I hear Elm Street's nice this time of year!

[applewatcher]

WHO: Lucien Lachance, anyone who's expressed interest in getting a dream invasion of their very own!
WHERE: A small safehouse outside Heropa, wherever the other participants are sleeping.
WHEN: Over the course of several nights, starting in late February.
WHAT: Weird murder cult evangelizing and dream shenanigans!
WARNINGS: Lots of murder and death mentions, potential violence.

--🔪--

It was so heartening to know just how many murderers were among the imPorts. He was almost spoiled for choice. But how to select the right ones? This was the Night Mother's role, it felt blasphemous to take on this responsibility. But recent events had convinced him it was worth the risk. If the Listener's new powers were any indication, they were meant to take the initiative. They might even have Her blessing for it, though he would never know for certain.

To work, then, surveying the potentials and testing grounds. Their Family had a place for many dark impulses, but some were simply too disruptive. They had to be weeded out before they could ever become a problem he would have to deal with. And that meant surveillance, watching for the telltale signs that would make for an unreliable sibling. Some burned too hot, some lied too freely and too often, others couldn't keep a secret. It was a true shame, every time he had to give up on one of them.

But tonight, he has found one. Someone who is suitable to recieve the invitation, who he could see as a new Family member. If they accept, of course. He's had his offer rejected before, even with the Night Mother's guidance. Still, he has hope for this one.

He sits locked in one of his safe houses, eyes closed, reaching out with a thousand intangible threads. Waiting for the prospective recruit to fall asleep. What a shame he didn't have this power back in Tamriel! It would have saved him so much traveling and lockpicking bedroom doors.

Somewhere far from the gloom of his hideout, his target slides into unconsciousness, slowly sinking to within his reach and settling there, like an unwary fish. Perfect. A thousand little hooks dig in and pull him into the dream.

The first moments in another's mind are always disorienting, formless, roiling with sensation. The only thing he can make out clearly is himself: He is dressed in his robes again, and he can feel the comforting weight of the Blade of Woe hidden in his sleeve. Its presence never fails to make him smile.

Within the space of a breath, the dream resolves around him.

[[ooc: Feel free to do whatever you want with your character's dream! I've got a permissions post for the dreamwalking power, but here's the tl;dr: Any injuries not caused by the Blade of Woe will not carry over to the waking world (Lucien is not aware that the blade can do this, though). Dying in the dream will kick Lucien out of the connection. All powers work within the dreamscape, if you want them to!

Also, brackets or prose both work fine for me. Have at!]]

Comments

[am_i_a_monster]

[Abigail expects to see people from her past in her dreams - her father, his victims, her victims, Hannibal's victims, all the ones that make her feel guilty. When this dream starts, it doesn't feel like a dream because they aren't there. She slowly recognizes the space as it comes into focus. The antlers covering the walls and ceilings are unmistakable. It's her father's cabin, the so-called Shrike's nest. She's tempted to simply run as far as she can, to get away from this place that she thinks she's somehow been 'portered' to. The only thing that stops her is the sense that someone else is there, in the cabin with her. She turns to face the stranger. It's not her father, Hannibal or Will. And he doesn't have the look of a cop, FBI agent or reporter either. She looks her gaze on him, trying to figure why anyone else would be in this creepy place.]

Who are you and what are you doing here?

[applewatcher]

[For the briefest moment the antlers seemed like pale claws, before his mind adjusts. A surreal scene, to be certain. Oddly beautiful. And in the center of it all, the young woman he hopes to recruit. She's unnerved, but direct. A good start.]

I am a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you, [he smiles warmly,] you are a killer. Your work has drawn our attention and respect. And so I come to you with an offering.

[ooc: apologies for the delay! I came down with a pretty crappy cold this past week.]

[am_i_a_monster]

[Abigail frowns deeply at his words. Her 'work', the lives she's taken indirectly and directly, is a secret she'd guarded closely. She only shares it with a few trusted individuals, even fewer knew that it wasn't entirely shame she feels about it.]

I'm not who you're looking for. I'm not the shrike.

[She tells herself that must be who holds his real interest. A dark brotherhood sounds like a group of nutcases that'd respect her father and venture out to his 'nest'.]

He's dead. There's nothing for you here. You should go before the FBI shows up. They're always poking around here now.

[applewatcher]

[He shakes his head, smile unwavreing. He could play along a little with her dream, but not with that lie.]

No, dear child, you are not the shrike.

