Oh, hey, remember a million years ago when I app'd this guy?

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

The clouds hang long and heavy in the sky, a deep gun-metal grey that shrouded everything below in ominous shadows. Rain poured steadily, making a mire of the ground. There was nothing but grey and murky brown as far as the eye could see: dull, lifeless brick buildings, rusted fence reaching skyward topped with aged razor wire, not a soul in sight. Moving along the sole path that presents itself, a peculiar smell barely masked by the rain became detectable. The putrid scent of spoiled meat and other foods left out to rot. It all made sense one the path turned.

The buildings seemed to fade into the distance, replaced by piles of bodies. The corpses of men, women, and children dumped unceremoniously aside in various states of decay, all in rags. Crows circled round, the harsh calls seeming to mock any who tried to pass. Some perched atop the dead pecking away at the meaty remains of tongues and blank, lifeless eyes. And, god, that smell! The only hope of escaping it was a single, solitary building looming ahead with a lights burning in every window, but it's anything but welcoming.

The change from the drab, grey world is almost blinding. Inside everything is bright and crisp white and the scent of cleaning agents give it a sterile smell, much like a hospital... or a morgue. In fact, that's exactly what this room looks like with it's cold examination table and the myriad of sharp, glinting tools resting on trays and dangling from walls. There's even a suspicious drain on the floor to wash away unsightly fluids. The silence is broken by the crackling din of a cheery tune playing from some unseen record player. It almost seems out of place after everything outside and the quiet menace that fills the room.

A window above gave a brief glimpse of shadowy figures in the unseen observation theatre. They're the only sign of life save for the man sitting, back turned, on the exam table. Like the bodies outside, Erik's dressed in the rags he recalls so clearly from his childhood. Erik's accustomed to this dream, though. He's spent years with the exaggerated memories and fears of childhood creeping around his jagged, broken mind and mingling with his subconscious. But, it's so familiar, he immediately noticed an intruding presence. Without looking over his shoulder, he simply said, "You should not be here."

Comments

[waterfell.livejournal.com]

This is...? Ami picks her way carefully through the destitution, lips set in a frown and posture alert and wary for any movement or noise. Her eyes stay in constant motion. Her fingers ache for the feel of her sword. She reaches, and it comes to her hand.

She straightens her shoulders and moves on. Her lips clamp shut against the sheer, overwhelming emotion of the place - but if she finds those responsible, they'll be lucky to escape with their lives. (A reversal, that; she's good at turning tables.)

When she spots Erik, she doesn't let herself relax even then. She simply says two words.

"Let's go."

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

Erik pressed his hands flat on the table and pushed off with a little hop. He turned around to face her, perplexed by the stranger's presence here. This dream of his, it was sculpted from memory, but the memory didn't play out like this. There was no rescue. There was only Shaw and his tortures.

He pointedly didn't move from around the table. These may have been childhood memories, but he'd had almost twenty years to learn suspicion and distrust. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

[waterfell.livejournal.com]

She took no offense; she knew it to be wiser not to trust.

"Mizuno Ami." Her name was given without further comment. "I came here," she decided on her answer,"because I hate the sort of person who would cause this type of destruction."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Isn't it the same for you?" It was a beautiful thing, the power to take revenge and put everything right. She'd let him in on the chance to grab it.

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

"Hate is what causes this type of destruction." Erik would know that first-hand. Something very akin to hatred pulsed in his blood and polluted his days and nights.

"This," he gestured vaguely to the room, "is all in the past. There's no satisfaction of finding the monsters responsible for it here. What would you know of it?"

[waterfell.livejournal.com]

Even studying it in school couldn't have prepared her to name the reality. She looked to Erik instead.

"Tell me."

[messiahed]

For a second, Hope is barely able to distinguish this dream from her owns. Destitution, destruction, despair, disgust. It all hangs heavy in the air, like a warning of the world Hope grew up in centuries from now. Even the bodies were familiar in the 'seen one lifeless figure, seen them all' sort of way.

It was the buildings that gave it away. Dark and frightening but still in far better condition than any building she had ever seen growing up. It was the only real clue that this one wasn't her dream. It was too familiar but too unfamiliar all at once.

Wordlessly she followed the path before her, boots squishing in the wet mud, the ground threatening to never let go. But she trudged through it until she reached the building with the lights.

Every instinct told her not to go inside. It was too obvious, going inside put her in untold dangers. She shook the feelings off and ignored her father's voice before stepping inside. The room was clean. Too clean. For a second she stopped to check her shoes, unusually concerned with tracking mud into the white room. Miraculously, her boots her clean.

She hadn't even noticed the man until he spoke, and for a second his voice didn't reach her through the haze of dreams. But when it did it was almost instant that she knew it.

"Erik?"

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

Not only was someone here who shouldn't be, but someone who knew him by name. Erik's posture tensed noticeably, a split second later he was on his feet, rounding to face the intruder. He scrutinised her from across the room, making no play at hiding it. He'd learnt to remember faces and voices to better recognise those he hunted, but she didn't light any spark of recognition in his mind.

"Who are you," he demanded with no small amount of suspicion. "How do you know my name?"

[messiahed]

For a moment Hope was taken aback by how young he was. Still older than her, but a far cry younger than the eighty-year-old man she knew. She had been able to see it when looking at his back, but seeing it face to face was something else.

She snapped out of her surprise, though, to answer his question. "It's Hope Summers. I, uh..." Okay how the hell do you explain this one when you don't even know what's really going on?

"Who's dream is this?" She asked suddenly, registering why this all felt strange to her. Shared dreaming. She'd done it in the past.

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

"It's mine," Erik stated in a careful, even tone. Even betraying too much suspicion could be construed as a weakness to exploit. He canted his head to the side, contemplating her, well, more her name than her. He couldn't recall ever meeting her or anyone who looked like her nor anyone with her name.

"Answer my question: how do you know me?"

[messiahed]

Now she's really confused. So if she's in Erik's dream, why doesn't he remember? Sure he's younger but he's just dreaming about his early years, right? He should still be able to recognize who she is. Yet, looking at his face, she can see he doesn't know her. He's as confused as she is. Which is really, really confused right now.

"I know you. We're friends. Granted, you usually look older, but still it's you," She tried to explain to him.

[helpmeguideit]

Charles walked through the landscape, immediately knowing that this was not a world of his own doing. He had dreams of dark, hidden places, but nothing like this -- this place was far too real for anything that he could have dreamed up. The smells were so vivid and strong. There were powerful feelings attached to this place.

He approached, noting the man sitting on the exam table. At that moment, Charles knew who the dream belonged to. Erik didn't even need to speak. Those moments walking through the man's mind and memories had given him the ability to recognize it.

"Erik," he said, stepping near the table. He offered his hand, but nothing more was said.

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

That was a voice a he recognised. His new found 'friend.' Inwardly, Erik snorted a laugh. It figured that Charles would try to save him again. That man must have a complex. Still, Charles made for a good anchor to the present, not to the memories that still haunted him nightly. His presence brought a wry, but subtle grin to Erik's lips.

"Charles Xavier. Have you come to rescue me again?"

[helpmeguideit]

"You're in a dream, you don't need me to rescue you, Erik." He eyed his own offered hand then looked towards Erik. "But I do not think that sitting here and staying here is going to be of any help to you." He knew that it would just further the rage and pain that he had seen in those moments in Erik's mind.

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

"I didn't need you to rescue me before," he retorted. It wasn't solely the dream scrapped together from childhood memories that unnerved him and left him on edge; it was sharing them. Any stranger on the street who saw him in passing would have no idea of the horror he'd seen, of the constant anger and hurt that churned and boiled under the stoic façade. Erik liked it that way.

And yet here was Charles, once again in his head. Once again bearing witness to the broken, jagged landscape of his mind. Once against seeing all the things Erik fought so hard to keep from anyone's view lest they look at him with pity, or worse, happiness that he'd managed to survive.

"Tell me, Charles, where do you propose we go? Back out into the rain? Into that graveyard?"

[helpmeguideit]

Charles shook his head. "Would it be better?" Charles asked, unwilling to answer for Erik on what the best solution would be for him. He knew Erik's mind and experiences, but that did not place him at a point of understanding. He offered him sympathy, but not pity for his experiences. "I am sorry you had to face this, but you did need me before. Asking for help is not a bad thing, Erik. There is no shame in needing another person. Friends can be of great value."

[stillherown.livejournal.com]

Her hand continued to cover her mouth and nose as her wanderings brought Romana from the sight of decay and sorrow into the lone building that stood out from the rest. As the door closed behind her she was careful not to make sound when she continued to walk further inside. And she was grateful that with these dreams she could forgo the ridiculous robes that her race seemed so keen on wearing for more a more practical attire of trousers and a blouse.

After a few minutes she pulled her hand away in favor of moving to examine the tools that were lying upon the tray only after spending a minute or so seeking out the source of the music that lingered in the air. Her expression was blank but there was no denying that the look in her eyes was far from a happy one. Romana's fingers hovered over the tray when she heard the owner of this dream speak up.

"My apologies." Then, after a beat-- "I do seem to get that a lot."

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

Erik twisted around, peering over his shoulder at the newcomer. For a short moment he scrutinised her in silence. This dream, this memory was something to which he was accustomed. It was a fact of his past that no longer filled his adult mind with dread so much as it did anger. Finally he slid off the table and drew nearer to her, circling round her without taking his eyes from her.

"Not once in my time here, after I left here, did anyone look at me with those eyes. It was always with ignorance or pity."

[stillherown.livejournal.com]

Romana remained where she was, making no effort to move even the slightest inch when he started to circle her. After all, she was the one trespassing, something she was all too familiar with. But as she kept herself perfectly still only heh eyes would follow him when he moved.

"Well, it's hardly a pleasant sight to look upon," she said in response.

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

"But you've seen something like it before. It doesn't shock you." Meet Erik Lehnsherr, man who makes statements instead of asking questions. When he stopped his pace, Erik paused in front of her, scrutinising her through narrowed eyes. "Who are you?"

[stillherown.livejournal.com]

While Romana may look young enough in appearance it's her eyes that, like many a Time Lord, that reveal that she is far older than she appears. And with it she had seen much in her universe. "My name? It is Romanadvoratrelundar. However, since many cannot pronounce it, I have grown accustomed to simply Romana," she replied.

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

He steps into the building and the second what he's seeing registers, he turns to step back out.

He'll take the rotting bodies and the crows and the rain, thank you very much.

Belatedly, his mind supplies him with the fact that there was another being in the room though. One that wasn't in a lab coat. His fingers hesitate on the door and that's when the other voice speaks. Reluctant, Cloud turns back to the room but his back touches the door. Reassurance that, this time, there is an exit out. His eyes narrow slightly, chin lowering the smallest bit, ready to fight it he needs to. The lack of a lab coat lets him breathe though and his voice stays low and quiet.

"Doesn't seem to be my choice. Where's here?"

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

"Auschwitz-Birkenau," Erik droned. "The extermination camp," he added to give the words more weight.

Erik slid off the table's edge and turned to face Cloud. The intruder's posture, the way he pressed himself to the door spoke volumes of his thoughts on this particular place.

"You're right to be afraid. This place," Erik gestured to the room around them as he walked round the table, "Is far more terrible than anything out there."

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

Cloud could have denied that he was afraid - but he didn't see any point. It would have been a lie and it didn't matter if he was smart enough to know when something was frightening. So instead he watched the man at the table.

Rags said 'victim' not 'scientist' but that didn't make Cloud relax. You never relaxed when you were in a place like this. Never trusted anything to be what it was. His hand found the door knob but he stood his ground. Sometimes the only way out was through. Cloud just hoped that this wasn't one of those times.

He also wasn't going to argue with the assessment of which place was more terrible. He agreed already.

"So what are you doing here?"

[e4e5nf3nc6nc3nf6]

"Remembering," he answered in a quiet voice. "You," he added, nodding toward Cloud as if there might possibly be some other 'you' in the room. "I don't remember. So, what are you doing here?"

This wasn't the sort of dream through which one simply strolled for fun. Nothing in Erik's mind was much of a pleasure cruise, as they say. There was a suspicion around him, a tension that was visible more in his posture than in his tone or his expression. People in his head troubled him.

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

Cloud had a bit of experience with sharing the inside of his head with other people himself and troubling was as good a word as any for it. He was still adjusting to the setting though and so the thought that he might actually be sharing a dream with someone hadn't clicked just yet. His head was still a little too braced for the second this whole thing went green and liquid and light reflecting off eyeglasses to take the time to clue him in that this was more than just one of his own nightmares. The way the man in front of him spoke though did jar something, telling him he didn't belong here. This place was different from the labs he remembered for a reason. So he shook his head, eyes still not leaving the man in front of him because he recognized threat when he saw it.

"I don't know. This isn't the lab I remember." As if pointing out an important fact, he added: "And you're not in a lab coat."