Unreality [DawnsLight]

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Flinne listened intently, and took the opportunity her explanation provided to wolf down the sandwich he'd been given, and drain at least two thirds of the cup of coffee. He drained the last of it when she stretched, trying to hide his stare behind the rim of the mug. It had been far too long since Flinne had had time to appreciate beauty. "I don't think you're boring at all." He said, simply. He set the mug aside, and took up the water to sip at. "And you have no need to be embarrassed with me. It's not as if the wild man that hides in your dreams and borrows your razor is going to judge you."

He crossed his arms easily over his chest once again. "A bit of normal's nice. I might go so far as to call it exotic." He let one of those rare smiles curl his lips upwards, and he pushed off the counter to take his dishes in hand. He stepped around Aria to the sink, and he began to wash what had been dirtied. "Why is it you don't date? If you don't mind my asking." He added just a beat later, not wanting his host to think him nosy. Of course, he WAS nosy, but that's what came of solitary confinement. "I like your home." He added.

Up he glanced from the running water. "And I think you might be able to summon me when you fall asleep. I've never had a Dreamer's world initiate contact with me before."
 
Aria smiled back, his easy manner putting her at ease. She had caught Flinne staring over his cup; in combination with his slightly self-deprecating joke she felt a little more confident. He had a nice smile, and how it touched his eyes and made them shine in such a way that she felt drawn into them. She found herself wishing he had more reason to wear the expression.

She moved to tell him not to worry about the dishes, but decided not to ruin this simple considerate act and break the illusion of reality. Instead, Aria thanked him for the compliment and considered the question. "About two years ago I got involved with a guy, and it got serious. He thought that meant that I was a piece of property and I disagreed." She heaved a soft sigh and absently rubbed at her throat. "A trip or two to the hospital and a court order later and he realized we weren't really meant to be." She took a sudden interest in a chipped tile on the counter, not looking up at him. "That's when I started taking the defense classes." Aria shrugged dismissively and was quiet a long moment before smiling at the prospect of being able to actually initiate contact with Flinne.

"You did say that I rained on you, didn't you?" She laughed a little at the thought, drawn out of the bad memories. "I'm going to have to keep that in mind!"

She came to stand beside the man at her sink and took up a towel, beginning to dry the things he had washed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Were you seeing anyone...before... if you don't mind me asking?" she murmured, her hand brushing his as she went to pick up the water glass.
 
Flinne frowned at the subject. <i>Idiot. Pretty girls just don't stop dating for no good reason.</i> The Survivor was something of a chauvinist when it came to physical altercations with women. If anything, his view on violence towards women had grown more feral during his time alone. He found his shoulders going taut, and he had to focus not to squeeze the mug in his hands, lest it shatter. He didn't press the subject however, and it didn't so much as occur to him to apologize for bringing it up. If she hadn't wanted him to know, she would have told him to shut his fool mouth and be done with it.

"Yes," He mused, and some of the tension bled out of his shoulders as her fingers brushed his hand. "Remember that it's dangerous. If I'm running from nightmares and you pull me in, they'll follow me." And then he'd fight. He wasn't about to abandon Aria to whatever he dragged into her dreams. When he was finished with the washing, he shook his hands free, and shut off the water. He turned his back to the sink, and leaned his hips against it.

"I don't mind," He said, although he didn't answer immediately. He was trying to figure out where to start. "I had this... On again off again sort of thing with a girl I'd known forever." He smiled, although more sorrow showed through than merriment. "I was good for her, I think. She was bad for me." His smile slipped away. "She liked to take chances."

Again, the Survivor was quiet for a moment, haunted by his ghosts, before his eyes flicked up from the tile and to his host. He wanted to take her in his arms, and tell her that everything would be fine. He wanted to <i>kiss</i> her. But he couldn't.
 
Aria polished the mug dry and set it on the counter before leaning beside Flinne, the damp towel still in her hand. She was about to ask about this wild girl when she caught his look; there was such tension in the air, it felt hard to breathe. Her own breath caught in her throat a little. Experimentally, she let her fingers brush the back of his hand again where it hung by his side. She watched him for a reaction, her pulse jumping in her throat again. Her voice was a little raspy when she spoke, "I'm sorry."

