ph_logs | January Event - Lost in Dreamland

January Event - Lost in Dreamland

**Plain text version here.

Lost in Dreamland

Bedtime Story

{ CONTENT WARNINGS: Unreality, dream logic. Mind the CWs in individual threads, as they will vary! }

It is no secret that in the Emerald Isles, winter and sleep have a deep connection. To some extent, this is true everywhere. The whole world seems to fall asleep under the blanket of snow. Plants recede back into the ground, trees stand leafless and slumbering till spring, animals hibernate. Nights are longer. But the local folklore intensifies this, as Mortanne presides over Winter and the Beyond.

As the tales go, the Beyond is the realm of souls, the place where the essence of a person goes when it separates from their body. And while this primarily refers to death, it can also refer to the half-step between living and dying--- the unconscious mind. Sleep, and moreover, dreaming. And thus, winter and dreams have always been kindred spirits. Connected through their ties to Mother Mortanne and to a hushed and sleeping world.

Perhaps it is for this reason that when you go to sleep on the night of January 19th, 16:55, it is a deeper, more consuming sleep than you’ve ever felt. One that swallows you whole, dragging you down, and down, and down, into a sunken place that is deeper and more terrifying than dreams.

By the time you think to feel afraid, it is already too late to jolt yourself awake.

LULLABY

Beautiful Dreamer, Wake Unto Me

You wake. Or do you? It feels a bit like waking, and yet, it does not. It is similar enough to waking that one might believe it to be so. You feel ground beneath your feet, or perhaps a bed beneath your back. Or something. You feel… something. It isn’t like waking. But it’s a little bit like waking. Perhaps it is not. But perhaps it is as close as you are able to get. Let’s try this again.

You “wake.” Your mind solidifies and reality defines its shape around you. Your eyes focus and you become aware. What are you aware of?

Whatever it is, it isn’t good. Perhaps it seems good at first, but it is not. Wherever you are, only horrors await you here, pulled straight from your own mind. Or the minds of others.

Move. You must move. The dream is a landscape. You must traverse nightmares to escape. Seek other dreamers, and flee. To the center, to safety in false daydreams. To the underground, where the Necropolis will conceal you. To the edges, where you can feel your consciousness break free of this sunken sleep and return to the world of hard objects and light. But you cannot stay here. Gods help you if you stay here.

[ Your nightmare can look however you desire. Laws of reality and physics do not apply. Fuse them, reshape them, choose your flavor. Be liberal with content warnings and respect sensitive content guidelines, but otherwise, there are no rules. ]

Starlight and Dewdrops are Waiting For Thee

If you reach the center of the dreamscape (or perhaps you “woke up” there), you will find an oasis. You find yourself immediately embraced by a beautiful dream. All of your wishes granted, your deepest desires pulled directly from the core of your soul and brought to life before you in vivid detail.

What sort of dream do you find yourself in? What do you dream of? Is it success, love, peace? A life that never came to pass? For your troubles never to have occurred? Do you dream of fame or glory? No matter how beautiful or extravagant, no matter how simple or selfish, the things you desire most are yours.

You cannot escape from here. This is the center, as far away from the waking world as you can go. But the dream entreats you, as do the illusory figures within it. ”Stay,” they croon. ”There is nothing for you beyond here. Only nightmares, only terror. You are safe here. You are loved and wanted and happy here. Why would you ever want to leave?”

Time blends together. It often does, in dreaming, but this feels different. How long have you been here? Do you remember what you were doing before? How you got here? Have you ever even been to a town called Pumpkin Hollow? You can hardly remember.

Maybe that was the dream, and this is your reality. Even as the edges of it bleed together with that of your neighbor, even as fleeting memories come back to you, even as a little voice deep within you screams at you to wake up--- you have no reason to doubt the legitimacy of this place. Here you are happy and safe. Here you are everything you ever wanted to be, living the life you always wanted. Here there are no debts, no suffering, and you shall never die.

You belong here. Surely.

Sounds of the Rude World Heard in the Day

With how far you had to sink into unconsciousness to be here, it’s hard to believe one could go any deeper. But the Beyond is a many-layered place, and perhaps by descending a bit further, a bit deeper, a bit closer to death, you can find another place. Maybe you have a connection to death that brought you here. Perhaps you find your way by mistake. Either way, you may find yourself on a more peaceful journey through the Beyond through the Frozen Necropolis.