[A wonderfully evocative name, but it implied a certain... Oh. That must explain the dried blood beneath one of the pairs of antlers. Quite dramatic. And a sign of the sort of killer they avoided recruiting.]

My family did not seek him out. His proclivities are not ours. We seek murderers such as yourself.

[He knew nothing more about the shrike than what she'd inadvertantly told him. Now, would she tell him more about herself?]

[drivesadesk]

Jonathan is, by chance, dreaming about the very murder that has brought Lucien here this night. He's standing over a grave, gun still in hand, and a man with a bullet in his head lays in the grave, the shovel still clutched in his cold, dead hand. It's clear that Jonathan had forced the man to dig his own grave, and Jonathan stood over him, no remorse or regret in his eyes.

Then someone else showed up, and a fleeting look of panic crossed Jonathan's face.

"This is not what it looks like."

[applewatcher]

[What a lovely sight. He had wondered whether he would encounter this, once he saw the ways certain memories were churned over and embellished in the dreams of others. Now, is this the lingering of a guilty conscience, or simply a reflection of the event's importance?]

Oh? [His voice is even and calm.] There's no need to deny what you are. You are a killer, and your work's neatly done, without mercy or remorse. [Fear of discovery, maybe, but a killer who knows no fear doesn't last long.] My family looks fondly upon these acts, and values the taking of life. Therefore, I come to you with an opportunity.

[ooc: apologies for the delay! I came down with a pretty crappy cold this past week.]

[drivesadesk]

"That's not--" He looked at the body. "Okay, yeah. But this was a one off thing. He killed Ozzie, so I killed him. This isn't something I'm planning on making a habit of."

Sure, this guy wasn't wrong. Jonathan did what he did without mercy or regret, but it was more because of what this man had done, what he intended to do, and the fact that he seemed so smug when he said he was glad that he killed Ozzie.

"I don't know what kind of opportunity this is, but I'm not killing anyone unless they deserve it."

[OOC: That's okay! I've been really busy lately, anyway.]

[applewatcher]

Refreshingly direct, this one. Shame he didn't seem really interested, but it was one of the more polite encounters he'd had so far.

"I respect your honesty, but my offer will remain open regardless. You can listen and reject it, or accept and be welcomed, however long it may take you to do so. It is a matter one must consider seriously, after all."

The ones who wrestled with the idea were a mixed lot, but some of their best assassins had taken months before they'd finally decided to take the final step.

"The Dark Brotherhood sees to one of the oldest needs the world knows: we take lives for those who do not."

It felt so odd, having to explain their existence to prospective recruits. Everyone in Tamriel knew of the Brotherhood. It gave room to tell white lies about their methods and purpose, but he would have to resist the urge. As much as he wanted new family members, they had to join of their own free will and honest consideration.

"Not every prayer is for vengeance. But they pray sincerely for the death of another, and we deliver their target unto the Void."

[killtime]

[ Andy hasn't slept in a proper bed for a long time, and while she's tried to make use of the one at the house in De Chima, her efforts haven't yielded much besides a lot of tossing and turning. Half of that is how damnably soft the mattress is, and the other half is her own restlessness — that unscratchable itch that's been plaguing her since she got to his gods-forsaken world. Even for an immortal warrior like her, it's hard to be cut off from friends and purpose. It takes her three or four cigarettes and half a bottle of grocery store wine before sleep finally takes her.

The sounds of her dream are deafening.

There's nothing but the clatter of weapons and the wretched screams of the dying. All the faces are shadows, blurred. She doesn't know which memory her dreamscape pulls from — many of the battles from centuries ago are now unclear to her waking mind, half-forgotten. Time takes everything eventually. But the dream is still vivid in other details. The hefty spear in her hand seems to have real weight. And her instincts come readily. She'll do what she's done for millennia: Fight.

Only one figure appears clearly defined. A man in robes, somehow misplaced in her dream. Sharper than everything else.

With a cry, Andromache charges him. ]

[applewatcher]

[What a difference from the others! The other dreams had been so calm, peaceful even. This is chaos. Death all around, but deaths in battle mean nothing to the Night Mother. Still, little separates a soldier and a murderer, save for context. Perhaps this one might be amenable.

But he'd forgotten, the sleeping mind often follows paths most familiar to it. As soon as she's aware of his presence, she lunges for him. Trained killer he might be, but open combat is another matter. He's not prepared for this. He has his short sword and the Blade, but he'd rather use neither.]

