[Defiant rage was the primary emotion he woke with. It was a wonder he didn't set the roof on fire, clawing at the covers as he fell out of the too-narrow bed. For a moment it was all he could do to separate himself from the dream, to put together that he was... He was in his PJs, in bed, it was the middle of the night. He wasn't in a white dress soaked with blood.]
[He wasn't trying to tear apart wax figures of people he knew, hating the one who used them against him.]
[Sitting up he leaned against the bed, let his face fall in his hands. Should he talk to her? It'd been so long. It was like he was trying to avoid her, afraid one of them would just vanish on the other. Again maybe.]
[How did she manage it?]
[The rage was still bubbling in his chest, eating at him. How dare they. Yeah. But what could you do? It was hopeless wasn't it? He hadn't realized, until he felt it, felt her defiance, that... Maybe he had given up. Yeah he had. It was better not to... Not to care. Just to play it all safe--since when did he care about safe?
( ... )
[Congratulations, Bastet, yours is the first dream to cause Lyle to bolt upright in bed.
It takes him a moment to slow down his breathing and even longer to realize that his jaw is fiercely clenched. As he manages to slowly calm himself, he mulls over the events of the dream. This is the third one vividly following the exploits of someone he knows. He is officially counting this as Not-A-Coincidence.
The strangeness of his own cameo is quickly bypassed in favour of other aspects, though some small part of his brain tells him that it isn't unusual to be confounded by the owner of that voice, even if it wasn't coming from a talking cat with startling news.
But no, what holds his attention is, of course, the confrontations. People whom Bastet valued being pitted against her. And sure, it was 'just a dream', however
( ... )
[ Lin wakes up gasping for breath, her hand reaching to her throat as if it had been her own Crimson's sword was cutting through.
She jumps out of bed determined to go look for Bastet, and actually realizes it's still night only when she almost trips on Castor, who's taking a break from playing with his toy and currently lying on his back, all four legs up in the air. Lin always thinks it's slightly creepy when he does that, but right now she has more important things to worry about.
She pours herself a glass of water and sits at the kitchen table, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
She'd never do something like that. She wouldn't stand there and watch as Crimson hurts Bastet. And-- kill you again, both of you-- what did that even mean? The last thing she does before lying in bed again is quickly checking on Yoruichi's reiatsu. But even as she falls back asleep, she's very sure this nightmare was very, very different from her usual dreams. ]
[Gai woke up still feeling the adrenaline rush, still feeling the challenge. A target for rage. That was a satisfying thing. He didn't have it. He was flailing in the darkness, trying to find his way, trying to figure out how to overcome the mystery of the Sphere, and getting nowhere.
Part of him wanted to try to talk with Bastet, to see if she was willing to help him figure out what was going on in the Sphere. But the other part of him, the part that won out every time, pointed out how long she'd lasted. Doubtlessly she'd prefer caution. He shouldn't bring attention to her when she'd survived this well.
He could understand her fury, and he could respect it by not intruding. He very likely would.
Slowly Gai focused on calming down and going back to sleep. It was too late at night to do anything anyway. For now he needed to go back to sleep, preferably before he woke Bell up too.]
The words echo in his mind as he opens his eyes, his heart pounding, fury and adrenaline still surging through his veins. It takes him a long moment to realize it was a dream, that he's not bleeding from the sword of a man he doesn't know. He's not... attacking anyone, he's in bed.
It takes a little longer to calm himself again, bring his racing heart under control, let the rage that isn't his, can't be his, slide away.
It's harder to do than he might have guessed.
He sits up, the blankets twisted around him--his sleep has been far from peaceful, the past few nights--and runs a hand through his hair.
Can you do it again. If this dream can be said to have a theme, other than confusion and blood, that would be it. Do what? Again? The rest had been disjointed images... a talking cat, butterflies, those flowers... he tries to imagine them again. They had been so... vivid, so unique. But as with many dream elements, the exact way they looked eludes him. He thinks he remembers pretty much what they looked like,
( ... )
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[He wasn't trying to tear apart wax figures of people he knew, hating the one who used them against him.]
[Sitting up he leaned against the bed, let his face fall in his hands. Should he talk to her? It'd been so long. It was like he was trying to avoid her, afraid one of them would just vanish on the other. Again maybe.]
[How did she manage it?]
[The rage was still bubbling in his chest, eating at him. How dare they. Yeah. But what could you do? It was hopeless wasn't it? He hadn't realized, until he felt it, felt her defiance, that... Maybe he had given up. Yeah he had. It was better not to... Not to care. Just to play it all safe--since when did he care about safe? ( ... )
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It takes him a moment to slow down his breathing and even longer to realize that his jaw is fiercely clenched. As he manages to slowly calm himself, he mulls over the events of the dream. This is the third one vividly following the exploits of someone he knows. He is officially counting this as Not-A-Coincidence.
The strangeness of his own cameo is quickly bypassed in favour of other aspects, though some small part of his brain tells him that it isn't unusual to be confounded by the owner of that voice, even if it wasn't coming from a talking cat with startling news.
But no, what holds his attention is, of course, the confrontations. People whom Bastet valued being pitted against her. And sure, it was 'just a dream', however ( ... )
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She jumps out of bed determined to go look for Bastet, and actually realizes it's still night only when she almost trips on Castor, who's taking a break from playing with his toy and currently lying on his back, all four legs up in the air. Lin always thinks it's slightly creepy when he does that, but right now she has more important things to worry about.
She pours herself a glass of water and sits at the kitchen table, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
She'd never do something like that. She wouldn't stand there and watch as Crimson hurts Bastet. And-- kill you again, both of you-- what did that even mean? The last thing she does before lying in bed again is quickly checking on Yoruichi's reiatsu. But even as she falls back asleep, she's very sure this nightmare was very, very different from her usual dreams. ]
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Part of him wanted to try to talk with Bastet, to see if she was willing to help him figure out what was going on in the Sphere. But the other part of him, the part that won out every time, pointed out how long she'd lasted. Doubtlessly she'd prefer caution. He shouldn't bring attention to her when she'd survived this well.
He could understand her fury, and he could respect it by not intruding. He very likely would.
Slowly Gai focused on calming down and going back to sleep. It was too late at night to do anything anyway. For now he needed to go back to sleep, preferably before he woke Bell up too.]
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The words echo in his mind as he opens his eyes, his heart pounding, fury and adrenaline still surging through his veins. It takes him a long moment to realize it was a dream, that he's not bleeding from the sword of a man he doesn't know. He's not... attacking anyone, he's in bed.
It takes a little longer to calm himself again, bring his racing heart under control, let the rage that isn't his, can't be his, slide away.
It's harder to do than he might have guessed.
He sits up, the blankets twisted around him--his sleep has been far from peaceful, the past few nights--and runs a hand through his hair.
Can you do it again. If this dream can be said to have a theme, other than confusion and blood, that would be it. Do what? Again? The rest had been disjointed images... a talking cat, butterflies, those flowers... he tries to imagine them again. They had been so... vivid, so unique. But as with many dream elements, the exact way they looked eludes him. He thinks he remembers pretty much what they looked like, ( ... )
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