02 | In your dreams | Mingle

[herotherhalf]

Harth collected his books, his alter, his herbs and raw materials he used in his spells. From there? He hid in his room for days, pilfering through the ancient texts. He was so sure he had something in one of these books, so while he was short on stamina he worked through it. He read the material through the last few days and nights dedicated until finally he found the spell he was looking for.

It was similar to a long line of memory altering spells as well as the Tabula Rasa spells he'd experienced in one of his own slayer dreams. But this was different. This was a dream walking incantation. It would allow him to traverse the dream scape of all the minds around him. Trouble is it linked minds as much as it allowed him access. He'd have to alter it in an attempt to get around such inconvenient side effects.

Checking his bindings of supplies, he found the few things he needed to cast the spell. It was the wee hours of the morning when he did it. A prime time for dream activity for people who went to bed on time, so he'd be having plenty of fun tonight he expected. All he needed was the water, a few drops of his own blood and some of his herbs. From there, he spoke the incantation, four verses in a language long forgotten to time. He could see the chalice he used glow a bright green. He took the goblet and raise to his lips, not hesitating a moment before sipping down the entire bowl. Then, in his empty room, he set the bowl down on the side table and lay on his bed, hands folded over his abdomen.

[OOC: Here's the first part of Harth plot. Feel free to tag him with your dreams and he'll observe and interact. The memory half of the plot takes place while the characters are awake so you can either post those threads here or make your own thread. Harth'll probably tag everyone. I'll back tag as necessary.]

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[kaderp]

[Kadar dreams of dying.

It isn't the memory of his death-- it isn't the stark reality that one would encounter if they could simply slip into his mind with no resistance, pick out the last thing he remembered of his world and watch it. It's a nightmare.

The stone walls of the Temple are streaked with red, blossoming out across the surface and drying to a dull brown as if to say yes, this is blood, and you will die like everyone else here has.

There are no other Assassins here, no robes of white and no distinct snick sounds of hidden blades being armed before a fight. It is only Kadar, staring down a small group of Templars, the red crosses on their armor done sloppily, spreading across their chests and moving like snakes even as Kadar watches.

He can't move. His legs are frozen in place and his arms are stuck at his sides, and he opens his mouth and he screams and it only comes out a whisper. He screams brother and Altaïr and please do not but it does not save him, the whispers do not save him in the slightest.

Robert readies his sword, and the blade shines red with the blood Kadar knows is his own before the hit has even been struck.]

[herotherhalf]

He stood far enough back behind Kadar though he still had an excellent view of the interaction. He wasn't really sure what it was other than a c lensing of some sort. A guild being targeted for destruction was not uncommon, and much like the Watcher's council it was almost inevitable that people in certain dangerous professions will almost always die a bloody death.

So Kadar was frozen in fear or by another force. He was unable to speak, unable to scream or protest. And perhaps this was a fear of the inevitable, less being target, he was afraid of Death.

But who exactly were they, these cloaked men? Show him more, Kadar. Who are these people?

[kaderp]

The dream did not move on so easily. Kadar finally felt able to move, and dropped down to his knees. His mouth opened to gasp, or to scream, but whatever noise he might have made was replaced by a grunt when he was backhanded hard enough to lay him down on the ground. The ground was bloody, more than it ever could have been when he was the only one there, and he heard French and laughter as the men walked away.

They walked away, and Kadar laid down and bled, and the scene shifted into a red-smeared darkness.

Kadar could finally use his own voice, and aside from the quiet, almost unwilling exhalations of pain, the last scene of that dream had a quiet, plaintive: "Brother..."

[herotherhalf]

It was a scene he hardly understood, but he did recognize now Kadar as Malik's brother and that was useful. It presented an opportunity provided he would need to take advantage of it. For these men he doubted it would be so easy to make allies out them. They were righteous, or deemed themselves to be.

And everyone had their enemies. Kadar on the other had was far more emotional than Malik and there was something to say to that. Emotions were sometimes a weakness. Depends on the man, depends on the circumstance. The two brothers were opposites it seemed, and that only meant that they could be played against one another potentially.

