"Arthur Inkwell here. I've no earthly idea how this thing is supposed to work, but leave me a message if you're so inclined. I'll retrieve it at some point or another!"
[It's a shame he'll not get to appreciate the sight fully, even in its spoopy state. Dream pulls into Arthur's imaginings to change their surroundings, and for a moment they warp and transform without any issue at all, like a watercolor painting shifting colors and brushstrokes into a completely different scene.
It's about midway through this process that Dream feels something stir. Something not quite right. A strange, distant hunger that turns into a sensation not-so-distant, and then suddenly it is at the forefront, and that presence—even in a dream, it's still here?—scrambles to the forefront of his mind, filling it completely with thoughts he cannot be certain are his own. No, they mustn’t be. He’s never felt—
Hungry. Hungry!
Not desperately, not like this. He is Endless, he does not-]
Stop.
[He mutters, suddenly, hand pressing to his forehead. The shifting environment shudders all around them, caught partway through a change.]
[ Something suddenly feels wrong and Arthur's eyes fly open - not the ones in the waking world, not yet. Sleep still has an iron grip on him, but dream-Arthur starts, looking around wildly as the world is caught somewhere between his mother's gardens and the great library of his youth. ]
[Dream hisses through his teeth, and for a second he is a large black cat, and then he is not, and everything around them is flickering in a similar way, vacillating between what existed moments before and what exists in the half-library of now. Like fractal pieces, falling apart.]
The baku— It’s—
[Hungry! Hungry!
He cannot finish his sentence. Pieces of the dream stream away like ribbons of sand, siphoning away solidity, and color, and the very spirit of what their surroundings may represent, and begin to snake in his direction. They swirl towards Dream, bleeding into him, as all he can do is clutch at his face and—
Feel that wrongly impossible sensation of being sated.]
[ Every instinct in Arthur is screaming that something is wrong, wrong, wrong, and yet there's nothing he can do. He can't comprehend what's happening, asleep as he is, and can but watch, ears pinned back in fear, as pieces of their surroundings sliver off and slide away into the man before him - and it feels like something of Arthur goes with it. Some small but terribly important thread unravelling.
Something on the fringes of Arthur's consciousness flutters to life, and a voice practically pleads in his ear, Wake up.
It is with a sudden gasp that Arthur does just that, bolting upright in bed and flinging the covers away. He's disoriented for a long, long moment, trying to put together the pieces of what he'd dreamt while reality slowly comes back into focus. Yet even when all else settles, a part of him still feels adrift, like he's lost something precious. It isn't a large feeling, but it's... unsettling nonetheless.
It's a while longer before he reaches for his phone on the bedside table and punches in a hasty message. ]
[ Honestly, in the time it takes Dream to initially reply, Arthur begins to worry that something bad might have happened to him thanks to... whatever had just transpired. That he gets a text message at last is something of a relief, even if the contents of said message are concerning on its own.
He frankly has no idea how to reply. His usual curiosity and endless wellspring of words have left him. Eventually he settles on a rather paltry, ]
it's fine
[ Only it's not, really, and they probably both know that. ]
i'm admittedly quite shaken
are there ill effects of having one's dream eaten?
["Fine." No, it cannot be, and they both know it. Dream knows that it must have affected the other man to some degree, for a baku is only helpful when it devours nightmares; stuffing itself on pleasant dreams only deprive the dreamer of precious things. Wants, drive, a feeling of fulfillment.
He should have been more careful. He's a fool for trying.]
[ Arthur heaves a shaky sigh, staring down at the phone in his hands for a long while as he tries yet again to sort out how he's feeling. It proves a bit easer, somewhat removed from his rude awakening, though the results are no less unnerving. ]
It is difficult to explain, but I feel as if I've lost something. Perhaps not something large or terribly important, but I notice the absence of it.
When a baku feeds too much, and unnecessarily, it might leave the dreamer wanting. A feeling of hollow purposelessness, in however that manifests in the individual.
The dream was severed before it could fully gorge itself. What has gone missing should return itself to you, slowly.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ Says the man who has broken into Gubal at least twice. ]
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Have you been even once? We may be able to visit, regardless, if you can recall the place.
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But let's not share that information with my mother.
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Oh, so you are a troublemaker, too, Arthur Inkwell.
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I have no idea what you're talking about.
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Of course.
Close your eyes and imagine it, then, and I will bring it to life all around us. I am curious to see it.
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It would be the spoopy version that he calls to mind, of course. ]
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It's about midway through this process that Dream feels something stir. Something not quite right. A strange, distant hunger that turns into a sensation not-so-distant, and then suddenly it is at the forefront, and that presence—even in a dream, it's still here?—scrambles to the forefront of his mind, filling it completely with thoughts he cannot be certain are his own. No, they mustn’t be. He’s never felt—
Hungry. Hungry!
Not desperately, not like this. He is Endless, he does not-]
Stop.
[He mutters, suddenly, hand pressing to his forehead. The shifting environment shudders all around them, caught partway through a change.]
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Dream? What's going on?
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The baku— It’s—
[Hungry! Hungry!
He cannot finish his sentence. Pieces of the dream stream away like ribbons of sand, siphoning away solidity, and color, and the very spirit of what their surroundings may represent, and begin to snake in his direction. They swirl towards Dream, bleeding into him, as all he can do is clutch at his face and—
Feel that wrongly impossible sensation of being sated.]
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Something on the fringes of Arthur's consciousness flutters to life, and a voice practically pleads in his ear, Wake up.
It is with a sudden gasp that Arthur does just that, bolting upright in bed and flinging the covers away. He's disoriented for a long, long moment, trying to put together the pieces of what he'd dreamt while reality slowly comes back into focus. Yet even when all else settles, a part of him still feels adrift, like he's lost something precious. It isn't a large feeling, but it's... unsettling nonetheless.
It's a while longer before he reaches for his phone on the bedside table and punches in a hasty message. ]
what happened?
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My possession.
[A delay.]
It is a dream eater.
[A longer delay.]
Forgive me.
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He frankly has no idea how to reply. His usual curiosity and endless wellspring of words have left him. Eventually he settles on a rather paltry, ]
it's fine
[ Only it's not, really, and they probably both know that. ]
i'm admittedly quite shaken
are there
ill effects
of having one's dream eaten?
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He should have been more careful. He's a fool for trying.]
How do you feel?
[-is his only response to that for now.]
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[ Arthur heaves a shaky sigh, staring down at the phone in his hands for a long while as he tries yet again to sort out how he's feeling. It proves a bit easer, somewhat removed from his rude awakening, though the results are no less unnerving. ]
It is difficult to explain, but I feel as if I've lost something. Perhaps not something large or terribly important, but I notice the absence of it.
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Another long pause.]
When a baku feeds too much, and unnecessarily, it might leave the dreamer wanting. A feeling of hollow purposelessness, in however that manifests in the individual.
The dream was severed before it could fully gorge itself. What has gone missing should return itself to you, slowly.
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I see. I take some solace in knowing it isn't permanent.
Still, if it's all the same to you, I think we ought to call this the end of that little experiment, for now.
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[Short, curt. Dream has clearly fallen into a dissatisfactory, sullen mood -- guilt and frustration are an easy spiral down that route.]
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You may have all the time you need.
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