001 ♕ The Little Prince

[butwedonot.livejournal.com]

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. :) ]

Comments

[waterfell.livejournal.com]

She is the Water. She is there in every drop. The blue is right, but it's her hair and her uniform; not the beautiful skin of Charles' adopted sister. When he reaches for her fingers, there is no reassuring grip, but a clinging and cloying one likely to leave him in the water's drowning hold instead. Likely to drag him into her sphere.

Then suddenly, he pushes through, beyond her grasp. He finds his way to freedom. When it finally ends, she seems calmer, just as he does. She steps closer, no polite keeping her distance now.

She reaches for one of the blueberries, to pick it up and hold it in her hand and examine it even as she finally speaks. She doesn't seem to object to his odd appearance, about the fact that he's standing there in his pajamas, though a quick look up and down suggests she sees it perfectly well, and notices. There isn't much a sharp mind like the genius Mizuno Ami misses.

"Charles Xavier." There's a faint smirk, and no explanation of how she knows his name from his alternates. "It's been awhile. Do you normally dress like this to receive guests?"

[helpmeguideit]

In most respects, it is beautiful to him. The way that the grass was laid out, the way that stems sprouted from the berries. The way that the spiraled wood twisted and took shape. It was unfamiliar figures to him. He walked along the grass, taking in the environment, feeling the air. It was unnatural, clearly, not only in the way that everything looked, but how it felt. The air was still against his skin, but moving through leaves.

It hadn't felt as odd as it did when he saw those familiar pajamas. He had those. And that face. The hair. It was like staring in a mirror in some ways. This person closely resembled him, but it wasn't him. Something was off, different. Unusual. It wasn't his dream, though. How could he be a stranger in his own dream?

He had to be careful and approach with a caution that he rarely used around other people. His pace had come to a near halt when he got close enough look him in the eyes. Charles searched for his words, afraid to take his eyes off of this other of himself. That caution replaced with some concern. "Your dream is quite lovely. I can't say it's familiar."