He watched on, arms crossed. "Is your brother responsible for this?"

[kaderp]

The dream scene started to open again, almost automatically, repeating itself: the blood-smeared walls and the Templars, the French and the laughter, but this time, there was more. It started from an earlier point, a fellow white-robed Assassin jumping down from high above to engage in battle. Another followed, and then Kadar--

--but Kadar remained rooted in place, unable to move forward, to join the fight or to defend himself and his brothers. This time, when one figure in white was thrown from the room, the other was stabbed instead of Kadar, and Kadar fell regardless. Blood blossomed out from Kadar's stomach as the other man fell, and Kadar looked down, terror and despair in his eyes.

"Brother!"

[last_lombax]

[Tonight Ratchet's dream is one of death. His own.

He's in a strange futuristic place with himself, a small robot, and another Lombax. He's talking to the robot, asking if this was what he wanted. The robot responds it is; he has found his purpose. Ratchet gives the robot a hug and the other Lombax starts to speak.]

Wait...so that's it? What about the Lombaxes?

[Ratchet turns around and looks to the other Lombax.]

They're not endanger. They've just...moved on. And we'll find 'em. But the past stays where it is. [Ratchet turns to the robot.] Come on pal. I'll walk you inside.

[The two start walking towards a structure in the middle of this strange space station.]

You were never a sidekick. You do know that, right? [For once the robot's voice is heard.]

I always thought that you were the sidekick. [The robot chuckles and they keep walking. The other Lombax, however, seem angry.]

Where are you going? This is your responsibility. You can't just walk away! The Lombaxes need us! Don't you walk away from me! I SAID STOP!

[The other Lombax charges his wrench looking weapon and swings it. A blue blast of energy flies at Ratchet. He turns around just in time for it to hit him in the chest. Ratchet flies back a few feet, clenching his chest. Where he was hit begins to smoke. He coughs a few times before he slowly begins to fall. He falls over the edge of the platform and falls. The robot tries to reach out and stop him but misses and everything fades to black.]

[herotherhalf]

Taking a seat on a taller section behind the white furry creature he watched the interaction take place, noting the aggression of the older one. The old one. Jaded and angry, he could feel it in waves coming off of it. Where as the younger has accepted what had happened. Unacceptable.

It was just that. Unacceptable. Harth too rejected the thought of being cast off and letting his race of demon die off, although many of his peons were... expendable. The thing about vampires though? You could always make a new one. He understood Alister's pain, far more than the way Ratchet was dealing with it.

He was like the slayer in that way, taking the road which would lead to the least consequence. He was a selfless hero, a noble spirit. And broken, apparently. This was more of a latent memory of the last trauma he suffered. Worse still? His trust in Alister was enough that this was a stab in the back. An act of unprovoked cruelty.

But a warranted one. "Ratchet. Did you even think to consider exactly how deep Alister's feelings were? Dependent on finding his people again? You had it coming." He said, letting his words echo in the dream space.

He wanted to jump into Ratchet's shoes, experience more. Especially the dynamic between Alister and Ratchet themselves. So he concentrated, tried to activate another memory.

[last_lombax]

And another memory he will get. The previous memory dissolved like something drawn in the sand being washed away by the waves. Now the scene is obviously somewhere else. Everything is pitch black for a moment until green light appears. Alister is holding a flare as Ratchet hoverboots down to where he is. The older Lombax tosses aside the flare and walks towards a wall while Ratchet speaks.

"General, will you just stop for a second? I want to know what happened."

Alister scoffs as he starts to feel for a weakpoint in the wall. "Questions. Questions. You ask all these questions. Ask yourself this! What relevant is the past if you can change it? Your father would have said 'not very'." Alister adds a bit of venom to the last sentence and goes back to feeling the wall.

Ratchet glares slightly. "That's him. And you still haven't given me a straight answer. Why aren't you with the Lombaxes?" Alister seems to nearly growl at the question and turns on Ratchet as he yells; "Because I failed them!" Ratchet looks shocked as Alister looks pained.

