It's a room. Just a plain, run of the mill room straight from the 1960s. It's far from luxurious, but it's functional. The only thing remarkable about it isn't the room itself, but the few of the Swiss Alps just outside. Perhaps the map tacked up to the wall, the photos and pins and strings connecting people and places might be memorable to another, but Erik pays them no mind. The image is all but ingrained in his memory, so the faces are sharp and clear, not a random blur.

Erik himself is seated before the window, leaning over the little table there. It isn't papers he's pouring over. Not maps or photos or forged identification papers or travel manifests. No, the table is cleared away of the seeming clutter of papers pinned to the wall and strewn across the desk of the suite. On it, instead, is a chess board onto which Erik is carefully setting pieces. They're rather plain pieces, the sort one might find in a mass produces chess set from a department store. Despite that, Erik inspects each one before setting it in its place.

He doesn't look up, even knowing he's not alone. No-one should be there, but someone inevitably will be. It's odd, he thought, even in his dreams he plots and plans and never truly rests. Chess, after all, is a game of strategy. Strategy, patience, and well-laid traps. Those were the sorts of things with which Erik was intimately familiar. He never once glanced up form the board, merely leant back in his seat and lifted his brows curiously. "Do you play?"

[ The room that you could step into is one of many in the CIA installment that he has been spending time in. It is surrounded by several pieces of equipment. Charles is standing in the center, looking around and examining Cerebro. He moves his fingers over the headpiece, feeling it carefully.

His tone is peaceful and friendly, and he turns to look over his shoulder at whoever approaches. He walks towards the entrance and offers a smile and a nod, looking back at the work. ]

Quite an amazing piece work, isn't it?

[The Junon Cannon. One of her favorite places, if only in her dreams. It no longer existed, having been destroyed just before Meteorfall. And yet, she still remembered it. Very clearly, in fact. She point to the very same places that she always sat, where Angeal stood, where Sephiroth stood as she recited LOVELESS or they sparred. The Cannon was destroyed many times.

She sighed softly, a breeze playing with her hair. She dug her hands into her pockets, only mildly surprised she wasn't in her normal uniform but a much more casual outfit. The hat had long since been set in the back, where she used to sit with her friends.

Her friends.

She hugged her stomach, looking down at the waters below the tip of the cannon. She struggled to keep her tears inside.]

Do I even have the right to call them as such?

[OOC: Just something tame for now as I get used to this sort of game. XD I recommend listening to this! This can turn into a nightmare if you would like, something happy, or keep it as just a melancholy dream. :3 Up to you guys!]

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.

( This paragraph is cut for some potentially gross imagery. )

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."

[Who ever said a dream had to be restful? Someone boring, probably. Certainly not any self respecting doctor of archaeology. At least not one answering to the name of River Song. And for fortunately anyone entering this specific dream hoping for adventure, that's exactly what she answered to.

The people who didn't would still have to run from a giant rolling boulder--classics were classics--and might have to deal with getting a little lost in the alien temple, too. They'd just enjoy it less.

At the center of the temple (deceptively close to the starting point, as dreams often were) sits River sprawled atop something that might look suspiciously like a certain ark, sipping from a golden goblet and laughing at a joke just missed. Or a joke all her own, given there's no one else in the room.]

You're late.

[ Dreams can take different shapes and forms for different reasons. When it comes to the Doctor? They don't necessarily need to make sense. That is probably why you find yourself pushing open the doors to a dance hall, which is remarkably bigger on the inside. The dance floor is huge, with several tables spread around it for people to sit at, and a live band playing at the very back of the room. They are playing a variety of the music from the times, as well as a few modern songs that seem to fit the time period of the 1940s. There is even a bar tucked away in the corner.

Of course though, perhaps what the main attraction is, is the man leaning against a blue police box (sans the red banners), top hat and a cane all in one go. He turns and looks up at you as you walk in, a smile eventually gracing his face. ]

You're late.

Ignore this!!