't blown away. Twists and hangs in the air above the road, trying to stretch into something bigger.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

The road continues under my boots, dull and gray. Concrete? There's nothing else here except for blackness. No sensations no light. Nothing. Just me and the road.

I keep walking. Up ahead There might be something. A light smoky haze hanging and twisting in the air. Well above my head. I get there and yes, it IS smoke.

I stop. Stand there, regarding the only thing in this dream.

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Bootheels measuring out the road. Not a cop's

pace. Too quick for a patrol, to slow to be helping.

Smoke pulls together, in front of green eyes. (Being watched's a start. Defines where it's being seen from, not what it need to look like but where from.) The smoke sinks slowly through the black, rippling like milk in water. It touches down on the road, a column that totters taller than the watcher.

There's no sound, now that the footsteps have stopped.

The grey haze ripples, itching towards a shape.

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I watch as the smoke pulls itself together and ripples into an unsteady column taller than me. It keeps rippling, forming half seen shapes which constantly change.

The emptiness of the space around us is weirding me out a little. It's too empty. Not like an empty room where even if you can't see them there are walls and air, no this emptiness is a complete lack of anything. Anything at all.

The only thing here besides me and the road is the smoke column. Actually, there has to be one more thing here. A mind. This is a dream. A person's dream. Even if they are a totally disembodied viewpoint, they're still here. Well, sorta. The thought steadies me. I give the smoke column a friendly look as if I was greeting a stranger chance met on the road.

"Hello there."

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Friendly look, green eyes. Not a drifter, you need to be passing through for that and there ain't no here here to be passing through. Need to be passing through somewhere else for that, someplace so far away.

"Hello there."

Almost. Almost. An eddy near the top of the column, space digging in and sound coming out...

"...ello...ranger... ...ing t...ay in town?"

...damn. That was way harder than it shoulda bin.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

This is one odd dream. Some of the smoke near the top sinks inwards and something like a ragged whisper comes out. The words area bit difficult to understand. Except for the last one. ...ello...ranger... ...ing t...ay in town?

Now why ask me that? I raise an eyebrow at it. "Yes. It's as good as place as any to winter."

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Being talked to helps. Being something to talk to. Can feel my mouth getting a little steadier, great sharp crescent. Somewhere I think there are shapes moving in the dark, black on black. But a good place to winter? Somewhere there was the hot dark of a summer night, a straw-filled tearing and a pumpkin smash. Christ the Carpenter. Candles. "...ow long?" Dammit. Don't ever remember it being like this. "Who... are you?"

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

A shape forms there at the top where the voice comes from, a crescent. The whisper gets a little stronger. ...ow long?Who... are you?

"Don't know what you mean. But if you want to know the date, it's the 21th of October.. And you can call me Dreamwalker." And then I frown. Damn. I'm not the only one any more. But I don't want to just hand out my other name, the one from the waking world. Ah but I have more than one name over there. "Or Corey. I'll answer to that as well." I smile a bit at that cleverness. Haven't given my last name out so much as the first so that should be alright. It's a good thing that Corey could just as easily be a first name as a last one.

What's going on here? Why am I letting this this whatever, question me?

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

"Don't know what you mean. But if you want to know the date, it's the 21th of October.. And you can call me Dreamwalker." October. October?! Christ the Carpenter on his Father-damned crutch! There's a hollow groan, like wind blowing through dead tree branches at midnight 'round a boneyard. I think that was me. About to ask what year it is, but hell, I never checked and he probably doesn't know either.

"Or Corey. I'll answer to that as well." Kid's got a cocky little smile now.

"You ain't him," I say, pock and pock in the smoke above the mouth, grey haze trying to hold sharp edges. Air goes in and out. Blood goes around and around. Variations are bad. "'less I'm dead too." And 'less death primped him up a bit and dropped a damn wig on him. "Don't think... I want any man'd shoot a lady in my town." Serious at that. Think I can feel my shoulders stretch out a little, get more solid.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

Without warning a sound rises, a long groaning sound, like a winter wind. I shiver automatically. Partly old memories and partly because I'm spooked. Usually nightmares don't get to me because they're tailored for the dreamer. I don't know what it is about this one, but if I didn;t know better I'd say it was for me. Except for the damn questions. Those don't fit.

You ain't him,'less I'm dead too. What? Is there another Corey here in town? I catch up with the words. More like was.

The shape is getting firmer, more man-like. Still made of smoke but now it's roughly man shaped. Tall bugger. I have to look up at that hazy figure. the lack of a face makes it more intimidating. Don't think... I want any man'd shoot a lady in my town. As are the words. Sounds serious and a bit threatening.