Her cheeks were aflame and Aria was feeling shy again. The sarcastic voice that often plagued her thoughts was complimenting her on her smooth mastery of the art of seduction. Bowing her head, the silenced that part of her. Her hair made a silken veil in front of her face and she found the strength to speak again. "I'll be careful, Flinne."

The words were so ambiguous, but still honest. She drew a ragged breath, reaching up to sweep the hair out of her eyes. Aria gathered one last reserve of courage and pressed herself against him as much as she dared, her fingertips caressing the back of his hand as soft and fluttering as a moth's wing. She pressed full lips to the corner of his mouth so softly that it was like a dream in itself.

Please, don't hate me for this. Please let this one thing I do be right.
 
Flinne watched the Dreamer's pain, and his soul ached for her. He stiffened when he felt the fingers brush his hand. She was sorry. And she'd be careful. How many times had Maxine said as much? His ghosts were dashed away again, as he felt the warmth of the Dreamer's figure draw near. Her kiss, soft and light, was all the good in the world wrapped up in the brush of a feather. Flinne's eyes widened just a fraction, before the hand Aria was cradling received a firmly responsive brush from his own hand, before his fingers moved to close -gently- around her own.

Flinne's eyes closed, and for a moment, he wasn't in a dream. He was at home, after dinner. He could hear a pot of coffee brewing nearby, and he could feel the old chip in the sink that Maxine had put there when she'd hurled a pot at his head. But Aria wasn't Maxine. This was not his kitchen. His house was so long gone that he couldn't even recall the color of the paint on the walls.

The memory <i>hurt</i>. It hurt deep. And it wasn't fair to Aria to keep comparing her to his dead flame. Gently, he squeezed the hand in his own, and pulled his face back. "I'd like to do this again." He said, his voice hoarse. He was surprised to find that he <i>did</i>. More than just the kissing. The coffee, and the talking, and the smiling. "But I can't. Not here. Not in the dream." He searched Aria's face earnestly. "If you manage to bring me back, then..." His eyes glazed over, and he went tense. "Go. It's coming."
 
"Flinne." Aria whispered, exhilaration and pain warring within her, "I promise."

Not dropping her eyes from his, she gave his hand a squeeze in return and pulled away from him with an overwhelming reluctance. She refused to give in to the sadness of their parting and instead smiled widely. "Be safe, I won't forgive you if you break our deal. I will get you out of there, Flinne."

Her eyes went wide for a moment, and she spun to grab his Mosin, shoving it into his arms. "Before I wake up and you lose it. Go!" Aria yelled, still grinning. The apartment began to dissipate like a watercolor painting left in the rain, the details becoming fuzzy until everything seemed to blend together.

She woke up with the grin and the sensation of his mouth against hers still on her lips, the determination she felt in her dream burning brightly within her.

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Aria had called off of work for the next week, telling them there was some sort of family emergency. She had received an e-mail from the man at the observatory that morning; as it happened, he wasn't the one who had made the discovery about the stars winking out, but an associate of his on the other side of the country, a Dr. Young. She was flying out that day to meet him, and to tell him in person what she knew. Aria could only hope that this man believed her and could do something about it.

Three days, she mused, How am I going to get them to believe a word I say about all this dream business and unreality and parallel worlds? I have a 6-hour flight to figure it out. She began shoving clothes into a worn suitcase without really looking at them. She did, however, take some care in packing her best business attire; she wanted to at least look credible.
 
Flinne's hands were still quick, even if his mind was muddled. His Mosin was curled close, and he only waited for as long as it took Aria to say her goodbyes to disappear. He wasn't about to let the Unreality have her because he was feeling sappy and emotional. He winked out of her dream with the tingling sensation of reality on his lips. At his fingertips. He could still taste the bitter remains of the coffee in his mouth.

