onepassingnight | 001 ♕ The Little Prince

A droplet of water, then another, another, another, soon it's a steady noise, constant as the ticking of a clock. The sound echos faster, picking up like a heartbeat against the darkness. Small sparks of white dot the sky lighting up like fireworks but remaining suspended against the false navy backdrop-- pinpricks glittering against a void. He can't focus on them for more than a rare few seconds, because his legs are moving under him, treading water. Running as fast and as hard as he can, to keep himself above-- he just needs to get to safety-- the tips of his toes and the pads of his feet dipping centemeters below the surface. Struggling desperately to keep above the mirror relfection in the water. It's becoming thicker, heavier, clinging to his ankles, pulling him down, cloying with it's grip.

No no no--

He gasped, arms outstretched, grasping at anything and everything-- but he can see nothing other than the water seeping into his clothes, grabbing at him, the father it dragged him down the darker the mirror turned; the surface no longer shimmering clear water but brilliant red blood. Transforming with his every reisistance, turning thick and heavy like quicksand; pulling and straining and pleading as his gaze shoots back up--help help, Raven, Raven, where are you?-- and just within his grasp is a hand. He reaches for it, for salivation in this faceless man. His fingertips curling against another's, a desperate cry tries to break free but this one is allowed no release; the quicksand already crawling up his sides, down his throat, he's suffocating even before he goes under.

He pulls at the hand again, please--

The fingers spread apart, letting his own sift through and he slips under, down into the blood, and then deeper, deeper, till it's no longer even blood-- it's just an inky blackness. There's no air for him only a burn in his chest; he's choking, fading, but just before true darkness takes him in he's breaking surface again. The whole world turned on his head as he drops from the water-- the rustling sounds that began in the darkness still echoing in his sudden freedom. His back hits the ground and he's shocked by the sudden spark of light and life.

An expanse of grass is laid out before any visitor, spreading into the distance as far as the eye can see. Checkered light and dark, but no less lush in either color. A flatland so expanse it's blatantly unnatural, only curving as if from the standing point below Charles one might be able to see the curvature of the earth. Dotted along the map are what appear to be giant blueberries, each smooth on one side and scaled on the other, ridges akin to fish scales defined across the surface closest to the sun on each. Every third berry has a stem protruding from the top, long curling barked wood spiraling in figures more natural to smoke than wood, speckled with illuminecent leaves. The dozens of green, gold and bronze leaves are all finely crafted glass, chiming gently in a breeze that couldn't be felt against skin.

Charles looks lost, recovering from the spiraling nature of his dreams, still dressed in his pyjamas. A soft cottony white, perhaps a size too big, striped with baby blue and lined in that same deep hue. His feet are warmed by a pair of black house slippers with two points on each in the shape of feline ears. His hair is skewed to one side more than the other, looking much like he was rustled out of his bed and into this strange dreamland without warning.

[OOC: Hello all! This is Charles' first venture into the joint dreamland. If I was unclear or if there's any questions or if I've done something wrong feel free to let me know! It's late at night so I always feel a little iffy about making posts, but I was overexcited so I did it anyway. Anyway, look forward to threading with you all. :) ]

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For several moments it appears as if Charles might not be inclined to answer her at all; but he isn't ignoring her, or being rude, he's simply trying his best to process her looks. It isn't familiar-- not in any way, she's blue, though, and he does like blue. It's like him, he knows in some ways, but like Raven too. This woman, though, is not Raven-- Raven doesn't play these games with him, doesn't trick him with faces he doesn't know.

"I don't know you," He's almost positive of it-- or as positive as Charles can be of anything, because his mind doesn't really process properly anymore. Breathing out a gentle sigh he takes a small step back; his attention drawn to the berry in her hand. "I don't-- I don't know you." It sets him on edge, not knowing her, feeling no familiarity there; a clinical sort of mind, like those doctors. Was this a test? More testing? His stomach tightens and he curls his arms around his waist protectively.

"Don't eat that." He says in warning, though it's hard to tell if it shouldn't be eaten or if it just wasn't for her. The blueberries the size of softballs littering the ground all seemed clean and fresh; the same could be said for the larger ones, the size of houses, with the tree like stems growing more berries protruding from them.