"...I failed them..."Alister slowly sinks to the ground and closes his eyes. He looks up and stares at Ratchet for a moment before beginning his story.

"I made a mistake. After the great war, Polaris was a dangerous place. Even with the Cragmites gone, I knew steps needed to be taken to protect the galaxy. One day, we were approached by an inventor with incredible ideas; technology light years beyond what we were using. The inventor was someone... Someone your father warned me not to trust. Our kind had grown suspicious of him, but I was convinced this was the right thing to do - for the galaxy.

I granted him full access to our technology. All of our secrets. Only when he was finished... They took refuge in the court but your father refused. He would never have left your mother, but when he made it back, she...She was already gone. I don't know how long he survived before Tachyon caught up with him, but I know I was responsible for his death."

Alister looks away from Ratchet and puts his face in his hand. He was quiet for a moment before he stood up.

"For my crimes, I was forbidden from joining the Lombaxes, and so I like in exile. I can make it right Ratchet. All of it, I-"

He turns back to Ratchet and approaches him. He places a hand on the younger Lombax's shoulder. "We can fix it. With the clock under our control, it'll be like none of this ever happened!" Alister turns around and takes his wrench in his hands. "Stay with me and I promise I'll get your family back." He slams his staff into the rock and blasts it away, revealing an opening. Ratchet covers his head at the noise and looks out of the cave with a determined look in his eyes.

[herotherhalf]

Didn't think things through. This Alister was more than just emotionally invested wasn't he? It was through him that 'Lombax' tragedy had unfolded in the first place, whatever it may be. Though it wasn't as though this was as pressing a matter as Alister clearly was if these memories were on the forefront of his mind. His mentor, ally, fellow lombax? And he killed the boy.

Alister was an interesting character indeed, but what was more interesting were the feelings of isolation that he picked up coming from both of them, Ratchet considerably more so. Cut off from his entire species, friends and family. That was something to consider, now wasn't it? He also made a mental note of those wrenches, knowing that if those were powerful weapons and tools he possibly had access to other devices just like it.

All and all, Ratchet was the hero type. Incorruptible safe for Harth's one little trick up his sleeve and no guarantee that would work.

He focused on Ratchet's memories of Alister and some of their interstellar arena's. Let's see how Ratchet's current mind set deals with Alister? Face him as an enemy or not?

And he would take the role, as far as Ratchet knew, he was Alister.

[shadeofawinner]

[Quatre often dreamed of his year in captivity. But the incidences liked to run together strangely, much like his memories of that time.

He'd been locked in the tiny room for...well he didn't know how long. Trowa had striped him of everything but his pants and underwear, bound his hands behind him and then shoved him into the dark, sound proofed room. He hadn't ate in days, let alone heard a sound, or seen even a sliver of light slipping through under the door. Quatre knew it was starting to get to him. He'd started talking aloud to himself just for some noise other than his own breathing. It was mostly song lyrics, or plays he'd learned, completely mundane and useless in case anyone was listening in.

When the door did finally open, he was blinded, and Trowa's voice boomed in his ears.

How's our little prisoner doing today?

Quatre turned his head towards the voice, but kept his eyes squeezed shut. The door was still open. But he wasn't sure if he'd be able to make a run for it or not. He was weak, and tired...

Trowa of course didn't care. He came right over and yanked him to his feet, twisting the blond's arm until he was able to force his eyes open. The brute wasn't allowed to leave any marks that couldn't be easily explained away. But he found ways.

My father is going to take care of you day Winner. We'll see if you're more willing to help us after the time you spent in there.

Quatre had no intentions of talking, no matter what they did to him. If it meant protecting his family and friends, then he'd endure whatever Dekim and Trowa could throw at him. He was taken down the same bare hallway that Trowa had used to take him to the cell. It opened up into a storage room in the Barton's manor, with the door hidden behind shelving and an electronic steel door. From there, he was taken to an office where Trowa sat him down in a metal chair next to the desk and then left the room. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but Dekim eventually came into the room, a servant close behind with a tray of food which was set down on the desk.

