recolle | [OPEN] ❖ you've got to be tough when consumed by desire

[The room you find yourself standing in is hot, and dark, and small.

Indeed, standing may not be the best of ideas right now, with how thick the smoke is in the air; the heat and smog is rising toward the ceiling, so your best bet might be to drop to the ground and crawl. It's still hot down there, of course, but the air is a little bit clearer, and there's a handful of little nuances and details you might be able to make out — the fine threads of the Oriental rug beneath your palms and feet, and the polished hardwood floor beneath those, and the elegant carved feet of the pieces of furniture you'll need to dodge as you make your way to the door.

There's an unsettling creaking that rings out every so often, as you move — the shrill groan of wood warping and beginning to give way.

If this were reality, there might be some rhyme or reason to the path that you take as you navigate your way across the floor, as you pass from rugs and hardwood to thick carpet and back again, always with the heat and ash in the air tanning the skin of your face and the sound of the ceiling supports weakening increasing the sense of foreboding from overhead. But this isn't reality, and so there's no apparent direction you actually need to be going; no matter which direction you pick, you'll end up in the same place.

Eventually, as you come up on a closed door, you'll hear a wail from somewhere behind you, and the words you'll hear will be cried out in Spanish, though whether or not you speak it in your waking hours will pose no great difficulty to your understanding of what's being said:

Ari, you can't!
Carmen!

The door in front of you opens, just a sliver, just enough for one blue eye to peek out before slamming shut again.

The whine of the roof rafters overhead abruptly turns to a crack that roars like thunder, and as ceiling timbers and embers begin to rain down from overhead, the dream changes.

It's only marginally less scorching outside, but the air is at least clearer. Red and white lights flash on and off through the darkness, lighting up the night in the places that the orange-yellow glow of the still-raging fire isn't already illuminating. Hoses are on, and water is spraying from several directions in an attempt to contain the blaze, and in the distance the faint sound of urgent discussion can be heard: ...still in there? ...anyone make it out?

There's a girl lying on the ground in front of you, too. Her palms and knees are dirty with soot and gravel, and her skin shows shallow cuts in places — superficial wounds she probably got from crawling through a broken window and jumping free to the ground.

She's the one they're looking for, probably, but she doesn't seem to have any great desire to get up and go make herself known to them.]

[ when dave has nightmares, they are of bro or death or puppets or so many tangled things from that past life that feels like the present. or they're of people getting hurt here; of being up in the space station in one room or another, trapped with people he liked but trapped all the same. even in the confusion of suddenly being here, of knowing it could very well be real, dave knows this isn't his. fire has never featured in any of his fears, and so he stumbles through the imagery with confusion and some concern but no real fear.

and he sees a girl and does the first thing to come to mind - he beelines to her and crouches down and tries to get a better look at the injuries, although he moves slow so she knows he's there. ]

Hey. Are you hurt besides the cuts? I'm a decent combat medic. [ it's said like a joke but it's serious, in dave's too-quiet voice. ]

Combat...?

[Sluggishly, like she's being roused from a stupor, Carmen eases onto her side and peers up at the visitor in her dreams through the heavy black bangs sticking to her face; what's strange about that first glimpse of her is the fact that it reinforces what a difference charisma and makeup can make to the exact same set of features — lacking either at the moment, she looks visibly younger despite not actually being any younger at all, with her lips a neutral hue and her eyes half-lidded and her face streaked with soot.]

What?

You know, takin' care of cuts and stuff in the cold hard wilds of...well, this doesn't really count as that, but. First rule of people being hurt: figure out if it's bad enough you need to do a thing or if you can try to joke around to make them feel better. I'm tryin' to do that part?

[ fun fact: he feels legitimately terrible about looking in on other people's dreams. so he rambles a little, his usual reaction to feeling bad about things (or good about things, for that matter - he just can't shut up) as he kneels next to carmen, voice a casual monotone. he can at least recognize her now. ]

[She stares at him for a long few seconds, open confusion on her features. It's a dramatic departure from her usual quick-on-the-uptake demeanor, and she seems to have to struggle to follow the thread of narrative that his thoughts are taking.]

Oh.

[She looks down at her hands, a little surprised to see the dirt and reddened skin there.]

No...just tired? My head hurts.

[She coughs, rasping in her throat; behind them, the fire eats its way through the integrity of another support beam of the villa's roof, and with a crack, another timber falls.]

That's fair, all things considered.

[ he still isn't touching her or anything, because he's not sure if that's okay or even welcomed and he isn't really great at comforting people beyond awkward hugs, so. ]

...Want to try to get a little ways away from here? I'm not sure where we can go, but it might help you...feel more like you.