I raise my hands placatingly. "Hold on, hold on. I just got into town on Monday. Wouldn't shoot anyone, guy or girl."

What the bloody hell is going on here? I didn't hear about anyone shooting a girl in town. Only deaths I heard about were the guy who wanted to be mayor and a couple who burned to death in a big house on the edge of town.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Monday. Doesn't mean much but-- yeah. Monday in October, he ain't got nothing to do with them.

"That's good." I c'n feel the movement in the darkness around us, black shapes hiding behind the black. "What're you doing here?" Look away from him and to either side, and still can't make anything out, but I know it's there. We need... candles, or somethin'. Weird enough that I can see him.

"What're you doing here?" I say again and this time it's more meant for here, not for town. Not for my town. Excolo.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

That's good. I relax a bit as the hostility eases out of the voice. What're you doing here? The head shape turns from side to side as if looking for something. And all of a sudden I'm sure there's something out there. I repress a shudder as that eyeless face turns back to me.What're you doing here? It asks again, with the emphasis on the last word. Makes it clear it's not talking about the town anymore.

I lick my lips and draw my breath in slowly. Right now I want a cigarette. Badly. "Walking. Walking the dreamlands." I try a smile. Just a small one. "Remember? I said you can call me Dreamwalker."

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

He's looking nervous; I can tell that, even through the two hollows in the smoke above my mouth. Frown at that, but his next words kinda throw me.

"Walking. Walking the dreamlands." Smiling again, just a bit. "Remember? I said you can call me Dreamwalker."

"Huh." Well I sure as hell did not expect that. "You can call me Hollow, but it don't damn well make it so. So you'n me are both dreaming?" Look around again. Always kept meaning to see if I could sleep and dream, since I heard about Nanshe and the red and blue cities. Never got the time, though. Always something to do. It's not at all like it was in the time after Shooter's Knob and before Excolo.

"Never done this before," I say thoughtful. "It's kinda quiet."

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

There's a pause and then it says in a much friendlier voice, You can call me Hollow, but it don't damn well make it so. So you'n me are both dreaming? I nod. That calms me down as well. I'm dreaming, and so is the other person. Even if right now they look like a column of smoke shaped very roughly into a man-like figure. The figure is looking around. Never done this before,"It's kinda quiet.

I look around at the blackness around us and grin. Now I think I got a handle on what's going on, I feel much better, even maybe like showing off.

"Doesn't have to be. It's a dream, can be whatever you wanna make it." Which gives me kinda an idea. Standing here on the road looking up at that not-face is creepy. Better to put us on the level in something a bit more familiar. So I conjure up a couple of chairs and put us in them. Next comes a table with a tea light in the middle and a couple of beer bottles. Lastly the walls and generic hum of a bar in the early evening.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

"Doesn't have to be. It's a dream, can be whatever you wanna make it," and a couple of chairs are just there, like desert frogs popping up after a rain. Table with a tiny candle behind glass and two bottles of beer, sweating cold in the air. Tavern--I think it's the Tavern--coming up around us.

"Jesus," I say in a slightly stunned voice, looking around and holding on to the arms of my chair. Yeah, Tavern. There's the jukebox, belting out something about a wayward son.

Can be whatever I want to make it, huh?

Look down at myself and grin. Might still be not quite here, but that deputy's badge shine is sure good to see again. Evin if it looks weirder than hell on that brownish-grey smoke.

"So," I say, looking back up. "This is all... raree-show? You pretend there's beer there and I pretend to see it?"

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

Hollow's reaction is worth it. That stunned sound to the voice. And the slow way the head turns looking around us. Details fill in as he looks. Yeah by now I'm pretty sure it's a he. Guess it's his favorite bar. Place has a jukebox and a bit of music drifts over. Think I recognize the song. Last, he looks down at himself and then one thing comes clear. A badge. A shiny deputy's badge.

Isn't THAT interesting. No face, hardly any form; but his voice is strong and the badge is shiny. and those questions...Have I dreamwalked up to the law in this town?

So,This is all... raree-show? You pretend there's beer there and I pretend to see it?

I smirk and reach for the beer in question, take a drink. "Not exactly. More like I gave you the suggestion of beer and your mind decides how real it is. Try your drink, Deputy."

Let's see if I guessed right.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

"Not exactly." Kid's looking awful damn impressed with himself, and hell, I can't begrudge him that. Whipping up the Tavern of hell without even a snap of his fingers. "More like I gave you the suggestion of beer and your mind decides how real it is. Try your drink, Deputy."

Nodding at the title, I pick it up on pure reflex and then set it down. "Don't drink on duty," I say politely. "Not sure what beer'd taste like, anyway. Thanks, though."

