Thursday, June 7, 2018

The Raven-Priest's Ask

Dreamed on 2018.06.07.0741

Message said I should see what some priest has to say, cause they've got a mission for me, so I show up and it's a super traditional-feeling Catholic service with a real raven-priest, in the full feathery getup, talking about the three-way war currently festering between island nations on the other side of the planet.

The worship ends, people leave, and I find him in the shadows backstage where we talk. I decipher she's actually a woman, and subtly comment on it in a way that shows I know without actually spelling it out, and indicating that I'm not going to judge. In other words, I 100% Father Brown this situation. Then we debate the philosophy of engaging in political struggles as an outsider from an imperialist nation. She only allows me two questions, and we banter wittily on equal ground. Ultimately she convinces me that I should at least go there and get to know some of the people on the ground, at the very least, even if I don't meddle in the politics.

"Why me, though?"

"Because you answered when I asked."

Between the cracks in the poetry

Dreamed on
He lingered on the last page after all the others had left before slipping down between the cracks in the poetry. Deftly he made his way and sure enough, beside the entryway in one of the rooms that the idiot protagonist had had to flood in order to gain entry to the massive and ancient building he found her lying in the casket.

You found me, she said. He smiled.

You're dead, he said.

Hush now. You know as well as I do that the rules apply differently here. Kiss me and perhaps I'll come back to life. ... How did you find me? No one else has.

It was obvious, to me at least. The whole plan was to hide you in plain sight. In line 72, for example, it says.... No, wait -- please don't quote line numbers. It makes me feel... lesser.


Would you like to stay a while?

They smiled at each other.

Monday, May 1, 2017

Sugar Plum Vine

Dreamed on 2017.04.30.0859

Outside the porthole, the rain kept falling.

"Ahem." The tutor recaptured her attention. "This one is called sugar plum vine. Do as I do."

Together, they each took a knife and split the stalk reminiscent of sugar cane, though plum colored. Inside each was what looked like a bundle of half-a dozen fibrous wires. The tutor demonstrated how to peel back the fibers on each of the inner strands, revealing a mauve banana-like mush.

"Conventions vary here, but it is most common, in polite society, to eat this with your spoon as so."

As always, she mimicked her tutor. The sugar plum vine tasted like a slightly bitter cucumber with the consistency, as she expected, of a banana.

Monday, April 24, 2017

Generic Post-Apoc MC start, but with magic!

Dreamed on 2017.04.19.0706

Family of 4-5 on the third floor of an apartment building. Family is arguing/debating something about food. Girl goes down a floor via the stairwell and is standing near a broken window when she overhears a LARGE group – an army, really – approaching from outside. The leader of it gives his quick commands to the rest while they clean and prepare their semi-automatic guns. “Either they die or they become cattle,” he says. The army breaks into the ground floor.

The girl wants to warn her family, but then what? They could do nothing about this. She feels paralyzed. She considers hiding, but ultimately decides to just get caught quickly and obviously so she doesn’t get shot. She sits right where she was already, in the corner of a landing at the stairwell, in the light of the window, and puts both hands in the air and waits.

As the army files through, no one sees her. She starts to yell, “Hey! I’m here. I surrender!” and still they all run right past her, ignoring or somehow not noticing her.

A dog comes over and licks her knee, panting happily at her until someone calls it and it runs off.

She stops yelling.

As the army is filing out again, after minimal gunfire, she sees her family taken away, glancing about nervously, among other captives. One toddler from another family stares at her the whole time. One older lady sees her clearly too and tries to speak to her. At one point a bitter looking 16-17 year old girl with a gun (in the army) almost notices her but doesn’t (the way people can almost find you when sneaking in skyrim). She is now praying not to be found, though she knows going to with her family is the path of less resistance. What will she do as a fugitive and on her own? She’s not sure what the army would do to her, but being on her own outside the army seems entirely more dangerous.

The army leaves.

Some phrase about the “Old Time” enters her mind and reminds her of old stories of some kind of magic that once was in old stories.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Storm is picking up outside

Dreamed on 2017.02.24.0545

some commotion about a bird atop the tree. i rush into the room but am too late. crazy fancy mansion that we are moving into to share. on a balcony above the tree i notice a giant vulture face atop a clearly mechanical human sized body. It looks at me

storm is picking up outside. like... I see someone blow away. Everyone else wants to watch a show that's starting, and they keep asking me to come back in and sit down, but I go to the hall and hold open a side door for what turns out to be about thirty strangers and a person or two from my old high school. One old peer is surprised to see me, inquires about whose place this is, being so fancy, and I know it's part mine now, but otherwise I forget. It's owned by the parents of someone else we knew in highschool, but I forget who.

I ask the Lady/Matriarch of the house, and she says it's totally fine I brought them in. Downstairs is probably best, just stay out of room 126 because her husband is having a business meeting there, though I should sneak in because that's where the towels are.

I lead them in --- everything is fancy carved wood, polished brass, leather, and antique books -- and they make themselves at home in the basement.

Monday, April 3, 2017

Buttercream Dog Shell

Dreamed on 2017.02.25.0810

Looking into the plastic packaging, I see that the egg I have (about 2x1.5 feet) is starting to look kinda dried and is browning on the edges. "No! Am I too late?" I turn my eyes to Rachel who says, "No, just bury it in the sand quick. It's probably ready to go right now." So I do.

It starts to wriggle a little bit, then cracks open. The whole egg is soft like a hard boiled egg, by the way -- no shell. I help pry the crack open and pull some of the egg away, and a frail looking schnauzer with peppered legs and body but a curly back the color of buttercream eagerly emerges, eyes wide and tongue licking. She sits down and clearly has very weak back legs and no full instinct how to use them. She looks about inquisitively.

"Here Bee! Here! ... Wait, Bee's our other dog. We need a new name! Um... Here dog!" and she eventually figures out how to put legs beneath her and wobble enthusiastically toward us.