I think...I have to find my parents.

[But she stops again, looking from her hands to the building to the red and blue flashing lights in the distance, and sort of drags her legs up beneath her as she tries to get herself into more of an upright position before amending that thought: ]

Or...I have to look for them. I think that's what happens, when I go that way.

[She motions toward the flashing lights, yet makes no move whatsoever to try to head toward them.]

Okay. [ the way to end a dream might be to play through the ending. dave stands up, and after a moment's hesitation offers her a hand. ]

Do you want some company while you go look?

[She nods, slightly, but even though she reaches for his hand and gets herself slowly to her feet, she doesn't seem altogether in a hurry to go in the direction she'd indicated. She stays still instead, watching the fire burn and the smoke rise.]

They say you're supposed to have a plan. For things like this. If they happen.

...I don't see how you could plan for it. [ he can be honest when he's asleep and there's a house burning down and carmen doesn't look as composed as usual. ] Maybe you're supposed to and maybe that kind of thing could help, but I think some things in life you just...they happen, and they suck, and nothing you could have done would have changed them?

...No.

[She shakes her head, less emphatically than she might've done if she were awake and more put-together than she is at the moment, but still a definite in the negative.]

I meant...when you wake up, and there's smoke. You practice. You teach everyone the plan. Stay low, feel with the back of your hand. Don't hide under the bed or in the closet. Once you're out, don't go back in...

We were supposed to get out and meet up at the corner of the street.

[ he does remember that. they'd never had to - but it was only in this lifetime he had that kind of plan. he's pretty sure if a fire happened with bro, he would have just been expected to figure it out.

or maybe that would have constituted enough of a threat to intervene? ]

[She nods, slowly.]

You don't go back in. You don't stay in.

[There's a pause, then, and she reaches up, wiping at her face with the heel of her sooty hand, which in a way really only makes the smudging worse.]

I heard her call me. My mother. But I didn't go toward her; I went out, instead.

You did what they taught you to do.

[ ...while, presumably, blaming herself for it afterwards. ]

That's right.

[She glances back at him, tilting her head slightly to one side.]

...The one part I never remember is how I did it. I remember being inside. I remember the roof fell.

[She motions toward the red and blue lights, again.]

The next thing I remember is wandering around over there, when they find me. And I know what happens after that. That's why I don't want to go, not really.

...I mean, you don't gotta go. We can just stand around here talkin' until you do, or until we stumble into something else. Maybe if I think about something hard enough we can go there.

[ but yeah. ]

And click your heels together three times...?

[She almost smiles, but it's thin and melancholy.]

Where would we go?

Away from here? Hopefully not space. I...most of my stuff is all rooftops, if you really want to visit one of those. I don't know how to "wake up".

...Wake up from what?

[For a second, the image of the villa in the background blurs and flickers, before finding its shape again.]

[ oh. ]

Do you remember how we met?

You...

[Hmmm.]

Your voice was red...?

[Red text, probably. But it make sense in dream logic.]

My everythin' is red, pretty much. But try to remember: when did you meet me?

So is mine.

[Which is a strange thing to say, since she's actually not wearing anything red right now — no lipstick, no shoes, no clothes, nothing.]

We met...we messaged each other. In a...city?

[The villa wavers again, more emphatically this time.]

Right. That was a pretty crazy month, wasn't it? Everyone was runnin' around acting crazy because of bingo bullshit...

[ and another time question: ]

When did that happen in relation to this?

[She frowns deeply, turning back to fix her eyes on the rising flames, and this time the view doesn't just ripple; it pulses, like a shockwave distorting the whole image.

By the time things set back into place again, the glow has dimmed and there's white light now joining the reds and blues in the distance, softening the way they strobe as words echo faintly from off in the distance.

That takes care of everything — save one.
What about her? They were all she had in the world.
What do you think it means for her? An orphanage? Sending her away to live with strangers?
I can't stand the thought. The poor girl.
She has us.
The three of us?
Even just one of us.
It's what Ari would want.
She'll be eighteen in three years.
You'll do it?
Three years.
I'll do it.
Let's get it in motion, on the double.

Her shoulders lower, slowly, and when she turns around again to face Dave, her face is clean and her lips are her usual bold, brilliant red.]

I know what comes after this.

[And then.]

This already happened. And I...

[She blinks again, then nods and squares her shoulders.]

I have to go that way. But I think if you come with me, you'll find your way out, too.