A seemingly endless maze of stone walls, mismatched in their depth as if they were patchworked together over centuries. Mausoleums, slotted tightly against one another. Covered marble passageways. Stone statues and carved reliefs depicting gargoyles, knights, Virtues, mages with skull motifs--- necromancers, perhaps? Banshees and dullahans, elves and humans and dwarves and orcs and fae folk of all sorts. All of these things line a network of cobblestone pathways lined with powder snow drifts and crunchy brown grass. Names are carved into the arches above mausoleum doors. Some are familiar, some are not. Fairbanks, Gladwyn, Dirthariel, Leeds, Larson, Endrin, Applegate, Brenning. Above you, white pillar candles float magically overhead, burning bright, lighting your way through the dark pink sunset sky.

In the distance, you see the achingly thin spires of the Winter Cathedral. An austere grey monolith with ornate carvings of horses and snowflake-shaped stained glass windows. Perhaps you will find some solace there. Otherwise, make your way to the river. A familiar ferryman awaits you--- though returning to reality this way will have a small consequence.

[ Encountering Mortanne here is possible, though her threads will be heavily restricted. You can do a thread here with someone else, though! It’s fine to be here without encountering her. Returning to the island by ferry will cause your physical body to die in the process, leaving you a ghost for the usual amount of time. You can also return to the nightmare and get out through the edge. ]

Lulled by the Moonlight, Have All Passed Away

Should you find the edge of the nightmare, you will be able to push yourself through the iridescent membrane at the edge of consciousness. You float through the seemingly endless darkness for a moment, then another, then a third, senses dull and drifting drunkenly, until suddenly---

Like breaching the surface of water, you return to the solid, bright sharpness of reality. Actual reality, firm and true. You are where you went to sleep the night before, though some time has passed. It might take you a bit to figure out exactly how much, though…

Those who escape the nightmare will find themselves home sometime between 1/20 and 1/30. Those who stay in the dream oasis will be comatose until the dream ends, and will not wake until 2/8. They will find the return to reality deeply unpleasant. What are you willing to endure to keep dreaming a while more?

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San Tierra, Resol. City of buildings that stretch as far into the earth below as they do into the sky above, interconnected by platforms and roads and bridges that play havoc with your sense of where, exactly, the ground is. The first place Crichton finds himself as he crosses over the boundary certainly looks like it could be the ground floor, a wide communal square that stretches between multiple tower blocks that loom overhead, and yet at the edge there is a railing, and beyond the railing there is a clear view down to several more levels of interwoven infrastructure.

Even down here, the sun shines bright and hot upon those milling around the streets. There are market stalls and outdoor seating for food and screens full of information relevant to the public. People wander around, shopping and talking, sometimes calling between levels.

And, every now and then, some even climb over the railings from another level or off a building that stretches between them, like they can't be bothered with safer, easier methods of getting around.

Crichton has seen a lot of new and impressive places, but this is still among the biggest and most incredible of them. How many people does a place like this hold? Who's home world is this?

"Damn..." he says as he pokes his head over a rail to look at how far down it continues. He'd try dropping something but that's liable to kill someone if it falls on their head from this high up. "Remind me to watch my step."

Just as he finishes saying that, he catches sight of someone slinging their leg over a few feet away. "Hey! What are ya doin'? Are you nuts?!"

The face that turns toward him is unmistakably one he knows, but there's something different about them. Nothing so obvious as to turn them into a stranger, but little things—more colour in her cheeks, less weariness around the eyes, sharpened edges not so much worn down into something softer as never truly sharpened at all.

Recognition flashes across her eyes and she grins, head cocking and making the lopsided bun in the long side of her hair droop.

"Who are you, my brother? Come on, you know I'm not gonna fall, Crichton," she says, perching herself on the railing, legs dangling freely into the open air below. "If Keaton's got you checking on me you can remind him I'm a grown adult."

His breath catches in his chest. Oh... CT. Oh no...

So, this was her home... and this is her life before the tragedies that will inevitably carve her features into solemn stone. He wishes he could enjoy that carefree grin she wears, but he already aches to know the brother she's accusing him of being is gone. It's all gone. Seeing home again like this will only make the grief that much fresher, yet he has to get her out of here. He can't let her stay in the fantasy no matter how sweet. ... It's going to hurt like chopping off an infected limb.