Trowa tells me that your last conversation became very heated. We are only trying to do what is best for the colonies, Quatre.

Quatre glared at him. He wasn't going to give Dekim anything to twist around and use against him or anyone else.

Ah, I see, you think that by not talking, somehow you'll win?

The old man smirked and punched Quatre hard across the face. He could feel blood beginning to drip down from his nose after the initial shock wore off. His head was starting to throb. This was what he expected from Trowa, not the older man who didn't seem to like getting his hands dirty quite as much. But rather than Dekim standing in front of him, it was Heero. His eyes were blank and unfocused. Dekim was standing behind him. Clearly Dekim's games were effecting him more than he'd thought. Heero wouldn't hit him...not even if he were ordered to by Dekim. Obviously he was seeing things. Not that that assessment was much better.

Do you like my newest soldier? It took some time before we could control him effectively. But if we were able to break 01, I don't think we'll have much trouble with you.

Quatre stared up at Heero, reaching out for his friend but not sensing any of the hidden kindness that he normally felt from the other pilot. He felt nothing. Nothing but the pinprick of the needle Dekim was putting into his arm.]

[herotherhalf]

Is that?

It is. The very boy he took a meal from. Heero, was it? He saw the boy's eyes standing behind Quatre in the corner of the room. Was this the past? Quatre's past and Heero's future? Or was it just a fiction dreamed up by the fears coming from this blond?

Some of it was distinctly memory. The sensory depriving chamber? That was a memory. These two men? Likewise.

The needle came as a surprise though, and he instantly wondered just where these people came from. The technology looked surprisingly similar to what he had back in Haddyn, but looking out the window? No smog, no flying cars.

He watched as Dekim injected him with a needle, holding him back and thrusting him into a chair. They waited a while before a doctor came in, issuing orders and speaking some buzzwords.

And Quatre just looked out of it. He wondered-- If he's in this state, can he influence any of this? Would it carry over into the real world?

[shadeofawinner]

[Quatre was focusing on a spot on the plush carpeting, trying to ignore the doctor and Dekim's voice. He felt woozy as he tried to fight the commands, not even really sure why he was bothering to fight them. How long had this been going on? He couldn't remember any other occasions, but Dekim's annoyed tone lead him to believe things weren't going very well during this session. His eyes wandered up to look at Dekim. This had something to do with Heero. It was something the Scientists had been working on, and somehow Dekim had gotten his hands on it. It would make them 'better' soldiers.

He couldn't hide his hatred for this man. Dekim and his son had killed millions of innocents who wanted nothing more than to have dinner with their family, go to a movie, play with the family pet...Earth had become a dead place. Those that had survived the initial colony drop had been flooding to the already overflowing colonies, forcing bad conditions to become much much worse. It had been much too easy for Dekim to step in and take what he wanted. Zayeed Winner had been one of the larger thorns in his side, but now that didn't really matter. Quatre's father was dead. His sisters...well, he just hoped they really were alright. He had no way of knowing if Dekim was keeping his word or not.

Dekim was the first person he'd ever had the desire to kill outright. He couldn't even hate Trowa this much. For as horrible as he was, he was mostly a pawn of his father. Quatre continued to glare up at the old man until frustration won out and he left the room with the doctor. They left him alone in the office. Or at least he thought they had until he noticed Heero standing silently against the wall.

Anything they said would certainly be monitored, so even if he could convince Heero to speak to him, they couldn't say much.

You shouldn't fight it Quatre.

Fight what?

Heero gave him a look as if to ask if he were joking.

You know what it is...

No I don't. Heero, are you alright?

The other pilot glanced around the room subtlety, giving Quatre the locations of the cameras and hidden microphones in the room.

If you don't fight it, it will be easier for both of us. I have to go. He'll be back soon.

Wait! Heero...you didn't answer me, are you alright?