I'd come with you anyway. [ he offered, and she didn't seem to mind, and he thinks sometimes it's better to walk to something sad and scary with someone else, even if it already happened.

but dave nods, and starts to walk. ]

...But I'd like to wake up and bug the fuck out of my roommate, maybe, so.

Language.

[But she's smiling as she says it, and it's an echo of something from Before, something that comes after this that she still remembers, that helps ground her in the where and the when and the what all of what this is.]

Let's get you back to bug your roommate.

[And off they go, towards lights that gradually grow brighter and brighter the closer they get, until eventually the light consumes each of them individually and they blink —

And when they open their eyes again, it's back in reality.]

[You like staying late to play on the gymnastics equipment, and the nice thing about being you is, there's really nobody around who's willing to tell you that you can't.

You like it because of how it feels like flying, in a way — the weightlessness of momentum, the thrill of being suspended with nothing supporting you for just a few seconds before the satisfaction of a clean landing kicks in. You like that sense of defying gravity, and the way that when you're working on the floor or the beam or the uneven bars, any and all of the thoughts that might be preoccupying you seem to disappear and leave a comfortable void of nothing but muscle memory and subconscious judgment and repetition.

Your mother told you once that it's a good thing, to know how to get back up again no matter how many times you fall.

You're coming out of a forward flip when you suddenly realize you're no longer alone in the room. There's someone standing there with you, a short distance away, with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. You recognize him, at least enough to know that he's not supposed to be here. You're not entirely sure where he is supposed to be, exactly, but you know it's not here.

You tell him so, and he sneers at you. You always think you can push everyone else around you like chess pieces, don't you?

You ask him what he thinks he's doing here, and he tells you that this is your fault. You ruined his life, you bitch; he was on track to have everything, and you're the one who took it away.

You tell him that he ruined it for himself, and know for a fact that it's true. He's responsible for his own choices. He's old enough to know that it's no one's job but his to control his temper, to know better than to think that the ends justify the means.

He doesn't want to hear that, of course. He calls you smug, superior. You're no better than he is; you're just everyone's darling because you're your mother's daughter.

You tell him to get out, that this conversation is through. You blink, and there's a gun in his hand, and the expression on his face is cold and flat — so different from the way he used to look at you when he would flirt and boast and try to hold your attention, eager for every second of it that you liked to give him.

It's going to hurt, you know, when it goes off. You remember how badly it hurt.

But then suddenly the dream shifts, and now you're on the outside looking in, standing at the side of the room watching that same young man hold a young woman with her long black hair tied up in a ponytail at gunpoint, and from the looks of things, you've got about two seconds to decide what to do before that gun goes off.]

[Tatsuo has never done gymnastics, but the feeling of the dream is very similar to how he feels about karate, the way he can just sink into it and block out all the thoughts vying for his attention as he let his muscle memory take control. The feeling is so relaxing, the dream is halfway through the confrontation before Tatsuo realizes this guy is giving off all kinds of bad signals.

And then the gun appears. Tatsuo opens his mouth to ask what this guy thinks he's doing, but suddenly he's off to the side.

Tatsuo doesn't even think about it, he's already running across the room, ready to bodily throw himself between the bullet and its intended target.]

[That's not what's supposed to happen in this nightmare, to say the least.

It's all supposed to be very straightforward; the young man and young woman are supposed to be alone, and the confrontation is supposed to unfold, and as far as the young man is concerned, the young woman is supposed to die and then that will be that.

But now there's someone else here. There's a third party in play, and that's not supposed to happen.

It's unexpected enough that his first shot goes wild, missing completely and lodging into a wall. The second comes along with the gun being leveled in Tatsuo's direction instead of the young woman's, and now the nightmare is starting to derail, and hard.

What's the matter, Jordan, the young woman spits immediately, evidently trying to force the young man to divide his attention even further and end up even more scattered because of it. You can't beat me with your wits?

And there, again — the aim of the gun falters, swivels. Seems as though Carmen's bought Tatsuo a smattering of seconds to act, while the young man — "Jordan" — wavers in trying to decide who to shoot first.]

[Tatsuo is, admittedly, relieved he didn't actually get shot. Once he hits the floor, he rolls into a crouch. The young woman... is that Carmen?... snarks at the gunman, distracting him momentarily. That's enough time for Tatsuo to lunge forward. Guns are most effective outside of a certain distance. Inside that distance, odds can even out a bit. And Tatsuo has the training... though not the live practice. They always did this with dummy guns at the dojo.]

[It's a good move, really, because his intuition is exactly correct; close-range combat is likely the undoing of the young man with the gun, and particularly so when he's faced with an encounter that might quickly turn into two against one.