I have no quarrel with you! [He sidesteps the charge, holding up empty hands in a placating gesture.] I come with a message and an offering!

[If she doesn't heed him, this could end unfortunately.]

[[ooc: apologies for the delay! I came down with a pretty crappy cold this past week.]]

[killtime]

(OOC: Oh no, you're fine! I hope you're feeling better!)

[ There were other moments in her life, quieter kills that would never be attributed to her name or her face — a shot in the dark, a knife in an alleyway — but this is where she thrives: The battlefield. This is where the tested her own cursed power, where her body was broken a thousand times. A dagger in the old days or a sniper rifle in the new, those are both well and good, but when she dreams, she dreams of the wars.

She almost doesn't stop. But his voice rings so clear, even in the sleeping world. Something about it cuts through the haze of the dream. She lowers her ax. ]

...What? [ It takes her a second. ] What message?

[applewatcher]

(ooc: I went to go see The Shape of Water tonight and it cured my ills and cleansed my pores, so feeling pretty good yeah)

[Good, she heard him. He had been concerned whether sleep would disinhibit her desire for violence beyond recourse. People assumed he was a figment of their dream, after all, something that could be destroyed without consequence.]

You are a killer, unrepentant and skilled, that much is obvious to all. I am a representative of the Dark Brotherhood, a unique family that welcomes and honors those who have murdered.

[The battle around them is loud, he has to raise his voice to be heard.]

Will you listen to my offer?

[d33tached]

[D33 is no stranger to uncomfortable dreams. Most every night is plagued with them, in fact, and though he has been sleeping a bit more easily over these past few months, with Kaneki gone, he finds himself struggling once more. The dream begins just as most of his do - he's back underground, surrounded by cement walls, the figure of a man looming over his bed with a wicked smile. Slowly though, the familiar face shifts into that of another -
D33 can't quite decide if that makes it all the more unsettling, or slightly less so. Either way, he's immediately put on guard, sitting up straighter and taking a step back from the man with a cold, hard, but somewhat alarmed look in his eyes.

[His voice comes out low, even, but still unsure.]

Who are you?

[applewatcher]

[Well! This is quite familiar. Comforting, even. After some of the other dreams he's experienced lately, he could use the return to routine: awakening a disoriented young murderer from their bed, and delivering the Night Mother's word.]

I am a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you are a killer.

[Everything is so familiar here, but sadly he can't truthfully proclaim the Night Mother's interest in the man. Only his own hope that she would approve is the catalyst for this meeting. That ambiguity is an uncomfortable omission he has to work around.]

You have ended life with the cold-blooded remorselessness that my family honors. And so, I come to you with an offering.

[d33tached]

[Something flickers behind D33's eyes. It isn't fear - anger perhaps? It happens too quickly to tell. He's quite practiced at keeping his expression even, after all - here he is, anyway. He's still trapped in a memory, eyes briefly scanning the man, looking for something familiar - a uniform, a brand - but there's nothing.

[The Dark Brotherhood, he says. D33's eyes narrow.]

You are a Number. What is your code?

[Something that will no doubt make very little sense to Lucien, but surrounded by these walls, that's all that would make sense...What is this nonsense that this man speaks of? D33 still can't wrap his mind around it. He must be another Number, he thinks, out of bounds.]

Answer me, or I will inform R01 of your insubordination.

[applewatcher]

[It was so fascinating, what people did when they thought he was a figment of their own psyche. Sadly he wouldn't be able to play along as ably as he had with the Listener. But, a 'number'? That was intriguing, and more than a little amusing.]

I am one of five. More than that you need not know, not yet. Only that we have a place for you, if you are willing.

[Only one of two, strictly speaking. But any member of the Black Hand knew what they represented, and alive, dead, or cruelly separated from the rest, they still fulfilled their symbolic roles. There had been five in the beginning, there would be five again.]

[cadbane]

[For somebody who has been recently arrested for a supposed murder, Cad Bane's sleep is usually dreamless and without his conscience bothering him. He's killed many an alien or human throughout the galaxy. Some he was paid good money for; some just got in the way of whatever bounty hunting job he'd been tasked to complete. Whichever way - as long as he got paid - it didn't concern his mind or his dreams. When approached in this dream, he sensed a presence but didn't even look up from where he was casually seated, putting bullets into a revolver. It seemed that he may simply be dreaming of getting used to these Earth based weapons. His other surroundings were hazy as if they were that unimportant. Only himself and the gun was in focus.]

