undergrounds | Mr. Sandman

6 Feb.

It's February, still cold but Valentine's Day just around the corner and people starting to think of spring, it might not be surprising that romance seems to be in the air. Hard to pin down just what the difference is—but romance seems to be nagging at a lot of minds.

It might be because last night, you had a dream. Nothing clear, but bits and pieces stick with you. Maybe it was just stolen glances and light kisses, or maybe it was flashes and surprising jolts of something more physical, more raw. Either way, the dream doesn't quite fade away when daylight comes.

The strangest part? It's about someone you normally try not to think of that way.

Dreams are like that though, sometimes. It's probably nothing.

10 Feb.

A few days later, and the dreams keep on keeping on. For at least one person, it's every night. For others, it may be more intermittent. It may be just happening for the first time, after a visit to the Redbright Institute or passing through the surrounding neighbor, or after chatting with a particular vampire. It might happen spontaneously. Either way the dreams keep coming, and they continue to be about someone in particular, someone who you've been denying or ignoring your attraction to, but it's getting hard to pretend you don't feel a little warmer when you think about them.

It's starting to seem like there's something a little weird going on here. Even weirder? There's a chance that the person you're dreaming about is having the same dreams. Not just romantic dreams—the exact same shared dreams.

At least, they are if they're dreaming of you too.

14 Feb.

It's been a week now, and the dreams keep escalating. Not only do they become more frequent, they're more vivid. What started with disjointed images and feelings, more impressions than anything else, have evolved into full narratives—ranging from chastely romantic nonsense, imagining that the object of your desire is a knight coming to rescue you from a dragon, or arrived to offer comfort and support in a bleak moment, to intensely erotic. Some of them may be down right silly.

But the common thread is there. They are all about the same person, and they all expose the fact that you care about them in a way that's not as platonic as you've pretended.

And maybe it's about time you confronted that?

On the other hand, maybe you're just riding this out.

Either way, this is getting sorted out tonight. There's not going to be a better time for it

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jean-Claude quirks something of a smile at the way the other man looks at him, for he knows how he looks, and he understands what sort of an effect the way he looks can have over people. But the smile is almost sad, in a way. As if he knows there is a price for such a thing as well. As if he understands the bite to the other man's words as well.

"Perhaps that is part of the reason I enjoy it," he admits to the other man, moving to lean against the wall against the window. One wrong move, leaning the wrong direction, and he would slip out the window and fall to his death, amongst those roiling waves below. If such a thing would kill him. He isn't even so certain of it these days himself. He tilts his head back against the stone behind himself, making certain to keep his eye on the other man as he does. "There is a beauty to be admired in such things that remind us that we are not in fact the kings and gods we sell ourselves to be."

"You are drawn to the danger, then," he answers, his fingers tightening around the bedpost. Micheletto is usually softspoken, and there is no difference in his tone here; but there is a sort of bitter sadness in those words that he can't erase with his usual indifferent mask. How similar those words were to words he said, long ago...

The assassin takes a step forward, his eyes locked onto Jean-Claude as much as Jean-Claude's are locked on him. "Forgive my impudence at this hour, my lord Jean-Claude, but I must know something." He takes another step, pulling his hand from the bedpost and drawing a silver chain out from underneath his black clothes - a Witch's Amulet, acutely Renaissance in style, but very well loved and cared for. "My allegiance to the Nest is not known across London. Furthermore, your powers as a vampire cannot work on me; I have this, here, and we have not shared blood, so you would be unable to enter my mind as you elder vampires are known to do." Micheletto takes another step, steady and slow in his course. "Why do I mention this, you ask? Because for the past four nights, my mind has been invaded while I slept. And it has been the same, every time, like clockwork. You are the subject of my dream. That alone is fairly damning."