"What if I told you I came looking for you all on my own?"

"Well, then I'd either be flattered or insulted depending on the reason," she jokes, swinging her legs without a care in the world. Like she trusts the architecture of the city not to betray her no matter how lax she is. "What's up, and can you tell me while climbing down to 036 with me or are you going to make me walk on the floor like a boring person?"

Should he take the time to check the signage, he'll find that they seem to be on 040-C right now.

He does indeed check the sign, and his eyes nearly pop out of his head. Four stories?? Oh, so she's always been like this, huh?

"As fun as falling to my death sounds, I think I'm going to have to insist on the stairs for this one. Gym day was yesterday and all." And hasn't she seen enough people she cares about get hurt?

"CT, the truth is... I have to tell you something important and I don't think you're going to like it."

Connie's brow furrows a touch, even as she shakes her head with a playful roll of her eyes and makes a show of climbing back over the railing onto solid ground. Or solid rooftop plaza, as the case may be.

"Fine, fine. We can walk like normal people while you tell me— whatever it is." She takes a few steps backwards in the direction of one of the sets of stairs, expecting him to follow. "You really are being weird today. Who the hell is 'CT' meant to be, huh? If you're trying out new nicknames, that's really not your best."

"I wouldn't go as far as saying normal..." he doesn't think he's been Normal in years. He follows along, fidgeting his hands at his sides as he grasps at what to do with this name confusion. He should have seen this coming, really. It makes sense that she would adopt a new moniker after everything.

"No?" He fidgets some more. "That's a shame since that's the name I know you by in Pumpkin Hollow..." Might as well rip the band aid off fast.

Edited 2025-02-26 21:26 (UTC)

There's something a touch strange in the way Connie's expression shifts, this time. That furrow deepens dramatically and the way she smiles seems as much confused as it is anything else, like she's simultaneously trying to work out what prank he's pulling and thrown off by the town's name.

"Pumpkin... Hollow. Okay, now you really are being weird. Should I start worrying that you've hit your head or something? What's Pumpkin Hollow? Some— website?" No, she doesn't sound convinced by that option even a she says it.

She shakes her head, turns to face the right way as they head down a long set of steps toward the next level. People flit around them, individually hard to distinguish and yet all having the right feeling for the world she remembers. A bright, vibrant community threaded through the city.

"Website...?" he says with disbelief. He knew it was never going to be as easy as that, yet still his heart sinks. But he'd want to know if it was him. That's what he keeps telling himself. Even if he was trapped in the best dream of his life, he'd want to know and so, he thinks, would CT.

"I really wish it was. It's a place. Pumpkin Hollow is... where you call home, currently. Because this..." he motions around, "This isn't real. This is an illusion and I need to wake you up. Now, I know you're going to call me crazy or a liar but before you do just... think a minute. Think about where you met me? What were we doing?"

She listens to him with the distinct air of someone mostly humouring someone's strange behaviour to see where it goes, slowing her pace so she's not always just a little bit ahead.

"What kind of question is that?" She shakes her head. "We met at a festival. You were playing one of the stupid games and I was, uh—" her brow wrinkles, "well, you were playing a stupid game and I was there."

At least she isn't getting hostile yet. He's pretty sure she can kick his ass but he'd rather not test the theory.

"We were at a carnival in Pumpkin Hollow. You were walking by and you heard a voice tell you something personal about me. Do you remember what it was?" Maybe this can work if he leads her through the memory. He doesn't have a better plan.

"No, because that didn't..." trails off, again, like she can't quite deny it outright. But that didn't happen, how could it have happened? What voice? The only voice you might hear from nowhere in the city is the local infrastructural AI and Dos doesn't share personal details.

So why can't she deny it?

She misses a step in her distraction, barely catches herself before she falls. A person she knocks into barely reacts, just continues on their dream-assigned trajectory.

Connie shakes her head. Focus. What the hell is Crichton talking about? What did...

"...you— knew my name, somehow."

When she stumbles, he stops beside her, but he doesn't reach out to touch her. He's getting through, but he can't let his guard down yet. Moment of truth: Can he get her to accept it?

"... Y-yeah?" Wait, that's the thing she's going to first? "You mean when I called you Connecticut? Isn't that what CT stands for? Like the state?"