He turned away and walked towards the door.

Are you?]

[herotherhalf]

Shocking to find how different Heero could be in the span of only a few years. Telling Quatre not to fight seemed so backwards when it came to what he knew about Heero, which wasn't much. He knew Heero was strong, he knew Heero was defiant. From what kind of person Heero truly was he did not know, but he did know that Heero had strength of will.

He was brought down to size, has he? Quatre too had the same tendencies. Fight until the end. A warrior.

He wanted to know, Quatre. Show him. Did what happened to Heero happen to you as well?

[sakedrinking]

I'm so nervous...

[Her own voice is quiet, shaky, so very meek. Not like how she sounds now. The memory is almost three years old now, yet she strangely hasn't thought about it in a very long time.

And now she's dreaming of it. Dreaming of that day that Crypton adopted her and her siblings, and everything changed...]

Stop it.

[Her brother speaking next to her. Dell looks almost exactly like her, except male with shorter hair. There's a cigarette in between his fingers, smoke curling up in to the air. Next to him, a smaller blonde girl with hair in a side ponytail, a phone in her hand and her attention fully on it. It's clear she doesn't care. Neru Akita. She was always like that.

The three of them before a large metal gate, and beyond a tall building with windows that practically glitter in the sunlight over Tokyo. Cars rumble by, people walk, but for them there's only the building and the two silent body guards at their flanks, waiting for the gates to open.]

I... I don't know-- what if they hate me, Dell-kun? ... they're going to hate me...

[Nerves are coming to a head, fretting turning in to full on fear, mechanical heart racing in her chest. Neru snorts, and Dell glares at her.]

Haku. Stop it. I mean it, quit freaking out.

[The tone of his voice makes her wince. He's always been rough like that. It's just how he is. A hug or a smile in private, sure, but anywhere else he simply treats her as he does everyone else.

Haku whines and lowers her head, fingers wrapping around the tie at her neck, tugging on it harder than she means to. The gates finally clank and start to slide open, and from the doorways of the office building three very familiar figures emerge. There are others behind them - techs in white lab coats, a couple of business men, another body guard - but all Haku sees is Meiko, Kaito and the oh so famous Miku Hatsune. Her green hair stands out the most among them, but more than that her smile is as bright as the midday sun.

And Haku feels her heart sink.

The closer they get, the more panic sets in, and just as they get there to greet the newcomers Haku finally gives in to it, taking a step back.]

I... I can't--

What--... Haku!

Haku Haku-nee... ?

[By the time Miku speaks, Haku has already taken off running, leaving everyone standing there horribly confused and baffled. But more than that, Miku looks hurt.

A look Haku never saw.

Why was she so afraid?]

[herotherhalf]

[A few blocks forward is where she runs into Harth, standing there at the edge of an alleyway. She smacks right into him, but he doesn't fall even with her inertia and heavier than average weight. He just stands and looks over her.]

What seems to be the problem? [He adds just a sliver of emotion to his voice, rather than the cold cynicism to his normal tone.]

[sakedrinking]

[Haku lets out a squeak and stumbles back, staring up at the unfamiliar, clearly American man standing in front of her.

Wait.

This wasn't part of the memory.]

... wh-who are you... ?

[herotherhalf]

Harth.

[He paused, glancing down at Haku, his face unchanging.]

What is so scary about this place that you have to run from it, Haku?

[schrodingersghost]

Danny didn't have many normal dreams any more. Even before his encounter with Nocturne, more and more of his dreams had started to feature ghosts and battles. Horrible nightmares of what might have happened.

And tonight... tonight it was circuses and puppetmasters.

Danny was standing in the darkness of a gigantic circus tent, staring up in rage at a ringmaster holding a glowing red scepter. He shifts into his ghost form and shouts at him.

"You can't be here! I stopped you! I broke the scepter! You can't control me anymore!"

[herotherhalf]

Harth sat in the bleachers, crossing his legs and ironically, eating some popcorn. If you're going to be at a circus, may as well enjoy it. He looked up at the red glow above him with an entranced look, it almost had held his attention too much. Almost, but just barely.