Look around. There are people here but they're never quite where I'm looking. And the front window's bigger. It's dark outside, and there's nothing across the street, no Whitechapel. Hell, no Silk Road. Frown a little, and I can see scratches in the dark. Dead trees, I think. "So. You're changing my mind, and I'm deciding if I believe you?" Nod kinda thoughtful, and frown at the table. Seen a lot of wooden tables. And. Lessee...

Grin a bit as a sandwich shows up. Roast beef, I think. Look up at Corey. "You should eat, too."

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

He nods what's passing for his head and picks up the beer, then puts it back. Don't drink on duty,Not sure what beer'd taste like, anyway. Thanks, though.

I raise an eyebrow at that. Is he saying he doesn't drink at all?

He looks around at the scene we've built. I wonder if he's looking for holes or other inconsistencies. I watch him and drink my beer.

So. You're changing my mind, and I'm deciding if I believe you? He nods like he's filing that away somewhere. Looks down at the table...Quick learner, as he conjured up a sandwich. Looks at me.You should eat, too.

Decide to push a little. "Sure." I conjure a sandwich of my own. Steak and cheese. "But you're not on duty, officer. This is a dream so you're asleep, so that means you're off duty." I try smiling at him. "Therefore you can drink. One beer won't hurt anything. And you've already got food."

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

"But you're not on duty, officer. This is a dream so you're asleep, so that means you're off duty." Smiles at me, and another sandwich cooks itself up. Damn.

"Still," I say, shrugging. Still not seeing anybody--not even Miss Verdandi or Thomas or Iago--but I'm sure one of them's there. I just can't tell who. Damn strange.

"Therefore you can drink. One beer won't hurt anything. And you've already got food."

Wave my hand like I'm shooing a fly and my beer bottle's empty and the sandwich I made up kinda... falls into dust and gets swept off the table. "Meant that for you," I explain, jerking a thumb towards the spot besides the table where the sandwich-dust is dissolving like sugar in water. "Trying to be a host...hey, is this your dream or my dream?" Shake my head and look around again. "And who's Sheriff--wait a minute. What town are you dreaming in?"

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

he shrugs. I can see the movement, even though there's no details, just the outline of a tall broad shouldered man. He waves his hand and his bottle's empty. The sandwich dissolves into dust and falls off the table. Meant that for you. He says pointing at the sandwich dust. Trying to be a host...hey, is this your dream or my dream?

Looks around shaking his head again, like he can't believe this place. And who's Sheriff--wait a minute. What town are you dreaming in?

Oh. I didn't expect that. "This dream's yours." I try the smile again. "Hope you don't mind me visiting." I shrug when he asks about the sheriff. "Don't know who the sheriff is. Haven't met them. And we're both in Excolo. Or should be."

Yeah. If he isn't in Excolo, then it means that enough of his heart is here that it never really left. But unless he asks, I'm not going into how that works. Time for a question of my own though.

"Why'd you wanna know the date? something important bout that?"

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

"This dream's yours. Hope you don't mind me visiting." Smiles at that and I nod kinda absent-like. Not really gonna kick up a fuss when he was the brightest thing in the whole damn landscape and strolling down the middle of the road. Wasn't anything to knock on, either.

"Don't know who the sheriff is. Haven't met them. And we're both in Excolo. Or should be." Yeah, I really should be in Excolo, but instead I'm here... Haul myself up out of the chair and shrug to settle my coat on my shoulders.

"Why'd you wanna know the date? something important bout that?"

"Need to know how long I've been away." I'm still looking out the window, and the dead trees are moving a bit. Pick up the tea light off the table. "You know who the mayor is?" They have to've gotten a new one by now.

And I stand up and walk out the window. I've got a beat to walk. I think.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

He gets up and shrugs his shoulders. I can almost see the coat there. Need to know how long I've been away. He replies but he's not even looking at me, he's staring out the window at the darkness. Grabs the little candle. You know who the mayor is?

Maybe he isn't actually in Excolo. Not that big a deal. This place is important to him and so this is where he comes when he dreams...even if all he was dreaming was a black void...Waitasec....dreaming a black void...and unusually fast at picking up lucid dreaming tricks...am I inside a coma dream?

I drag my attention back in time to hear him ask about the mayor. "There isn't one unless they let the surviving candidate take it. The other one was murdered last week. and no they haven't caught the killer yet."

Deputy Hollow is paying far more attention to the outside than to me. He walks over to the window and straight out onto the road. with one step I'm right next to him.

Wonder if he remembers what happened? If my newest guess is right... "So, when did you leave Excolo? Why haven't you gone back?"

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

"There isn't one unless they let the surviving candidate take it. The other one was murdered last week. and no they haven't caught the killer yet."