"I don't know you."

"You mentioned that!" Her lips spread in a somewhat amused grin. She loves lording it over someone, even in that small way, that she knows so much more of what's going on than they do. She doesn't seem to feel bad in the least for leaving him confused by offering no explanation. There's a sense of energy to her now.

"I'm Mercury." She does, at least, give her name, even as she considers the berry in her hand. She looks at it, and back at him. "Why not eat it?" It looks delicious, from where she's standing. The fish-scale impression doesn't turn her away.

"Hg--" He comments, brows knitting at the name. "H-g, Mercury, yes." It's a name he might be able to remember all things considered; blue and chemicals, things he knows-- though her nature is abrasive in a way he's sure would be easier to remember. Or recall, to be more specific, he forgets little, but being able to draw it back to the surface of his mind is a bit of a challenge. It's all a mess, upstairs, so to speak but he can reach in and sometimes grip the right thing or two.

"It's not yours," Not his either; he only liked blueberries in the muffins his sister would bring home, in the things he could taste people in the town eating sometimes-- but not these, no, those were hers to cook with or make jam with. Not his. Not Hg's. "They're for my sister."

Mercury is an element, quicksilver. Mercury is also a thief, a trickster god as much as the messenger and the wisdom god. The pause might mean she's considering keeping it. But in the end, she doesn't. She tosses it lightly towards Charles.

"I'll let it go this time," she says, as if to emphasize the choice is hers.

Fingers extend and curl around the berry once it's thrown to him, a curious expression on his face at her nature. He couldn't understand the unnecessary aggressiveness, though his experience was limited to the doctors, his family and Raven. She reminded him in some ways of the three-- though little of Raven, perhaps it was the blue-- he wasn't entirely sure. His fingers flex around the berry and it's plush and soft but not for him, either. Lowering down he gently sets it on the ground, watching it roll away and into a proper place as if there was some sort of invisible hill on the flat lands.

"Thank you," He murmured though he didn't know if that was the proper response or not.

It's proper enough. "Since it's for your sister," she remarks, which may be facetious or may contain a grain of truth, coming from the only child who'd always wished for siblings.

She's just used to being aggressive, excessive, forceful because she never was before, because she can't just sit and wait for the things she wants anymore. She can't hope; her only chance is to make it for herself. At least, except among her actual enemies, she's a lot more bark than bite.

"Do you still play chess?"

His brows lift at the mention of chess; a game he had often watched Brian Xavier play, it had interested him-- he had the mental capacity for it, if not the attention span. Good and bad memories laid in that, playing with Brian had been pleasant till it, too, began to feel like another test.

"Sometimes--" Truth be told he thought about it, watched others play, sometimes slipped into the mind of someone at the park and helped out; if the meant to or not. However, he rarely got to play like he wanted to.

"Want a match?" There'd be no help her out; she was a national champion in her own right. She grins invitingly. A sharp mind to go against was always worthwhile, and Charles Xavier had quite an admirable one when it came to the game, as far as she recalled.

"Sure, I don't have a board here, not really." The checkered landscape hardly counted, while the berries and bits could be pawns, they were much too large-- or Charles was much too small-- regardless it wasn't the land for a game so much as cuts of grass patterned into the distance. "Do you?" He cocks his head to the side, looking her over, though she doesn't appear to have one, he's never one to outright deny the existence of the unseen-- he was, after all, a telepath.

"I can," she says slyly. And out of what seems to be nothing, a queen piece forms itself in her hand as she stretches it out. It looks as though made of clear glass; it's cold as ice to the touch.

It's a curious thing to him, in some way, he understands he must be sleeping-- even he knows that this skewed reality is far different from the one he should be used to. He reaches out, tapping it with his finger but then frowns just a little bit at the cold pulling back. "Do they have to be cold?"

"They're ice." Oh, she could keep them from melting, as she does whenever she plays with a set like this. But it takes energy, and she'd prefer to be able to focus on the match.

001 ♕ The Little Prince

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