The downside, though is that when Tatsuo moves, it also causes the young man with the gun to make his decision about who to aim at, and the barrel of the gun starts to swing back to position itself as him.]

[You know that moment, when you begin an action and halfway through the action realize you've just fucked up? Like you're halfway through a back flip and realize you're about to land on your face. Or you go to jump a fence and realize you're about to come down right on it instead. But it's too late to back out of the action and there are two choices. Throw up your hands and just let it happen or go all in. Go all in and drive it home.

It's like time slows down. Tatsuo sees the gun start to swing back his way, sees the tension in Jordan's body. He thrusts out his own arm, reaching to push the gun aside, as far from Carmen as he can get it, even though that means it has to pass across his body. The timing is all wrong, there is still too much distance between him and Jordan to do a proper disarm, though he tries anyway. His other hand comes up to snap the gun around, twist it in Jordan's grip, hopefully get it away from his trigger finger before he can pull it all the way back.

The gun goes off and time snaps back to normal speed.]

[Whether it's a deliberate shot or a tragic misfire is anyone's guess at this point, really; the fact of the matter is, it's what happens when there's a struggle in close quarters, and a gun between two bodies. It's a tragedy waiting to happen, accident or otherwise, but perhaps more significantly, it happens because at the end of the day this is still Carmen's nightmare, and the point of this nightmare is that someone gets shot.

Constants and variables. Some things change, and some things don't.

Another constant is that it's a shot to the side, the kind that thankfully misses a lot of vital organs in favor of hitting the ribs and skidding along bone. It's certainly painful; it's even potentially incapacitating.

But it's not fatal, and it wasn't in reality, either.]

[There's that brief millisecond where it seems like everyone is frozen from the sound of the gun.

The bullet feels like what Tatsuo imagines fire burning across his chest would feel like, hot and sharp and then an explosion of pain. He lets out a faint choking sound as he realizes what's happened, but as much as he'd really like to just... fall back and pass out from the pain, he can't.

When that brief second is over, he finishes twisting the gun out of Jordan's hands, now slightly slack with surprise. The gun is transferred to his other hand, and the first hand goes down to apply pressure to his wound. The gun is the pointed at Jordan, albeit a little shakily.]

On. The. Ground.

[Hopefully Jordan complies, because there's not much Tatsuo can do to force him to do so. Especially since he's only a few seconds away from collapsing into a heap.]

[Curiously enough, even the very environment of the nightmare itself seems to react the same way that Carmen does when the shot rings out and the gun changes hands, as though her subconscious sleeping horror is strong enough that it actually manages to warp the dream they're in, making the walls flex and the floor quake and all the colors distort for just the slightest of instants. She's never made her loathing of weapons a secret, of course, and this is only confirmation of the same; it's a recoil made visible, almost tangible, in their surroundings, like a pebble dropped in still water that causes the whole sight of the depths below the surface to twist and refract.

That's for the first few seconds. But by the time Tatsuo is moving to hold his foe at bay, Carmen is moving, too — never being one to sit around idly while someone else fights her battles for her.

So ultimately, whether Jordan decides to comply or not is really something of a moot point, because she's still unscathed and unafraid, and quick to leap off the beam and rush to spin and sweep Jordan's legs out from under him with a no-nonsense kick to the backs of his knees, making sure that he ends up in a heap well before Tatsuo can.]

[It is a very welcome assist. The moment Jordan is face-down on the floor, Tatsuo puts a knee in the middle of his back. Then, because he really doesn't want anyone else getting shot, even Jordan, he pops the magazine out and shoves it into his pocket before sticking the muzzle of the pistol to the back of Jordan's head (after making sure the chamber was clear of course). Tatsuo looks up at Carmen.]

Anything we can tie him up with?

[Because half the reason why he put his knee in Jordan's back is because he wasn't sure he could stand anymore.]

...Somewhere. Maybe? Somewhere.

[It's like she's stalled out for a second, briefly glitched in time, and her hands are faintly shaking. But the notion of tying their foe quickly goes by the wayside, because her entire focus turns instead to hurrying to crouch next to Tatsuo in an attempt to assess the damage from the gunshot wound.]

Don't worry about that. We've got to get you to a hospital...

[It probably looks worse than it really is? Sure, there's quite the growing spot on blood on his shirt and his complexion is starting to get pretty ashy, but they say the shallowest wounds bleed the most?]

Hos... pital... that, that'd be nice...

[And he folds. Please catch him Carmen. Let's hope Jordan doesn't try anything stupid.]