Why? But this performance would explain everything, wouldn't it?

The man in white face makeup and dark red and black drab clothing cackled in an almost flamboyant sort of way.

"Hehee. Is that so? Then what do you call this?" He thrust the scepter out infront of him, the orb swirling.

"There's no use in resisting, Phantom! I control the vertical, the horizontal. Or I did until you destroyed me. But with this? I'll have you destroy your precious Amity Park until there's nothing left but a smoldering heap of ash!"

Oh. Well this? This was entertainment.

All at once Harth was enchanted by this character, "Freak Show." Aptly name considering how he looked. Harth could never figure out quite what was the obsession with the macabre in some humans. How some would come to him or his own lurks in an effort to turn into one.

A word echoed in his mind briefly. "Ghost Envy."

If only he knew about vampires, or demonic rituals. He would have easily been able to get his wish. But for now, Harth's curiosity was on that scepter. Could it really control Danny?

[schrodingersghost]

Danny blanches. "No! I won't let this happen!"

[herotherhalf]

"Ohhohoho. I'd like to see you try!" Ala Dracula, Freak Show brings the sleeve of his coat up as Danny glares at him, right over his crystal ball.

"Get a load of this!"

Harth wrinkles his nose at the preposterous display in front of him. Subtlety is lost on this freak isn't it?

[pridegoesbefore]

[It's been almost two months since she'd dreamt of him. Weeks without his face haunting her sleep, whole nights undisturbed by his voice, the phantom illusion of his touch... so why she should associate his presence with the peculiarly faceless figure in what had to be a nightmare is something Narcissa can't explain.

Lucius - it's him, there's a whole room of him, miles and piles of him - is waltzing her around a ballroom, a rough and harsh lead guiding her through other couples dancing too closely; he is everyone he steers her past, and she is never his partner, there are only other faceless bodies in evening gowns.

His grip is too tight on her hand as he hurls her about the floor, and he won't stop. She begs, she pleads, she cries, but the faceless figure of her ex-fiancé simply dances her faster, with no heed to her distress--

--and then she's slammed forcefully into a wall, the breath knocked from her, leaving her no recourse to scream as he lowers his mouth to her neck and sinks his teeth into unresisting flesh. She's positive she's going to die as she looks down on his dark hair-- but Lucius is blond, it can't be him... and then he is waltzing her around a ballroom, a rough and harsh lead guiding her through other couples dancing too closely...

This scene loops through Narcissa's head, colours off and angles skewed as a faceless man she's certain is her fiance morphs into a dark-haired predator and back again.]

[herotherhalf]

It's him she's dreaming about at the end. He'd enjoyed watching the dancing, enjoyed the tension of her being engulfed by the abusive figure she was with. overwhelmed. But then the blond man shifted into him, fed on her. He could feel the sheering pain he was causing her briefly.

In a feeling of deja vu, he almost recognized her presence as the one he sensed back in the sacrifice room. He pushed his will into the dream, trying to steer the dream somewhere else. Somewhere more useful to him. He wanted answers. What was she? How did she know?

[pridegoesbefore]

[Panic fills her as she's forced around the ballroom yet again, knowing she's stuck in this loop of discomfort turned dismay turned almost-death... but then something about the dream changes. She's not quite sure what it is, but this time, when the faceless Lucius slams her back into the wall, she's got breath enough to accuse him before he morphs into the dark haired man--]

--vampire. Don't... [But she's waltzing again. Damn it. Where is her wand?]

[herotherhalf]

Exactly what he thought. She knew what he was, she knew what he looked like, but she didn't know his face. That's why the face is blocked out, and that was the presence that he felt when he sensed something in the alter room. He had looked around though, did she not notice?

Must just be a fluke of her subconscious. He was almost certain that she'd recognize him for who and what he was if she saw him again, but he knew what she looked like now.

That, and if she did out him? That would not be very useful. It was possible that he was going to have to silence her.