Growl at that, and it sounds like the wind in dead branches again. More comin' from me this time, though. My town, dammit. Remember the odd empty feeling when the old mayor died. "Got a name on either of those?"

"So, when did you leave Excolo? Why haven't you gone back?"

"Never left it," I say, looking around. The air's cold and a little damp. Breeze is blowing. Tavern's the only thing out here, nothing else but ground littered with dead leaves, slow rise and fall. Think there's a kind of flickering light in the dead trees up ahead, and I head that way.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

No sooner have told him about the murder then he makes a real spooky sound. Kinda windy and scratchy at the same time, like a haunted wood. Guess he doesn't like what happened. Got a name on either of those?

"Um...Think that Reeves is the name of the dead one. The survivor's a woman. Karin... Bathory?"

We are walking through darkness but this time there's woods and the gentle rise and fall of leaf-covered ground. Light flickers up ahead, I think it's our destination. The only answer to my latest questions is a curt, Never left it.

I want a better view of where we're going so I make the trees bend away from our destination. Means we're now at the edge of a large clearing, and just to make sure we can get a good look I have a full moon rise behind us.

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"...Miss Bathory's runnin' for mayor?" Huh. I turn my head 'round to look at him as I head forward. Feels like I'm snatching up bits and pieces of a newspaper. "She give up the 'Boy, or she still runnin' that too?"

Hell of a time gettin' to where I think I'm going. There's this clearing and it seems like there shouldn't be, but that's not the important thing. Important thing is the tree in the middle, great old twisted thing bare of leaves and all dark brown. Don't think it's dead, though.


Take out the candle and let the glass jar it's inside fall to the grass. An' then I'm just looking at it for a second. It's a cheap little tea light, but I think it'll count. I remember showing someone this, but I can't remember who. Waterkey told me I could, but I don't think it was him. Mab, maybe?


Put it in my mouth and something catches and the light slams out, pouring from eyes and mouth, bouncing off the inside of the orange rind. Hazy smoke all knitting up into something solid, canvas and straw, thread and pumpkin.


That's way better.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

Hollow seems surprised at the second name. Has a question of his own, She give up the 'Boy, or she still runnin' that too?

"Don't know. Yet." I flash a grin at him. But he's not paying attention to me it's all for the huge tree in the middle of the clearing. He takes the tea light from the glass and then puts it in his mouth.

Light pours out from eyes and mouth. The smoky shape becomes a huge scarecrow with a blazing jackolantern head. Involuntarily, I take a step back.

I want that smoke real bad again, plus I want to look casual. So I reach into my coat and pull out my cigs, tap one out and have it light up on the way to my lips.

I take a drag, exhale and only then say, "Jumping the gun a bit aren't we? Halloween's not for awhile yet."

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Kid pulls out and lights a coffin nail. Draws on it and it goes out in his mouth, but he's still got a lungful of smoke and pours that out. "Jumping the gun a bit aren't we? Halloween's not for awhile yet."

"Soon enough," I say, and my grin's ear to ear, candle flame leaping merrily inside. Twenty-first of October, and I can feel the night rushing closer. Everything I need to get to's so damn far away, but maybe, maybe...

There's little glimmers of light hanging around the tree. Can't see them but I know they're there, like the people in the Tavern. Touch the bark of the tree and it's warm, good solid feel to it. "G'wan and tell Mab-- Sheriff Devarn that I'm tryin' to come back," I say. "Hermia too." Doin' my best, here. What I was made for.

"And don't smoke out here," I add over my shoulder. "Last thing this place needs is a fire."

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

Soon enough, The giant jackolantern says through its firey grin. He reaches out to touch the tree. G'wan and tell Mab-- Sheriff Devarn that I'm tryin' to come back,Hermia too. He tells me, a clear dismissal.
And don't smoke out here, he adds over his shoulder. Last thing this place needs is a fire.

As if he hadn't made that clear enough by snuffing my cigarette almost as soon as it was lit. I give him a stiff nod. "Fine. I'll deliver your messages. But you'll owe me a beer an a sandwich in the waking world. Dream well, Deputy."

I raise one hand in farewell and then step back to my road fading away from the clearing and its unsettling occupant.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Kid wanders off and I stand there, one hand still on the tree. Lookin' up into the branches. There's lights up there, but they're like the people in the Tavern--I can't see 'em. Just know they're there.

Stop closer into the tree and put my hands on either side of my head and lift, and then I'm in the branches, watchin'. Dozens of carved pumpkins in the branches beside me, not like fruit but perched like kids or owls. And the eyes. All the eyes, warm and steady and smilin' in the night.