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For one terrifying moment in the unreality, Flinne <i>fell</i>. There simply wasn't ground beneath him, which hadn't ever happened before, upon exiting a dream. His knees ached in protest however, when he crashed to the ground. The fall could have been more graceful perhaps, but it could also have been much worse. Flinne had no illusion of his survivability in Unreality for three days. He'd seen what had happened to men that had lingered too long in the shadow. He prayed to whatever higher power that remained untouched by the unreality that Aria would never have to know that horror firsthand.

Three days. Three days more, and it would be over. As the Survivor surveyed the land around him, he wondered silently if reality would hold for three days longer. He saw no roads. Not any more. He barely saw any topsoil either. Craters where dreams had popped, or roots had dissolved pockmarked the land like some alien landscape, and there wasn't a building in sight. No sign that man had ever set a foot on the planet, but for the occasional burst of reality that accompanied a dream, and the nightmares it belched forth when it popped.

And then, Flinne noticed something new. Something eerie. A chill ran down his back, and he felt very suddenly sick. His hands trembled on his rifle, but this wasn't something he could shoot. It wasn't something he could flee.

The Survivor cast two shadows.
 
This place is a heap, Aria thought with some measure of despair. The state of the observatory, the overall disrepair of the building and the grounds around it did not bode well. It would have seemed abandoned if not for the grinding of the ancient air conditioning units and the two cars parked in the cracked and weedy lot below. If she had known she was going to be climbing a damned hill to this junkpile, she would have worn better shoes.

Pausing outside the entrance, she put her heels back on and tugged at her skirt to make sure everything was in place. Aria breathed deeply, pushing the door open and hoping for the best. Her heels echoed through the short corridor that led to the former conference room that now acted as a lounge. The government-issue grey wallpaper was peeling here and there and some of the cheap linoleum tiles had come away to expose patches of grimy black. When she stopped in front of the door, Aria took in the room with mild disgust. The stink of burned coffee hung in the air. A long table was centered in the room, the once-polished wood now scratched and pocked, crumbs and bits of paper littering its surface. Two men sat at the table in plastic folding chairs, blowing on styrofoam cups of coffee and stopping their murmured conversation to look at her.

"Dr. Young?" Aria asked experimentally, not knowing which of the men to address. They both seemed to be in their thirties, with deep circles under their eyes and and tired expressions. It looked like they had been awake for days. However, that was where the similarities ended. The pale man who was standing, coming towards her over the stained carpet of the lounge, was tall and rail-thin like someone had stretched him. Bleary brown eyes regarded her from behind the square lenses of his glasses and the dull brown and baby-fine hair on his head was parted like a schoolboy's and in need of a trim. He extended the hand that wasn't holding the cup to Aria. "Miss Garza, welcome. I'm William Young, and that gentleman is my assistant, Jared Moore."

Aria shook Young's hand firmly and nodded politely to the man still by the table. He had begun to rise but seemed to stop mid-way and was now hurriedly working on clearing the table, sweeping crumbs to the floor and gathering bits of paper in his hand to throw in an overflowing trash bin nearby. Jared smiled apologetically, "We don't get many visitors up here, and even fewer of them are women. Sorry for the mess." She waved his apology away and smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"It's fine; please don't make a fuss on my account." She followed Young into the room and sat at the table, hanging her purse from the back of the chair. She could feel their eyes on her; it made her somewhat uncomfortable when strange men stared. Clearing her throat audibly, she began, "Thank you for inviting me. When I emailed Professor Harris I didn't honestly think that much would come of it and not at all this quickly. Once you hear what I have to say, it may put me back at square one though." Aria looked up at Young, his face impassive as he set his steaming cup down and pushed his glasses back up on his nose. "I'll admit, when Tuck called me and said he got a call from a strange woman asking about the discovery I didn't know what to think. No one could have seen that far out with one of the home-use 'scopes they sell in stores. Hell, we just caught glimpses a few days ago using the high-powered stuff we've got. None of this has gone public yet and likely won't until we know what's going on." He looked at Aria over his lenses, "So how do you know anything about this?"

Taking a steadying breath, Aria leaned back in the plastic chair. "Okay. Open minds, right? This is crazy even to me still, and I'm actually living it. It has to do with the shadows acting strange and-" she let out a breath that she didn't realize she was holding. Her stomach was in knots; so much was riding on what she said right now. "I'm getting ahead of myself. It started like this..."