Micheletto takes his final step, and he is looming above Jean-Claude, his unblinking gaze still fixed on the vampire's face. He leans down just enough to press his hand against the wall beside Jean-Claude's head, and look him in the eyes directly. "I do not care why you fill my head with this dream - drive me mad, mock me, or any number of other reasons - what I want to know is how. How are you doing this, Duke? Did you get an unaffiliated witch to help you? Did you deal with the fae? Or is it something else altogether?"

Jean-Claude's eyes flick to the chain -- if that is real silver, then it will burn to the touch. For the first time in this scenario, Jean-Claude comes to realize that Micheletto might actually hurt him. That perhaps he has even come here, to this chamber of his darkest memories, to do exactly that. And yet he does not draw himself up, from where he leans against the wall near the window. Instead meeting the other man's eyes steadily as he moves to lean in above him, to trap him there against the wall and stare down at him, his eyes deep and piercing -- as if he would drag the answer to his questions out by force of will alone.

"Is it such a curse as this to dream of me, Micheletto?" he asks, using the other man's given name in expressly the way he knows he was was instructed not to. But he hopes it will catch the other man's attention, with the pair of them standing here, as close as they are. "I do not so protest my dreams of you in turn."

Though he still holds the silver amulet in his hands, he does not approach with it. Instead, it seems to offer him some comfort, some thread to cling onto, as if to prove he isn't going mad, that he isn't being ensnared in some supernatural trick. His fingers clench around the amulet at Jean-Claude's words, the only indication he has been affected by them.

"I shall make no pronouncements one way or the other on that subject, my lord Jean-Claude," Micheletto answers as impassively as he can in his soft voice, though his eyes read as anything but soft right now. They are lightning streaking through a dark sky, with just as much destructive power. "Though I will say I do not protest my dreams, only the methods by which I dream them. I dream once a century, or less. To have such a dream reappear nightly is unprecedented."

Jean-Claude offers the other man the ghost of a smile, before reaching out to close his hand around Micheletto's, closing the other man's hand around the silver amulet in turn. The move is dangerous, of course, he could hurt himself if he were to touch the metal himself.

"There are no need for titles here, Micheletto," he says, softly. His own dark eyes meeting the other man's in turn. Studying his face, his expression for a long moment before continuing to say, "I have not caused this. If you are displeased with the present situation, then you are free to leave." He tightens his hand around the other man's for a moment. "Simply know that I will not be the one to push you away."

Micheletto stiffens at the touch, his hand instinctively jerking away. But with Jean-Claude's hand wrapped firmly around his, he does not get very far. He still keeps the tension in his shoulders, though, clearly displeased with being touched, though the reason for his apprehension is yet unknown.

"There is a need yet," he replies, his voice now a bit strained. With his fingers still guarding the amulet, he continues, "You are not at all concerned, then, that something is bewitching you? And that someone is bewitching you with dreams of me?"

It's incredulous. This whole situation is.

Jean-Claude offers the other man a shrug. "I did not say that," he replies, levelly. "But you are not the one to blame. And whoever is, I do not see them here. There is nothing I can do about it now. I do not know about yourself, mon ami, but I do not possess the ability to wake myself with a thought."

"Thus we are faced together with a dilemma, for here we remain together," he continues, his eyes flicking up to meet the other man's, before he gently releases his hand at last.

"I will admit to you honestly," he says, after a moment's pause. "If I were in control of such a reverie, this is certainly not how it would unfold."

Micheletto remains silent as Jean-Claude speaks, his gaze locked on the Duke with extreme scrutiny. It is when their eyes meet that he can finally bring himself to speak. "Whomever is to blame will find my blade across their throat, should I learn their identity." But his words do not have the same bite from earlier, especially not when Jean-Claude releases his hand.

Though the Duke's skin was icy cold, his touch's absence seems even more so. Micheletto slowly draws his hand away to place his witch's amulet back beneath his shirt, yet the sensation of Jean-Claude's hand holding his still ghosts over him. Damn it. Damn it all. This is not at all going as planned. He should just leave now, make his apologies and excuses and--

"And how would you have it unfold?" He asks, the question falling unbidden from his lips.

Mr. Sandman

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject