Unreality [DawnsLight]

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Flinne hadn't noticed the grip she'd had on his pants. When she'd pulled her hand away however, it drew his eyes. A rough digit rolled the cherry on the butt of his rifle, and he finally pulled his eyes up from the weapon.

<i>What kind of jerk are you? She likes you. More importantly, you like <b>her</b>. And here you are planning to go through with some foolish plan that will very probably have you both Unmade by the end of the week. So go ahead </i>Survivor<i>, tell the girl to hold on tight, and pray to whatever higher power hasn't been unmade by this damnable Unreality that you don't drag her into your hell.</i> The voice in his mind was full of contempt for his selfishness.

A much quieter voice, asked: <i>There's a chance. You deserve a chance at happiness, don't you?</i>

Rife with indecision, Flinne pushed himself slowly to his feet. He took a few steps away from the couch, holding his rifle one-handedly about the bolt-area. His other hand rose to squeeze at the bridge of his nose tiredly. He was beginning to need a shave again. "If I wait one more day," He said quietly. "Then I might disappear. If I disappear, then you've got no reason, -no way- to get yourself dragged into..." He grimaced, and shook his head. "That is my hesitation. That is my uncertainty." He half-turned towards the Dreamer again.

"But if you'd like to try to bring me back, then I won't stop you." He offered the girl his hand.
 
Watching him rise from the sofa, watching him struggle and being able to do nothing about it was beyond frustrating. Anxiety bloomed in her chest like a choking weed; but his words, quiet and pained, dissolved the tightness.

He's worried...about me? Aria could only stare up at him. Slowly, the Dreamer took his hand and rose from her seat. Her breath was coming a little faster now, the possibility of closer contact and the knowledge that very soon he would be coming out of the realm of dreams making her excited to a point that she was embarrassed to admit. How long had it been since a man had held her? She drew a ragged breath and stepped closer, intense hazel eyes locked onto his. "I want to bring you out of that, Flinne. I'm not important. The steps have been taken to try to stop what's going on here and it's out of my hands. If you do take me with you instead of the other way around.." her voice broke and she couldn't finish. Aria swallowed against the knot in her throat.

The Dreamer moved closer still, her arms sliding around Flinne's slim torso as she pressed her body to his. She couldn't suppress a shudder at the contact; it set fire through her and a sigh escaped her lips. It was different from the hug they had shared before, more weighted. Aria paused, taking in his reaction, making sure he was holding on before doing anything else.
 
Flinne felt Aria's hand in his own, and his palm began to sweat as soon as skin touched skin. He could see her chest rising and falling more quickly. Her eyes on his own seemed to grow as she swept in, and when her arms slipped around his middle, all seemed to go quiet within him. If she wound up in his world, he was afraid he didn't know what he'd do.

She felt so warm, so very real against his chest. She felt like his hope. His lifeline. His last chance at salvation. And he was too much of a coward to shove her away. To make her stay safe and sound in her own reality. To eat a bullet, so she'd stop dreaming him up.

His arm tightened around her waist, and his eyes slid closed. He held his breath, and his shoulders went taut. He felt as if he were on the very peak of a roller coaster, about to plummet from some great height. Only he didn't know if there would be any track at the bottom. <i>But you're important to me...</i> He thought.

What he said, was, "I'm ready."
 
It was pure pleasure to have his arms around her. Exhaling a breath she didn't know she was holding, she began to wake herself.
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Aria pulled herself from her dream groggily, the pill she had taken making her slow to rise. With a sudden jolt, she sat up, her hand searching the stiff hotel sheets. She spun, turning on the lamp and scanning the room. She appeared to be alone. A metallic taste filled her mouth, and she began to shake while a litany of denials ran over in her mind. Then, from the corner of her eye she caught a light coming from the bathroom.

Aria began to relax and got to her feet, making her way to the door. It was quiet. She pushed and the door swung open on silent hinges. Her greatest hope was behind that door and when she saw that the room was empty, she broke. Striking the cold tile with her fist and spilling scarlet across sanitary white, Aria sank to the floor and cried.
 
Flinne felt hope bubbling up in his chest, as the dream began to fade around him. And then the hope turned to bile, as he felt it all slip away.

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The Survivor's boots landed on the stone as heavily. He felt as if his heart would drop into his chest. The first thing he noticed was that his arms were vacant of anything but his rifle. Wherever he was, he was alone. His eyes slid open, but the darkness didn't fade. Tremulous madness quivered at the edges of his mind, boxing him in. He was blind. Aria was gone. Only the weight of his rifle told him that it was still in his hands. He felt his teeth grinding, rather than hearing them.

Swallowing, he took an uncertain step forward. An unforgettable sensation of oily wrongness washed over him, and he retreated just as quickly as he'd come. True bile rose in his throat, and he had to fight to keep it down. He edged himself backwards, away from the wrong-facing shadow before him, to find another barely eight inches from the first. He grimaced in frustration, and returned to the spot he'd landed in.

He tried again to his right, and then to his left when he found that it was just as wrong. The Survivor was trapped. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. He could feel his mind going raw, and he trembled with the effort of reining in his panic. There was no telling how deep the shadows ran. There was no way to see the escape of a dream, or to see the doom of a nightmare as it popped.

The survivor didn't even realize he'd begun to scream until a lancing pain in his throat told him his cries had become raw. His teeth clicked shut to bite back the urge to continue on screaming 'till his throat was beyond repair. Until the Unreality came to unmake him.

How long would he stand in the light? Would he go mad from hunger and thirst, and chance the shadows? Would he wait 'till he was too weak to stand, and collapse? Or would his world be unmade around him while he deliberated?

The Survivor didn't know how long he stood there.

Alone.
 
Aria set her bags down and locked the apartment door behind her. It felt good to be home, but the sight of it was like de ja vous. She avoided looking toward the sofa on the way to the bedroom; mechanically, she began to unpack.

The Dreamer had cried for hours in her hotel room before a call from the front desk inquiring about her welfare shook her from her grief. She had considered taking more sleeping pills, but the thought of spending another night in the unfamiliar room was distasteful. Aria caught an early flight home that afternoon.

The majority of the day was spent almost in a trance. Going about the act of tending to her needs not because she wanted to but out of habit. Laundry, Bathe, Eat; when it came time to sleep however, she put it off. Thoughts of Flinne plagued her all throughout the day and now that the time had come and fatigue was taking its toll on her, she was reluctant to slip into what she considered his realm. He's got to be laughing at my foolishness. Hating me for giving him some sort of hope. I failed him. Worthless, stupid woman. She clenched her jaw to the point of pain and lay down in her bed. She felt empty and once she did eventually slip into the dreaming, Aria dreamed of emptiness.
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Aria crouched, hugging her knees to her chest and trying to make herself a small as possible. Around her, a vast white expanse stretched as far as she could see. The air didn't move, there were no sounds except for the thrum of the blood in her ears and her breathing. She began to rock and to speak his name like a prayer, like Hail Marys for each bead of a rosary, she apologized for her failing.

It was cold comfort to think that this is what she might have doomed him to and that it was only right that she should be there too.
 
Hours passed. Maybe days. It was easier to stand with his eyes closed. Then at least, the Survivor could pretend that it was his choice not to see anything. His muscles ached with the fatigue of not moving, and there was something wrong with his rifle. It's heft felt wrong. And then he was... Somewhere else. Someone was whimpering. His boots no longer touched the ground. Had he been unmade? No, that wouldn't return his hearing to him.

Terrified to open his eyes, Flinne gritted his teeth tighter. <i>If I open them, and I can't see, I'll go mad.</i> His voice whispered in his mind. It sounded strange, and alien, even in his head. Hoarse. And then he realized he'd spoken aloud. "If I open them, and I can't see, I'll go mad."

That was almost as jarring as the whimpers. He was ashamed to realize that they originated from his own throat. He was in a dream. But how had the dream made it past the shadows al around him? His eyes opened just a hair, and they were absolutely dazzling in the darkness. Perhaps even slightly luminous. In his left hand, in a white-knuckled grip was his rifle. Or rather, about eight inches of his rifle. The stock was mostly still whole, but the bolt and the magazine had been cut cleanly in two.

At first, all Flinne saw was blackness, and he squeezed his eyes closed all over again, his heart wrenching.
 
The rhythmic murmuring of her apology and admission of failure filled the space around the Dreamer, the words becoming corporeal after a fashion. They painted the spare landscape- if it could even be called such- like a madman's graffiti; here and there in bold, large letters before becoming small and fine for miles. Some written elegantly in script while others were an angry scrawl. Aria closed her eyes tight against them, but continued to speak them.

She could hear a keening whimper and ducked her head closer to her knees. It was like a physical blow to her that her mind would conjure Flinne's voice, sounding rough and broken and desperate: "If I open them, and I can't see, I'll go mad." Were these the last words he spoke into the oncoming unreality before it consumed him? Did it reach her dream as some sort of punishment for her failing? The thought caused Aria to choke on the Survivor's name when she spoke it. Rough sobs racking her body.

She dug her fingernails into her sides, gouges rising as red welts on her olive skin. You don't deserve his name on your lips, the voice in her mind hissed venomously. She couldn't inflict pain like this on herself in her waking life and it seemed to Aria apropos that the realm where her unwitting betrayal took place was where she also served her penance.
 
His throat seized, and his mind reeled. He had heard Aria's voice. Which was impossible. She was a Dreamer. He was encircled by shadow. Even if she'd been drawing him, she should have dragged the shadow into her own dream. Or passed through it on her way to him. <i>Unless she rained on me again...</i> Said a voice nearly forgotten in the back of the Survivor's mind. He wasn't right, he knew that much. But he wasn't unmade yet. His mind was still working. "Aria," He rasped, his voice hoarse and tremulous.

His hand trembled, and he began to work up the courage to open his eyes again. There <i>couldn't</i> be nothing. There just <i>couldn't</i>. Again, he spoke, his rasping voice gaining strength. "Aria, are you here? I can't see," It wasn't strictly true. He dared not open his eyes. "Please," His voice grew quieter, and the malevolent, taunting voice piped up. <i>She won't answer you. She's dead. You dragged her into oblivion with you, and now you're nothing but dust. <b>You</b> were her unmaking. Survivor.</i> The voice scoffed scornfully.
 
Stark black writing turned to question marks like dominoes falling across the blank expanse of white as Aria lifted her head. Her eyes were bleary from crying and she blinked the drops out of them, looking right and left. She was shaking, her breaths coming and going in stutters and moans like a child's after a long bout of tears. She rose and turned in a circle before she saw him.

Do dead dreams leave ghosts behind to torture their dreamers?

The walk from where she stood to where he appeared seemed to take an age. She moved on silent feet as naked as the rest of her until she stood silently before the man. Aria felt a strange calm wash over her while she looked into the face of the dream-thing that had taken Flinne's form in order to torment her further. It was only fitting since she had undoubtedly sent him to certain death. She stood inches from him and wondered if he could feel her breath on his face.

Aria felt selfish for wanting to touch this apparition but decided that it didn't really matter now. Reaching up, her hands surprisingly steady, she ran her thumbs over his eyelids lightly. "You could see if you open your eyes, Ghost. But if you prefer I put coins for the ferryman on them, I would understand and send you on your way." She smiled and lowered her hands to her sides, spreading them in a gesture of helplessness.

"But I don't have any money."
 
Flinne ached. He even thought he felt the warm wash of breath across his face. He shied away from the first contact of thumbs to his eyelids. It was so surprising that his numbed fingers released the ruin of his rifle into the blackness beneath him. "I can't see," He repeated, insistent. "There is nothing to see. Sight has stopped meaning. But..." his hands rose trembling, and he extended one towards the source of Aria's voice. It was an impossibility. "I... I could be mad. Sound means nothing. But touch... Touch still exists. You can't be my mind..."

The jumble of confusing, vulnerable emotions was like a knot. A knot that Flinne needed to navigate to return himself to some measure of composure. A slowly, heavily creeping sensation weighted him down suddenly, and he drew his hands back. "I... You have to go. I can hear, and I can feel, and that means we're in a dream. And if we're in a dream, it's coming again, and you have to... You have to wake up. Before it's too late."

Flinne wasn't entirely sure whether it was his madness weighing down his soul, or the encroaching unreality come to finally claim the last Survivor, but his disjointed, shattered psyche couldn't care.
 
As his hand brushed her naked skin, she tilted her hand to wonder at the warmth of the brief contact. The writing that stretched around them for miles began to fade as she stepped back and began to circle the apparition, stepping carefully over the ruined rifle. Everything here was so surreal that she couldn't bring herself to be troubled by it. Aria regarded the ghost for a moment, taking in his words before answering simply, "No."

Having made a complete revolution, she stood in front of the man again and tonelessly demanded that he open his eyes. "Look at me, Ghost. I want to see if you got the eyes right."

Aria was bending to pick up what remained of the Mosin, when her chest tightened painfully. "Or perhaps you aren't here to torture me. Maybe my sin wasn't so bad as that and I've been given a chance to say my apologies to his face and to say a real goodbye." The Dreamer smiled wistfully at the thought of such an opportunity. She reached up and absently rubbed the collar of his shirt between her forefinger and thumb.

"I'm sorry I failed you, Flinne. I'm sorry I was so selfish that I promised you freedom from whatever suffering your existence was and then instead delivered you into your unmaking. I'm sorry I kissed you when you didn't seem to want it and that I was so troublesome. I'm sorry, so so sorry for everything. Thank you for your warnings and advice. And... goodbye Flinne. Rest now, and be at peace." She breathed the last, stroking the rough line of his jaw before stepping backwards. Feeling lightened, she turned and began to walk away into the white nothingness.
 
Flinne's jaw tightened. Aria wanted him to open his eyes. Didn't she <i>understand</i>? If he opened his eyes, he wouldn't <i>see!</i> There would only be black. No Aria. No dream. Only shadow. When his hand brushed bare flesh, it sent a jolt of anticipation. And then she was apologizing. He could feel her fingers at the cloth of his shirt, and his heart skipped a beat. Why was she sorry?

He had to make her understand. His face tilted into the hand cradling his jaw, but it disappeared. He was alone again. His hands rose out before him, and he expected the oily wrongness of shadow to swath him to the elbows. It wasn't there. But neither was Aria.

<i>Open your eyes.</i> No. <i>Open your eyes!</i> I can't. <i>She doesn't know you're you! You've got to open your eyes. SEE.</i> The command from his own subconscious was almost overwhelming, and -despite himself. Flinne pried his eyes open. The sight of Aria brought tears to his eyes, and an emerald glow suffused the air about his eyes.

His limbs began to move. They were jerky at first, from hours of immobility, but soon he fell into a familiarly graceful lope that he'd acquired while running through the ruins of his world. He reached a hand out to grasp Aria by the upper arm. "You've got to wake <i>up!</i>" He insisted.
 
The eyes were the same. Such a bright and beautiful shade of green. She let her own gaze slide from them to the hand around her arm impassively. A wan smile crossed Aria's features. "Thank you, for letting me see them one more time. And for acting like him, Ghost." The whiteness that surrounded them intensified to a blinding glow, washing the detail from their faces.

Aria could feel the light streaming through the bedroom window and washing the room into soft pastels. She lay still and breathed deeply, feeling somehow cleansed. A sadness weighed heavy on her chest; something she knew she wouldn't be soon rid of but it wasn't overwhelming as it had been before her surreal dream. Just laying there quietly with no expectations of the day was relaxing. She moved to stretch sensuously, spreading her arms and arching her back. Mid-yawn and mid-stretch she stopped dead when her hand touched a warm something.

Confusion creased her features and she delicately rolled over, unprepared for the shock of what she saw.
 
Flinne had been pulled right out of her dream. Flinne, and ONLY Flinne. His ruined rifle was gone. As were the rest of his gathered trinkets. As were his clothing. The move seemed to have sapped him of energy, to the point of exhaustion. He hadn't even recalled arriving from the dream into... Reality. All he knew was that he was on a softer bed than he'd slept in for quite some time, and he felt <i>secure</i>.

He was sleeping. The Survivor, tried and battered by his time running through reality looked so terribly <i>vulnerable</i> when he slept. His face relaxed from it's usual expression of terse consternation, and his lips remained just slightly ajar. He'd managed to arrive beneath the sheets, which might have been a blessing, but they were all that kept him decent. Unfortunately however, the gauze at the wound on his shoulder hadn't made the trip either, and a trickle of blood was running across his collarbone and towards the sheets. The wound looked like a bitemark. A <i>human</i> bitemark.

Something warm brushed his face, and all too slowly he began to make the ascent from the depths of his exhaustion.
 
He was gorgeous when he slept, Aria mused. She lay beside him in stunned silence, not daring to wake the man who was so suddenly and inexplicably beside her. Instead she watched the soft light filtering through the curtains play over his face. She had never seen him look so at peace; face drained of its usual tension and his lips slightly parted. She found herself wanting to brush a few stray curls behind his ear but didn't dare for fear that Flinne would disappear as soon as she touched him. Beneath the sheets, Aria moved her hands together and gave herself a vicious pinch on the back of her left, twisting the skin so hard she was sure to have a bruise. She inhaled sharply but the view before her didn't change. He was really there.

In her bed.

Wide hazel eyes took in his bare chest and abdomen, her cheeks beginning to flame. Where in heaven's name are his clothes!? Aria was still dressed in her typical sleepwear, she noted with a small degree of relief and...disappointment? She pushed the embarrassing wave of wanting aside, despite the last lingering glance she gave to Flinne's lean-muscled form.

Moving slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake the man whom she felt had all the reason in the world to sleep in, Aria slipped from the bed and gathered her pajama pants from the chair nearby. She padded silently to the door before taking a last look back, still not quite believing the sight. It wasn't that she didn't feel happy about his being there; she was relieved beyond words. But in her worry, she had not considered some important details. She had at least thought that his clothes would come with him.

Stepping into the bathroom, Aria left the door open slightly so that she could listen in case Flinne stirred and called. She twisted the knob of the shower and disrobed while steam filled the small bathroom before stepping into the warm flow and beginning to wash. Skin glistening and wet, her hands moved over her body to distribute the soap that clung to her form in enviable suds, sliding slowly down between pert breasts and over shapely thighs. A low groan of enjoyment left her throat as she tilted her head back under the stream of water. It was a panacea, and with a clear head Aria began to think of what to do next.

Well I don't think he'll fit into much of your clothing, so a shopping trip is high on the list of priorities. No casual conjuring of things now, she thought. With a little sigh, Aria shut off the water and stepped out, beginning to towel off. Wrapping a towel around herself like a sarong, hair still dripping and sending little rivulets of water over her olive shoulders and back and chest, she tiptoed back into her bedroom as silently as she could. Dropping her discarded clothing into a hamper and cursing herself for a lack of forethought, Aria rummaged through drawers and closet for something to wear.
 
Flinne slept, and slept. He was exhausted. Perhaps it was his particular experience in the world of dreams, or perhaps it was simply his fine-tuned compartmentalization abilities. He didn't have a nightmare. In fact, if he dreamed at all, he didn't remember it. He'd forgotten how <i>nice</i> a mattress could feel. The ascent from sleep took maybe thirty minutes in total, although Flinne just rolled onto his back to continue sleeping.

Noises were registering in his subconscious. Sensations that shouldn't have been there, but weren't wrong. If this was some madness-driven hallucination, he didn't want to return from insanity. He just wanted to <i>sleep</i>. But he'd been sleeping long enough, he knew.

He let out a quiet sigh, which was enough to convince him that this wasn't his madness after all. For a moment, he listened to the soft pad of feet across the floor. To the rustle of clothes, and the sliding of drawers. <i>What if I open them and I can't see?</i> Came the voice again, with much less force than it had owned in the dream where he'd last seen Aria.