The story tumbled from her lips, every detail that she could remember, every vague comment on the Unreality that Flinne had made; she omitted the things too personal to share but otherwise told them her story in its entirety. Never did Aria lift her eyes to look at the men who listened; she was certain that if she were to see the disbelief and mockery in their faces that the careful calm she had laid about herself like a mantle would crumble and there would be no chance at all. The thought made her throat tight, but she continued on until the end. In the following quiet, with the hum of the ancient coke machine suddenly seeming thunderous, Aria prayed.
 
The survivor -meanwhile- was running tests on his own shadow, which might have been ludicrous at any other time. He could avoid touching it, if he tried hard enough, but it would make doing <i>anything</i> that involved another person would be a hazzardous. The first few tests he ran proved unfruitful. He'd tried backing away from the shadow. He'd tried walking towards the shadow. He'd even tried hopping across the barren wasteland of his reality for nearly a mile, before he came to the conclusion that his shadow was only going to reconnect after his boots touched down again.

He rolled a shell casing into the shadow, and dropped into a crouch to watch it. And watch it. And watch it. It wasn't losing it's form. It wasn't flitting skyward. It wasn't even rolling. Flinne didn't like the conclusions he was coming to. Taking a deep breath, he swiped a hand through the shadow on the ground. Eerily, he felt the brush of cloth against his fingers, rather than open air.

Another chill shot down his spine. The shadow began to move independent of his body. It got it's hands beneath it, and pushed itself upright from the ground. It was semi-translucent, with two hard, bright points where Flinne's eyes would have been. It even had the shade of his rifle. For a tense moment, Flinne thought the thing was going to attack. It only stared, and stared.

The Survivor took a step back, and his shadow took a step forward. Out came another shell-casing from Flinne's pocket, and he tossed it at the shade's chest. He didn't know whether it would be more frightening if the shell passed through, or stopped against something solid. He found out.

Another chill ran down his spine as the empty casing rebounded from the solidity of the thing's chest, to clatter to the ground. Only there was no clatter. "Do you speak?" Flinne asked. Or he tried to ask. His lips move, but no sound came out. Even so, his shadow slowly shook it's head. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to sleep with his new companion in tow. Grimacing, Flinne half-turned and began to walk. The shade mimicked him, although it made no move to close the distance between them.
 
The men had listened to her story until the very end, she had to give them credit for that. Moore seemed skeptical, and sincerely sorry for being skeptical, but interested. He asked questions and listened as she tried to explain. Young, however, listened with a closed expression and didn't speak until the last when he told Aria that they would call her tomorrow.

Aria sat in the overgrown asphalt lot below the observatory in her rental car, her forehead resting on the wheel that she gripped with white-knuckled hands. Teeth gritted, the fought against the angry tears that welled in her eyes. Suddenly she threw her head back against the seat and beat at the sides of the wheel angrily.

Call me tomorrow?! Asshole, I don't have time to wait for you to call me tomorrow! She let out a yell of frustration and was about to twist the key in the ignition when movement caught her attention through the windshield. It was Moore, trying to flag her down before she left and moving down the hill so quickly that he stumbled a few times. A heavy-set man but not fat, she could see beads of perspiration on his dark brow as he neared. His hair was shaved into a neat military fade and his eyes were large and dark. She rolled the window down as he came to a puffing rest beside the car. "Mr. Moore? Did I forget something?" her voice was surprised; she knew she had her bag...

He leaned on the car, arm on the roof as he caught his breath. At last, he composed himself enough to speak. "Miss Garza, I'm glad I caught you. Look, I don't know if Bill is going to call or not. He doesn't tell me much of what he's thinking until he's done mulling it over and you said that this man you dreamed up gave you three days to get the ball rolling."

