reverie ✶ inbox

[inklongdry]

INBOX

"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!"

voice • text • action

↳ OVERFLOW | REGISTRY

Comments

[inklongdry]

[ He needs this too, just as much as rest. A soft, quiet moment of warmth. Something to soothe away the sharp bite of fear and desperation that had come just moments before.

Arthur is indulging in this just as much as, if not more than, Dream is. And though he eventually pulls away, he doesn't go far. ]

Thank you. For saving me.

[dreamlord]

[He is a little flushed when he pulls away, and he reaches up to brush a bit of hair from Arthur's face.]

You needn't thank me. I am only sorry I came too late.

[Very sorry for it, actually. This man is due very pleasant dreams for a very long time.]

[inklongdry]

[ Let's not talk about Arthur's hair. It's a mess, and definitely in his face. He's going to need a new hair tie. ]

You came right when I needed you.

[dreamlord]

[That can be easily arranged, maybe after his nap.]

You are utterly optimistic, Arthur. You see this in one way, and I can only see it in another.

[inklongdry]

And what way is that?

[dreamlord]

That it is just one more instance of fate befalling... unkindly to someone I have decided to keep close.

[inklongdry]

Dream... what happened was not your fault. It was not a cruel act of fate for the supposed crime of being close to you. It was not Sprezzatura's fault, either.

If the blame must go somewhere, then let it be on the Warden's shoulders for putting these monsters beneath our skin in the first place.

[ He puts his hand on the side of Dream's face again, this time as a steadying gesture. ]

The fact of the matter is Sprezzatura called on me for help, and I answered. Just as you answered me.

[dreamlord]

[He meets his eyes again, and while the gesture is steadying, it is hard to disregard the idea of simple misfortune skewing their way because of his own decisions. That has always been the case, time and time again. Such notions are not so quickly erased.

...And it should discourage him, yet it never does. Is this a curse or a blessing? One might wonder.]

And if something like this should happen again?

[inklongdry]

[ Another smile. So gentle, and utterly forgiving. He presses another soft kiss to the corner of Dream's mouth. ]

Then I will call for you sooner, now that I know how. And I will not think it your fault that something bad happened in the first place.

[dreamlord]

[Far too forgiving. But maybe Dream is far too hard on himself, as he often is; there is a reason he is known as the gloomy one amongst his siblings, the standoffish one that is too sentimental underneath.

But how quickly he latches onto Arthur's generosity. For now, at least. The kiss helps.]

The head knows that the fault belongs to the Warden. The heart often feels quite differently.

[He strokes his hair again, then presses his lips warmly against his forehead.]

Will you rest now?

[inklongdry]

Heads and hearts are often difficult things to reconcile.

[ He leans into that kiss, ears lowered in a way that suggest he feels safe here. ]

I will. And I'd be glad to take you up on your offer to lay down with me.

[dreamlord]

[He won't argue that point. That has always been the case.

Dream begins toeing off his boots, which is a bizarrely human-like gesture, but he's not going to lie down in his shoes, after all. He eases Arthur gently down with him until they're lying on the bed, if only because he doesn't want to let go. He's comfortable. Comforting.]

What sort of dreams would you like?

[inklongdry]

[ Arthur kicks off his shoes too, though it's kind of silly considering his clothes are still dirty with blood and sweat and soaked in places with alcohol. Sorry about your sheets, Dream.

He snuggles close, finding the same to be true of Dream. He's comfortable. Comforting. ]

Mm. Take me to a library, Dream. My home away from home.

[ Right now, he's a viera of simple needs. ]

All else I will defer to you.

[dreamlord]

[Don't worry. He's not Henry.

A library, though...]

Perhaps you would like to see the one that exists in my realm?

[inklongdry]

[ "Don't worry. He's not Henry." could mean SO many things in this context. ]

Oh? Yes, I would love to see it.

[dreamlord]

[I MEAN BEING A STICKLER ABOUT CLEAN SHEETS]

It will be only a facsimile of the real thing. I do not have access to the true Dreaming here. But I think you will find it enjoyable, all the same.

When you drift off, I will bring us there.

[inklongdry]

I'm looking forward to it.

[ And lets be real, it doesn't take him overlong to pass out. He's been through a lot today, and exhaustion claims him quickly. He falls asleep nestled in Dream's arms. ]

[dreamlord]

[The dream itself arrives no differently than the rest. It blooms into the consciousness of the sleeping mind, until the dream is all there is. But this time, Arthur will find himself standing amid a grand library, with aisles that seem to stretch on and on and on, books upon books, the lines of shelving interrupting amber rays of light from windows set into the walls. At the center of this library are large tables, with more books stacked upon them. Places to sit, and read, and study, and to be lost in stories.

It is all very much larger than life, but there is a surreality to it, too. Like all the books here may be changed on a whim; that not all their stories are set in stone. They are transient, but they seem infinite all the same.

Arthur will find himself at the library’s center. Dream descends stairs near what must be an exit (or an entrance?) at the other end to meet him.

This will, of course, be a lucid dream.]

Welcome to my library.

[inklongdry]

[ As the library unfolds around him, his first thought is Ah, this reminds me of Gubal, but as the aisles stretch onward and the books pile higher and that strange otherworldly quality seeps through the stacks, he realizes that this is far beyond anything even the famed nation of scholars could conceive of.

Dream's voice tears his eyes away from the shelves for a moment, and the wonder is clear on his face. ]

Dream... 'tis a marvel. I hardly know what to say.

[dreamlord]

[Dream smiles, pleased with Arthur's reaction. He crosses closer, until he can speak without having to rely on his voice being carried across the vast space.]

In this place... Well, in the real Dreaming's library, every story that has ever been told, imagined, or written, exists in these books. Every story that will one day come into existence are somewhere in these pages, too. And that, too, includes the tales belonging to any given individual's life.

[But those are always changing; and thus the transient nature of the books themselves.]

[inklongdry]

Every story?

[ Now it is Arthur who looks starry-eyed, though not so literally as Dream. tfw you don't have an icon of this emote. ]

This place puts even the Studium to shame.

[dreamlord]

[no that's too cute!!]

Every story. [Well, he supposes that's not true.] Rather, every story that exists on my plane of the universe. The ones from your world, for example, are not present. Though perhaps they could be, if you share more of them with me, someday.

[Arthur is free to wander about as much as he likes. Dream will follow.]

The Studium?

[inklongdry]

Do I take that to mean you've the legend of All Saints' Wake somewhere on these shelves?

[ A bit of teasing. Though as he begins to wander the rows of shelves, he finds himself reaching for Dream's hand. Even here, he craves a bit of warmth. Something to ground him. ]

My mother hails from the island nation of Sharlayan. 'Tis a bastion of knowledge, a nation of scholars. I spent my childhood in a Sharlayan colony on the mainland, and the library there was truly grand. I hear the libraries of the Studium, the foremost academy in Sharlayan proper, made the halls of Gubal seem like a trifle.

[dreamlord]

Of course.

[Arthur may be teasing, but somewhere along these rows of shelves in the real Dreaming, there would indeed be a little book that contains the legend of All Saints' Wake nestled in its shelves. Dream is the embodiment of all stories, after all -- if he hears it, of course he will store it here.

But he takes the other man's hand, pale fingers entwining in his. Yes, this is comforting, grounding, even for him. Even if he is not the one needing this time to rest and recover.]

It sounds like a place that I would enjoy seeing with my own eyes, someday.

[inklongdry]

[ A smile. ]

As would I. I've never been. I have only my mother's stories of the place.

[ He hears it's cold, though, which is not his favorite thing in the world. Worth it, though. ]