His throat went tight, and he made himself sit up, the sheets keeping him decent falling into his lap. A hand rose to cover his eyes, as if somehow that would make the task of opening them to face reality easier. He did. And he... <i>saw</i>. Light filtered around the edges of his palm, and glimpses of a familiar room showed around the edges. His hand fell away, and his eyes swept the room.

There was Aria. Beautiful, and glistening, and... Very nearly naked. Again, desire struck him like a bolt of lightning. Tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, and he tried to make sense of everything. He broke his gaze away politely, as color filled his cheeks. Pulling the sheets around his waist more firmly, he croaked: "You were supposed to wake up. It's not safe. I... There was a shadow, and it hunted me. The longer I'm in your-" He was babbling. "Where are my clothes?" He didn't know that she'd managed to pull him into reality.
 
His rough voice startled her and she jumped a little, spinning to face the speaker. She clutched the towel to her all the tighter and wished that it were longer; she felt suddenly so exposed. He doesn't know. He thinks it's a dream still.

Aria laid her clothes on the chair and closed the distance over the bare wooden floor, her mind racing with what to say. How to tell him? Levity seemed somehow wrong, and as she sat beside him on at the edge of her bed, she spoke: "It's not a dream this time, Flinne. This is my reality." Aria struggled for a moment, full lips pressed to a thin line. Her eyes didn't leave her hands, curled lightly on her lap. "When I woke up you were laying there beside me, sleeping soundly. Unless this is a dream of yours, this is it. You made it." A tentative smile curled the corners of her lips as she held up her bruised hand. "Even pinched myself to be sure. As for your clothes and what you had on you, it looks like they didn't make the jump. You were like that when I woke up." Red colored her cheeks- why couldn't she look at him? Can't take the doubt, you weak woman. Can't bear to think that he doesn't want to be here like this, a venomous voice hissed in her ear.

Almost in defiance of her thoughts, Aria looked up from her hands to take in his reaction. She stammered awkwardly, "Just.. just give me a minute to get dressed and I planned to go buy you some clothes. Until then I think I have a pair of sweatpants that might fit you." Smooth. He's going to be real happy to be here with a winner like you.
 
Flinne felt her weight on the edge of the bed. It was real. Substantial. Warm. It couldn't have been one of his dreams. Flinne hadn't dreamed in... A very long time. He had the sneaking suspicion that Unreality had unmade dreams in his existence, although he had nothing to prove it. But he was here. With a beautiful woman. And he didn't have to run. He didn't have to be on guard, to <i>feel</i> for unreality encroaching on Aria's dreams. But she was going out. Going to buy him clothes. Fear seized his heart, and for a moment, he lifted his hands to... To what? To keep her in the apartment? <i>Fool.</i>

His mind was still as raw and painful as his throat. The warm trickle of blood from the bite between his shoulder and his throat gave a vindictive little throb of pain, as if to remind him that it was there.

"I was... Asleep." He murmured, and he made his hands return to his sides without actually having made the trip to the Dreamer's own. He never entered a dream through sleep. And the only person who'd been able to pull him from dream to dream was sitting on the bed beside him.

"Be careful," He said, his hoarse voice cracking with the effort of speech. "I... Do you have any tea? Gauze?"
 
Aria stood and made her way to the battered-looking dresser, a gentle smile lighting her face. "I'm not going out for a little bit, but I do have tea and bandages." She had to lean a bit to rummage through the drawer that was the last known refuge of the old pair of sweats, but she managed to keep from showing too much of her rear as she sifted through the clothing awkwardly. With a wry smile, she tossed them to the bed beside Flinne.

"I hope these work; let's get you patched up and we'll have a cup together." Aria stood, grabbing the pile she had set down and glancing behind her before she left Flinne to change in privacy.

In short fashion she was dressed, her still-damp hair gathered at the base of her neck while she put an electric kettle on to heat. That went better than expected; it's got to be a shock. I know it was for me so I can't even imagine what it's like for him. Aria leaned her hips on the counter and stared across the room and out the window. Clouds rolled by in the sky outside. Deep in thought, she almost didn't hear the kettle and turned quickly to focus on what she was supposed to be doing. Soon the aromatic scent of steeping tea filled her small kitchenette.
 
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