Aria's brow furrowed, "Met. I met him." she corrected. Moore winced apologetically and nodded. "Right. Sorry." He pulled a card out of the breast pocket of his button-down shirt and handed it to her through the window. "One of my friends, a physicist, she works here. Her name and number is on the back, so give her a call, okay?" Aria looked from the card to the man and gripped it as if it might fly away at any moment. She was speechless. "Mr. Moore..." she breathed, staring intently at the man ducking his head to look in her window. "Jared, please. My number is on there too, if you need anything. Company while you're in town, or something." He smiled widely before looking away and standing, giving the roof of her rental a tap. She smiled back, truly grateful. "Thank you. Thank you so much, I'll keep that in mind."

With a little wave, he turned to make his way back up the hill while she rolled up the window and put the car into drive.

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Back in her hotel room, Aria peeled back the too-stiff sheets and lay down in the too-firm bed. The pillows were small and squashy, but plentiful. She had requested a five A.M. wake-up call and the very idea in combination with her jet-lag and the exhaustion of traveling and talking were making this an early night. In the morning she had an early breakfast meeting with Moore's physicist friend. She seemed bubbly and open on the phone and had instantly put Aria at ease; she only hoped that this woman could help her. Her final thoughts before slipping into sleep were frustrated ones. It was rare that she was in a situation where she couldn't help herself.

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Freefall.

Air roared in Aria's ears as she fell impossibly fast in the darkness. So black were her surroundings in fact that if it weren't for the pull of her fall she wouldn't have known up from down. Her disorientation was replaced with terrified panic as she saw at last that there was a bottom that this endless fall would soon reach. It looked like oily black water, undulating in the blackness, its surface reflecting light that came from nowhere in grease-spot rainbow hues. Before she could even draw breath to scream, she plunged into the icy blackness.

What she had thought was water turned out not to be, though it held and surrounded her. She held her breath; fighting against the surroundings that made her movements slow and her body cold. Lungs near to bursting with the need for air in her exertion, she inhaled at last and found she could breathe. This calmed her somewhat and her struggle ceased. Instead she peered through this syrupy dark and found that she could see things moving. Panic gripped Aria's heart like a vise and she tried to run, but the pull on her limbs remained. Around her, hooting laughter like a pack of rabid hyenas echoed and she screamed, blind terror taking her over. She could only hope that Flinne would avoid this nightmare until it had run its due course.
 
Flinne was coming to an uneasy sort of peace with his living shadow. He trusted it about as far as he could throw it, which was to say not at all, but it wasn't going anywhere. As far as Flinne could tell, it couldn't be killed. He'd tried shooting it. He'd tried stabbing it. He'd even tried to wrestle it, but it had only proved to be incorporeal. As troubling as it was, it seemed to have sentience beyond unreality. It even managed to answer a few -very few- questions. Mostly irrelevant questions about it's nature, but that in and of itself said something about it. Despite the fact that his voice no longer made sound, the shadow seemed to hear him when he spoke. He wasn't sure which was more unsettling: The idea that he'd gone deaf, or the fact that there was too little reality left to give meaning to sound.

Wearied by his search for answers, Flinne sat himself down on the ground to break into the last of his rations. He'd been avoiding dreams since he'd gotten his tagalong, but he'd be sorely displeased if he had to go the last two days in his world both without seeing Aria, and without eating a solid meal. His stomach gurgled as if to express the point, and it drew the Shadow's stare. With a frown, Flinne ate unreservedly.

His mind kept flitting back to the Dreamer. <i>She <b>kissed</b> me.</i> He thought. <i>I never should have let her kiss me. If I don't make it out, it'll just hurt all the worse when I'm gone.</i> Internal dialogue had become something of a refuge for the Survivor since his voice had vanished. It gave him the illusion of a voice, at least to himself. It kept him sane.

In the distance, he saw a pair of realities spring to life. A streetlight, and a bucket, in the middle of the barren valley filled otherwise with only sand and rocks. The bucket looked off, and it rolled towards the streetlamp. Wearily, Flinne tucked his rations away again, and he turned his back on the realities as dreams touched. The wrongness spread from the bucket to the streetlamp, and soon enough the ground around them began to sink. Flinne didn't want to be anywhere near them when the nightmares poured out.
 