[applewatcher]

[Tonight would be especially interesting. The Brotherhood was composed of men, mer and beastfolk, mortal and undead, the Night Mother accepted them all as her children. All the prospects he'd approached here so far were human, as far as he could tell. Alien to him in culture, but familiar in form. This would be the first time he'd sought recruit someone entirely new to the Brotherhood as a whole.

And how promising this one was. Evidently experienced, given what he'd learned about this one, and a calm reaction to his approach always meant something interesting would happen.]

You sleep rather soundly for a murderer. That's good. You'll need a clear conscience for what I'm about to propose.

[cadbane]

[Bane put the last bullet in, examined the gun then lowered it, holding it loosely in one hand with the barrel pointed down before looking up at his visitor.]

You'd better be proposing something profitable.

tw misogynistic slur

[couldbebeautiful]

This dream goes like this:

There is a cafeteria, populated by students. None of the students notice Lucien, beyond much more than an indistinct murmur when one of them brushes too close to him, wow, who's this psycho? Three girls laugh together, but when one turns away her clothes shift, turn from a red uniform to a red nightgown, and blue drips from her discolored lips. She smiles, tauntingly, at someone else.

Everyone's going to know, she says, dead dead eyes fixing on the girl stepping through the doorway, that good little Veronica Sawyer's just a psycho bitch—

Veronica freezes in place, as the whole school turns to look at her. "Oh, god, no," she whispers, and turns on her heel to walk out the door and escape.

Better catch her before she slips into a maze of school corridors.

[applewatcher]

He drifts placidly through the crowd, ignoring the passing insult as he searches for his target. Where will she be? Isolated, with her friends, the center of attention?

All of them at once, it seems. Guilt was such an awful emotion. With how thoroughly she was haunted by it, he doesn't think he'd get a positive response to his offer. But perhaps he can alleviate some of that misplaced angst. He approaches, lowering the hood of his robes. There's not much he can do to appear less threatening, but the intent is there.

"Calm yourself, child. The murdered dead are consigned to the Void, and do not return so easily. She is only a figment, nothing more."

[couldbebeautiful]

The door shuts behind him, and Veronica turns to him, wide-eyed and frantically wiping the tears from her eyes. She blinks at him, surprised, but this is a dream—she doesn't question his presence, but instead slots him in, thinking he's some kind of hippie guidance counselor. It would explain the robes.

"I'm calm," she says, frantically rubbing at her eyes. "I'm calm, I'm fine, you don't—you don't understand, okay?" She steps back, looking him in the eyes. "But I didn't—I didn't murder her, I didn't mean to—"

From beyond the doors, there's a laugh, and Heather Chandler's cruel voice cuts through the air once more, making Veronica flinch badly: You knew what he was planning to do, and you wanted me dead. You can't lie to me, Veronica—I know you. For a figment, she sure dogs Veronica's nightmares pretty insistently.

"I didn't want to," says Veronica, desperately, trying to convince herself, her eyes flickering to the doors. The school corridor seems to twist around them, lockers fading into the wall, a teenage girl's vanity mirror appearing somehow out of nowhere.

[ghoulking]

[ Kaneki rarely remembers his dreams. Most of the time he just blocks them away because they are usually awful dreams and what is facing your own issues, right? And as usual, his dream is going awful; kaneki is walking through a sea of blood, guts and skeletons, every step harder to take than the last due to how heavy the red liquid makes his clothes and how difficult it is to navigate through the bony obstacles.

Dragging behind him are two large centipede tails which make this journey even more difficult, but when Kaneki realizes he is not alone, they raise behind Kaneki, almost threatening the new presence ]

...who?

so sorry for the delay I got eaten by work

[applewatcher]

[While he's mostly convinced himself that this power of his isn't some daedric trick and he's not wandering into Vaermina's domain by its use, sometimes he can't be so sure. This could easily be a part of her realm of nightmares.

Still, cautious though he might be, he has a job to do. And perhaps the pour soul struggling along through the muck would benefit from someone who understands what it means to be a murderer.]

A visitor. I've come with a message for you, and an offering.

it's alright!

[ghoulking]

[ kaneki could probably use some nice words about it, but a) he doesn't consider himself a murderer, as ironic as it is b) he doesn't need it to come from someone who wants to create a murder cult. But of course that's for later on.

In any case, he stops in his path, looking at the man while the two large centipede tails wrap around Kaneki's body, leaving more blood and gore to cling to Kaneki ]

A message? From whom?