TIMOTHY ➥ 002 | daydreamcast 001 7PM
[Footsteps sound, running upon a hollow stage set scene for what seems a play empty of any design, any presence. The audience is absent, the script never read. Dust collects and with breath from damp lips, it shifts upon the air.
Doors and walls push upward from the wooden floorboards below, creaking and bending with the pressure, splitting in two as the stage melds from an open production to something shut up, locked tight. Closed doors line themselves in hallways that lead to nowhere while the noise of the forced alteration becomes deafening. Suddenly silence follows like a snap of ones fingers, creating stillness besides a pair of feet walking slowly between rows of chairs towards the small step that leads upward to this melded realm. Timothy walks, carefully taking each step until the old decaying wood beneath his feet hums with the pressure of his weight upon the surface. The curtain that is parted falls and behind him the absent audience disappears while he is left within.]
I'll put a girdle round about the earth--
[Tumbling, the curtain is cut from it's root and heavy it falls to reveal behind him woods, dark with the night that has drifted upon this realm. In his hand a ring of old and rusted keys shift, making noise and chattering amongst each other as Timothy moves forward, looking around him, shifting in a circle to gaze in all directions that hold no exit, only something that lingers. Quietly around his feet purple flowers sprout, blooming and brushing against the fabric of his slacks, shifting as he continues his path. Above the sky is starless, no ceiling, no manner of natural light.
Before him an attention seeking noise makes it's presence known as a door rattles, handle shaking with growing force. Sounds of mocking laughter echo behind it but they are faint amidst the sound the door makes within the area that surrounds. It is almost desperate, the way it looks as if a force is attempting to open a locked entryway from behind. Key in hand and with a swallowed breath and pause of hesitation he approaches it and only more frantic does it become, louder still. The image shifts, revealing behind him a girl standing there, looking at him from a distance as he stops and gazes to the side without turning his head, as if knowing she is there but unwilling to look. A pause then forward still he looks to the door that is before him, focused and eerily quiet, lips pursed shut.
Fingers carefully take up a singular key amongst many, only looking down briefly to assure himself that yes, this is the one. Raising his hand the boy places it within the lock of the aged entrance which suddenly stops it's racket, dropping into dead silence. The girl tenses and furrows her brows, she speaks with a concerned tone, nearly warning, wary, looking as if she wants to step forward to stop him but she does not.]
"Timothy."
[She utters. Pausing only for a moment at the sound of his name, it does not stop him as with a shaken breath he exhales in the stillness and silence of the surrounding area, only the sound of the key shifting and the loud, heavy noise of the lock sliding out of place. The key remains within the doorway, holding up the ring that retains the rest. There is a pause before Timothy shifts, hand moving from lock to handle, fingers and palm melding amongst the shape and holding tight, gaze careful, lips parting and body rigid.
Opening the door nothing can be seen besides the boy and the surface of the door, hinges creaking under the motion. The door opens completely, Timothy halts a breath but suddenly a hand shoots out from within, wrapping quickly around his collar and pulling him inside the space unseen, not leaving room for struggle. Any sound from the teen's lips is left behind, unsaid, unspoken.
The door slams shut and all that is left is darkness.]
[OOC: Timothy has been taking the advice of Tommy and sleeping in smaller cycles, using his faciliberry to wake himself up every forty-five minutes or so to prevent from falling into REM sleep. Unfortunately for Timothy, canonly he is an avid daydreamer and so while the dreams he normally has in his sleep are not being recorded, his daydreams are a different story. This is the first dream in a series of two, three if time allows.
You can reply with action, video, voice or text. He'll be spacing out standing in front of some door somewhere if you wish to find him in person.]
Doors and walls push upward from the wooden floorboards below, creaking and bending with the pressure, splitting in two as the stage melds from an open production to something shut up, locked tight. Closed doors line themselves in hallways that lead to nowhere while the noise of the forced alteration becomes deafening. Suddenly silence follows like a snap of ones fingers, creating stillness besides a pair of feet walking slowly between rows of chairs towards the small step that leads upward to this melded realm. Timothy walks, carefully taking each step until the old decaying wood beneath his feet hums with the pressure of his weight upon the surface. The curtain that is parted falls and behind him the absent audience disappears while he is left within.]
I'll put a girdle round about the earth--
[Tumbling, the curtain is cut from it's root and heavy it falls to reveal behind him woods, dark with the night that has drifted upon this realm. In his hand a ring of old and rusted keys shift, making noise and chattering amongst each other as Timothy moves forward, looking around him, shifting in a circle to gaze in all directions that hold no exit, only something that lingers. Quietly around his feet purple flowers sprout, blooming and brushing against the fabric of his slacks, shifting as he continues his path. Above the sky is starless, no ceiling, no manner of natural light.
Before him an attention seeking noise makes it's presence known as a door rattles, handle shaking with growing force. Sounds of mocking laughter echo behind it but they are faint amidst the sound the door makes within the area that surrounds. It is almost desperate, the way it looks as if a force is attempting to open a locked entryway from behind. Key in hand and with a swallowed breath and pause of hesitation he approaches it and only more frantic does it become, louder still. The image shifts, revealing behind him a girl standing there, looking at him from a distance as he stops and gazes to the side without turning his head, as if knowing she is there but unwilling to look. A pause then forward still he looks to the door that is before him, focused and eerily quiet, lips pursed shut.
Fingers carefully take up a singular key amongst many, only looking down briefly to assure himself that yes, this is the one. Raising his hand the boy places it within the lock of the aged entrance which suddenly stops it's racket, dropping into dead silence. The girl tenses and furrows her brows, she speaks with a concerned tone, nearly warning, wary, looking as if she wants to step forward to stop him but she does not.]
"Timothy."
[She utters. Pausing only for a moment at the sound of his name, it does not stop him as with a shaken breath he exhales in the stillness and silence of the surrounding area, only the sound of the key shifting and the loud, heavy noise of the lock sliding out of place. The key remains within the doorway, holding up the ring that retains the rest. There is a pause before Timothy shifts, hand moving from lock to handle, fingers and palm melding amongst the shape and holding tight, gaze careful, lips parting and body rigid.
Opening the door nothing can be seen besides the boy and the surface of the door, hinges creaking under the motion. The door opens completely, Timothy halts a breath but suddenly a hand shoots out from within, wrapping quickly around his collar and pulling him inside the space unseen, not leaving room for struggle. Any sound from the teen's lips is left behind, unsaid, unspoken.
The door slams shut and all that is left is darkness.]
[OOC: Timothy has been taking the advice of Tommy and sleeping in smaller cycles, using his faciliberry to wake himself up every forty-five minutes or so to prevent from falling into REM sleep. Unfortunately for Timothy, canonly he is an avid daydreamer and so while the dreams he normally has in his sleep are not being recorded, his daydreams are a different story. This is the first dream in a series of two, three if time allows.
You can reply with action, video, voice or text. He'll be spacing out standing in front of some door somewhere if you wish to find him in person.]