Breakfast is overrated and five A.M. is an evil time, Aria decided, walking through the doors of the restaurant. It was still very early and only a few tables were occupied, but the rich scent of coffee and bacon served to wake her up a little. She scanned the dining room to find a beautiful blonde woman smiling at her and giving a little wave. Aria could feel the surprise on her features and instead smiled warmly to hide her shock.

I guess there really are hot lady scientists out there. Who knew? She made her way over to the booth and offered the grinning blonde her hand. "Good morning, Madeline? I'm Aria Garza, we spoke on the phone yesterday evening?" The other woman give her hand a light squeeze and gestured for Aria to sit. "Great to meet you, call me Maddy." The warmest blue eyes Aria had ever seen twinkled at her as the woman kept smiling. Her long pin-neat blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that would have made other faces severe but only made hers more open. Madeline could have been a model, but Aria found herself somewhat impressed with the woman already for choosing a challenging field.

"Jared told me a little about you and what you told him and Bill up at the observatory. Considering you're not just a nutjob it sounds interesting. The pancakes are good here." Madeline flipped open a menu before Aria even got the chance to speak; finding her voice at last, she answered. "Good, I'm starving. Yeah, and thanks for saying what anyone else I tell this to is thinking. I don't believe that I'm crazy, but that's always the case, isn't it?" She couldn't help liking the woman sitting across from her and began to relax and open up. "These dreams have felt so real though, and they're increasingly vivid. Madeline- Maddy- is there any way in hell anything like this could possibly be true? Tell me I didn't fly cross-country for someone I dreamed up." Aria's brows knit; something like that was hard to say and went against the solid feeling in the pit of her stomach that said that Flinne existed. She couldn't deny the possibility, though. Madeline seemed to see the desperation in Aria's eyes despite the levity of her words and the blonde's smile faded.

"Oh girl, it's bad isn't it?" Madeline spoke softly, reaching over the table to give Aria's hand a friendly pat. "Let's order some food and talk a bit before we start. I need coffee and you look like you do too."

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Her head was spinning. How Madeline had time to look that good and still do all that math escaped her. But after talking for hours and several diagrams and formulas scribbled on napkins in eyeliner before requesting a pen from the waitress, Madeline assured her that it was a possibility. An outside and very theoretical possibility, but still.

Even so, she felt like she was grasping at straws. Half her time was up already and she had nothing to show, not really. Aria heaved a sigh and paced her hotel room, listening to the news drone and chewing a fingernail in thought.

There was a breaking news bulletin; she perked up and actually stopped to watch. Shaky cellphone footage was showing one of the strange contrary shadows sitting at a 90-degree angle to the shadows of the people around it. Juvenile laughter sounded in the recording with a voice off-frame goading the boy in front to do it again, touch it, and make sure the camera got the shot this time. Aria felt sick, but couldn't look away. Her stomach clenched when the boy actually stepped into the shadow, the laughter around him muffled for a minute when he spoke about the odd sensation. The grin on his face went out like a snuffed candle and screaming began with a startling suddenness. There was a steady beeping as expletives were yelled and censored for broadcast. Aria found herself yelling with them; the camerawork was shaky, but still recording as the boy was dragged from the shadow with the skin stripped away from his arm and leg.

A half-hour later, Dr. Young called and she was on her way back to the observatory.
 
Flinne had finally relented. He was hungry, and the rake had been standing upright and unmolested for thirty minutes. No monsters, no sinkholes, and no sickly looking pustules. He cast a surly, sidelong glance at his upright shadow. His stomach still twisted into a knot every time he saw it looking at him. Could it follow him into the Dream? His other shadow, -the 'natural' shadow, if a shadow could be <i>called</i> natural with no light to cast it- remained on the ground, doing all the things normal shadows did.

The Survivor let out an unheard sigh, and approached the rake, still standing on it's wooden handle. He reached a hand out to touch the dream when a sudden and very intense pain flared to life in the shoulder not strapped with his rifle. He grimaced suddenly in surprise, and clapped a hand over the pain, expecting to come in contact with some nightmarish assailant that had snuck up on him. His hand found nothing, but a warm wetness began to spread beneath the coat once again.