"It is. It is what it's short for and you shouldn't—" again, her features crease, brow and nose wrinkling under the pressure of thoughts that butt up against the walls the dream has built around her. "I shouldn't know that. I'm not... that isn't my name. I've never gone anywhere near Earth, why would I— I'm Connie. My name is Connie, Crichton, why— why the fuck does Connecticut mean something to me?"

It shouldn't mean a thing. It should be nothing more than a name from a textbook, some state on some planet Connie will never see, that has never cared about colonies like Resol half as much as they're expected to care about it.

So how can she be Connecticut? How can she be Connecticut, CT and Connie?

Connie. That's a really nice name. He's sad she felt the need to abandon it, but he doesn't have to wonder why.

His blue eyes are soft with sympathy as he reaches to take her hand. "You're being shown an illusion right now. You and me are the only real things about this place. You don't live here anymore. You know why, but I need you to remember it on your own."

Connie— CT— Connie flinches, stumbles over to the barrier at the edge of the steps and braces herself against it, hands white-knuckled around the railing. She stares down into the levels below and breathes, her dizziness nothing to do with the height.

"I don't— I don't want to."

Connie doesn't want to remember. CT knows she needs to.

"I know," he says, following her at a short distance and hovering near enough to catch her if she were to fall.

"I know. But, you have to. You can't live in this dream forever no matter how good it feels. I'm so sorry."

Her eyes screw shut, knuckles paling more with her tightening grip. Breathe in, breathe out. The truth is there in her head, buried deep inside a folder the dream let her lock away, encrypt beyond her own reach—except that kind of security has never stopped her before.

All around them, the screens on buildings and stilts and signs change. One by one, faster and faster.

Colony RESOL Glassed. Date: Unknown, est. 2547-48. Less than 50,000 survivors. Minimal UNSC-Covenant engagement.

The streets are silent. CT does not open her eyes.

His mouth drops open as he looks up to see the screens all flickering one by one with that new message. It turns the blood in his veins to ice to see that number up there. So many lives just... gone.

"CT," he puts a hand on her shoulder. "You have to wake up. Open your eyes. I promise, I'll be there on the outside waiting for you. You won't be alone this time. Wake up."

Her head shakes on reflex, a sharp, jerky motion that jars free droplets of the tears trying to well up beneath her eyelids. She can feel the old alert even without seeing it, still remembers it backlit on the sterile blue news screen of the Mother of Invention. Doesn't want to see it here, on the endless familiar boards of the world that's gone.

Some of the screens change. A communication code flashes, simple numbers and then a string of something more complicated, indecipherable out of context. Then—

Connecting to: Reyes and Julianna Diaz... ... ... ... ... CONNECTION FAILED
They blank out. Another set of random screens takes their place.

Connecting to: Reyes and Julianna Diaz... ... ... ... ... CONNECTION FAILED
Again. The cycle repeats, over and over until only the closest screen, hanging on the wall of a towerblock directly across from the staircase, is left awake, repeating the failed connection on loop.

CT takes a deep, shuddering breath in and releases. Her opposite hand lifts to squeeze Crichton's where it rests on her shoulder.

"...okay. O-Okay. On— on three."

She's not shedding tears alone now. When he reads that new text, he knows instantly what it is and what it means. That call would never connect. There would never be any goodbyes.

His hand grips her tighter in recognition, his voice is strained with held-back tears as he starts the count, "One, two...three."

CT opens her eyes.

The screen flashes one final, lingering CONNECTION LOST and Connie chokes on a sob that wrenches its way up her throat. The tears fall unrestrained.

The screen blinks out.

Every light in the city flickers and dies as the entire surface shakes, an impact somewhere in the distance hitting like a shockwave. Bright, burning light bursts from behind them, casting the maze of towerblocks and walkways in stark silhouettes—

And then the dream ends.

His hand grips her firmly to the very end. The shaking of the earth threatens to dislodge a few of his own memories but he shoves it all away. In a matter of seconds, it's over and the world of her dreams is gone.

As he's sent spinning on to the next one, he says a quiet prayer for her, that when she wakes she'll seek someone out to hold her for the tears. He'd do it himself but... there might be others still trapped. He seems uniquely able to traverse this so he must go where he's needed most, for now.

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January Event - Lost in Dreamland

The places I've been, the people I've seen [for Crichton]

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