[The nice thing about dreams is, they don't operate the way that things would in real life. In this case, the foe has been defeated, and so in a sense he simply becomes irrelevant to everything else that's going on; he stays down because the focus of the dream has moved on to a different conflict, a variant horror, and it's still just as much a nightmare but he's not needed to be the catalyst for it any longer.

No, that honor is going to the fact that Tatsuo is injured right now, actually, and her reaction is immediate as he starts to crumple. She's stronger than she looks — she couldn't be the athlete she is if she weren't quite strong to begin with — and so she grabs him and shifts to help support him against her while she tries to get a sense of what's going to be needed next.

Well, help. Help is what's going to be needed next, that's for certain. But what will happen to him if she leaves him alone? Somehow, that's an outcome she doesn't like the thought of, and doesn't want an answer to.]

Why did you do that...? You were going to jump between him and me — why?

[He slumps against her, almost going boneless, as the room starts to spin in his vision. He looks up at Carmen, and tries to give her a reassuring smile. It is probably not one bit reassuring.]

I didn't really think about it. I just... reacted.

[THAT IS NOT REASSURING AT ALL GOSH DARN IT TATSUO]

You could've been killed.

[Of course, pointing this out neglects to take into consideration that she also could have been killed, had he not done that very thing.]

You're going to be fine. You have to be fine. You have to...

[She should probably go get some actual help, or something, but this is a dream and subject to dream logic, so sooner or later it's likely to just come through the doors whether she does anything about it or not.]

[HE'S TRYING...]

But I wasn't, so there's no point in going on about could haves.

[He looks down at the injury, lifts his hand momentarily, then puts it back down.]

Besides, it's just a flesh wound.

[She frowns a little, staring down at him, because he says it's only a flesh wound and yet somehow that doesn't seem right; he's too nonchalant about it and it doesn't seem to fit somehow. What she doesn't realize is, it doesn't fit because that's not how this nightmare is supposed to go, and because things aren't properly nightmarish if they all work out for the best in the end.

So the corners of her mouth turn down in perplexed and unsettled concern, because he says he's fine but there's more blood there than there should be, even with the pressure he's been putting on his wound, and help is supposed to be getting here somehow but it's like she's frozen in place, and can't make herself get up to go see what's taking them so long.]

[It's just a flesh wound. When he sees the corners of her mouth turn down, Tatsuo wonders what possessed him to say such bullshit. He knows he technically should be in a lot of pain right now, but all he feels is numb. Sure, that's probably the shock, but there's something else there too... and it scares him.

So he tries to act like he's fine. Even though he is starting to suspect he's not.]

Look, it ain't your fault, alright? That's what people always think in these kinda situations. We all gotta choice. We all make our choice. And I'd do it again.

[He would too. His voice is completely sincere. And that's about the point where he realizes what that other sensation he's feeling is. It's cold. And just for a brief second, the fear shows in his eyes.]

No.

[It's very soft, the way that she says it. It's soft and in a way it's almost wounded, because it's the word that heralds the fact that she's just realized the same thing that he has, in approximately the same second that he'd realized it.]

No, no, nonono...

[This is a nightmare, a nightmare, and it's one of her worst fears all over again, losing someone important while for some reason she survives.]

Where's — where's the help, someone should be coming, someone has to —

[Why isn't she getting up to go find someone? She can't. For some reason she's just not able to do it, no matter how much logic would dictate that she needs to.]

[As the cold slowly creeps its way through his body, Tatsuo tries to fight back his fear. He doesn't want to be scared. And he doesn't want to scare Carmen in return. But it's really, really hard when he knows what's happening as it happens.]

Don't... don't leave me alone... please?

[That didn't sound completely pathetic... right?]

[She's shaking her head so hard it hurts, almost, at this point — holding on to him, blood all over her hands from trying to mitigate the inevitable with little success. And around them, the dream is warping again: going colorless in places, rippling like water in a glass when the ground is quaking. It's as though the integrity of their surroundings are tied directly to the level of Carmen's distress, and the more rapidly it escalates, the less the nightmare is able to hold itself together, until at last everything outright blurs like watercolor left out in the rain —

And, presumably, at least one of them sits bolt upright in bed, pale-faced and covered in a light sheen of sweat, and begins the process of winding down from the fact that it was oh, another nightmare.]

[OPEN] ❖ you've got to be tough when consumed by desire

NIGHTMARE - BURN (cw: offscreen character death, fire)

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NIGHTMARE - ICARUS (cw: misogyny, gun violence)

Re: NIGHTMARE - ICARUS (cw: misogyny, gun violence)

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