Bright, green eyes stared about incredulously, searching for the source of his wound. His eye fell to the upright shadow. Only it wasn't upright any longer. And it had his other shadow by the shoulders. The unnatural shadow was <i>biting</i> the first, and Flinne could feel it. Baring his teeth in a snarl, Flinne threw himself into the rake.

Something was wrong.

Lights flashed. His eyes were seeing a Dream overlaying his unreality, as if he were looking at two different sides of a barrier all at the same time. One was a pastry shop. The other, his barren landscape void of color. From his throat ripped a warbling snarl, half of the sound lost to his world. With an effort of will, the Survivor pulled himself into the dream in full. The pain didn't disappear, but he didn't feel as if he was being gnawed on any longer.

"Cloth," He snarled to the portly man behind the counter, who was -strangely enough- not wearing any pants. "I'm bleeding."
 
The night sky was clear and stars filled the sky like so many millions of granules of sand spread over black velvet. It was peaceful; beautiful. Aria was so afraid for it.

She walked inside, making her way past the much-abused lounge and continuing down the corridor to the actual observation deck. She had been surprised to find the space immaculate and in good working order. Young had his priorities and they appeared to be the right ones. As she made her way to the bank of monitors lined against one wall she could hear quiet arguing; Madeline and Dr. Young were getting into a heated debate over the situation she had presented to them. The words "multiverse" and "Hubble volume" could be overheard while Madeline gestured excitedly, Young remaining stoic. Jared turned in a swivel chair to watch her approach and the argument died off.

Aria regarded them for a moment before attempting to lighten the mood: "I'm either telling the truth or I'm psychic and I don't have a clue what I'm even going to wear tomorrow." Her smile was weak. When Jared had showed her the fuzzy images of stars winking out, swaths of far-out space going black, she had to leave the room for air. She still wasn't feeling up to snuff. Madeline moved to stand beside Aria, a comforting arm going around the brunette's shoulders. Aria smiled her thanks.

With an annoyed huff, Dr. Young let his lanky arms fall to his sides. "Okay. I don't know about all this dreaming and unreality business, but there are strange things going on. Stuff we've never seen and it looks like we're catching it early. We'll get the word out, Miss Garza. We're going to find out just what the hell is going on."
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She practically leapt into the hard hotel bed, like an over-excited child the night before Christmas. So excited was she at the news of help- and an entire day ahead of the limit she had been given!-, that Aria found it hard to sleep and had taken a pill to make her drowsy. She had only enough time to settle in and think of Flinne, make her mind intent on him, before she fell into dreams.
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Flopping onto her familiar sofa with a wide smile on her face, Aria got comfortable and waited for the Survivor to appear.
 
The Survivor was on the run again, and this time from his own damnable shadow. He was getting mightily tired of running. And bleeding. And not being able to shoot whatever happened to be threatening his life at the present. And he was in a dream. He and his host were riding on the back of a giant golden fish, and there was an ever-filling bucket of cherries settled between them. His host, -a wizened old man with a scraggly beard, who smelled of bourbon- seemed to be trying to tie a rope of stems together. Flinne was just eating his fill.

Rather suddenly, he was gone from the dream. But he wasn't back in his world. He was on... A sofa. Immediately beside him was Aria. "That..." He said confusedly, "Should not have been possible." He still had a cherry between his fingers, and his rifle was laid across his knees. He was sitting cross-legged, as he had been on the giant fish.

<i>What's so impossible about it?</i> Demanded the voice in the back of his mind. <i>It's not as if <b>normal</b> applies any more.</i> "How many days has it been? Have you found someone to continue your work?" He set the cherry down on the butt of his rifle, and half-twisted to face Aria.
 
If it weren't for the tell-tale shimmer, he would have scared her half to death just flopping on her couch already seated like that. She stared and had to physically stop herself from rushing to embrace him.

Woah, girl. Easy. She reprimanded herself and instead took a deep breath and tried to act casual. The bright spot of red caught her attention but she dismissed it for now, his questions more important than mysterious fruit.

"Well, we're on a roll for impossible, then." She just could not stop smiling. Aria reminded herself that she must look like and idiot but found that she just didn't care. "I found some people who saw and I convinced them. They believe me, Flinne!" She was practically bouncing. Her face colored at her behavior and she tried to calm down once more.

"It's been two days; I'm a whole day-" her prideful tone was cut short as another glimpse of red caught her attention. Her enthusiasm forgotten, she leaned forward and inspeacted his shoulder. "You're bleeding."
 
Flinne was glad that he'd gotten over the shock of the sound of his own voice in the dreams he'd been hopping through since his shadow had come alive to try and kill him. He opened his mouth to stop her rapid rush of words, although his features had softened from the sternness he'd been holding with the fish-rider from just before Aria's dream. The woman had a way of slipping around his defenses.

He was still staring at her -he realized- when she pointed out that he was bleeding. "What?" Despite himself, a hand rose to touch on his left shoulder. The coat didn't have any tears or holes in it to suggest he'd been wounded, but there were a few spots of blood showing through along the fabric where he'd been bitten. "Oh. My world's a dangerous place to be." He said, shrugging the shoulder that hadn't been bitten. "I've bound the wound with a clean cloth, and it's not deep enough to need stitches. I couldn't find any place to wash the coat though." He frowned.

"You found people though. Are they in a position to figure out how to stop the Unreality?"
 
Aria relaxed and smiled again after his reassurances. She nodded, sitting back again. "Yes, I believe so. There are two astronomers and a physicist. I haven't known them long, but they're brilliant, Flinne. I really feel like they can do something. They don't believe me one bit about you, or Dr. Young doesn't anyway, Jared and Maddy maybe;" she paused before looking at him with wide hazel eyes, "but the information that you told me is what convinced them."

The Dreamer tentatively rested a hand on Flinne's knee. "You don't have to go back there. But... Do you really want to come to my world where it's all happening again?" Her chest ached and she immediately cursed herself for giving this fear a voice. What if he decided to go back and fade away..?

Aria shook herself mentally. No. He would never decide such a thing. He's survived this long, he wouldn't give that up now.
 
Flinne let another one of those rare smiles flicker across his lips at the news of the scientists. "They don't need to believe you about me," He murmured. "As long as they believe you about the trouble your existence is in." His bright green eyes turned down to the hand on his knee, and he studied it. What would it be like? To turn on a tap again. To drive a car. To be without his rifle for more than a few minutes. All of the activities of every day life seemed gigantic, and daunting now. Like they belonged to somebody else.

<i>Like they belong to someone who deserves to have them. To someone who didn't fail to save his world.</i> Again a flash of pain, hot and quick crossed his expression, and he covered it by clearing his throat. The thought hadn't been a fair one. One man, one <i>average</i> man couldn't be held accountable for failing to recognize and stop the unmaking of reality.

<i>Then why do I feel so guilty?</i> He didn't have an answer for the voice, and he couldn't meet Aria's gaze for fear that she'd see the guilt written behind his eyes.

"I don't have much of a choice. I'll be lucky if my world lasts for another four days. I don't relish the thought of being unmade." A shudder ran down his spine. "Things have grown more... Dangerous over the last few days. Will you be retrieving me tomorrow? I can try to dig up some more information about what's going on, if you'd like me to."
 
The flash of pain did not go unnoticed and it sent a sudden wave of sadness through her. She noticed that she was gripping the leg of his trouser rather firmly in her anticipation of hearing his answer. She let go slowly.

A wicked voice in her mind chided her; He is a survivor and he has no choice but to go with you to live. Did you think he cared about you? Just because you kiss a man doesn't mean he feels the same way, you ought to be an expert on that. Dark brows furrowed as she tried to silence the all-to-reasonable and painful thought. She shook her head, eyes cast away from his face.

"Let's not wait; from what you've said there's nothing in your world any more but things that mean you harm. What's the point of waiting one more day?" Her eyes returned to him as she reclined against the arm of the sofa, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She noted once more just how handsome he was, and how handsome men always seemed to hurt her. It was worth it to save a life, right?
 
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