opheliaafterdeath: (.7)
Nekane Adomaitis ([personal profile] opheliaafterdeath) wrote in [community profile] daybreakacademy2019-09-17 12:11 am

We're Off To Never-Neverland

There are many Fey beings in the world, those who are pranksters, those who thought themselves kings and queens...and those who have a job. The Sandman is one such Fey. It is not one he complains about much! To be able to help people have a good night's sleep and be well rested and happy the next day makes him happy, and he is willing to work around the clock to make it happen.

He has, of course, heard of the coming Nightfall and by extension Daybreak Academy...although the school's mission is not the only reason why the Sandman is aware of everyone there.

The terrible sleeping habits, those who didn't need to sleep or just didn't sleep even if they needed it, the weird schedules...! It's all so terrible! He understands the stress of Nightfall must be getting to everyone (that has to be why everyone is forgoing sleep, right?) but going without it will end poorly. Nobody is happy with this.

He has to do something.

So very early on the morning of September 17th, those who are awake may spot a wizened old man with a staff wandering the school. But there will be not enough time to ask just what his deal is. The Sandman taps his staff against the floor and soon the air will be filled with sand that will quickly spread throughout the Academy and Soleil. Soon everyone will fall under the Sandman's spell and start feeling sleepy.

Come now...close your eyes. And enter the world of dreams.

-

Come 6 o'clock in the morning on September 18th, characters will be released from the spell and will wake. The Sandman has moved everyone around so they are not at risk of being injured - mostly by stuffing people into the dorm rooms and probably not the right ones either. Enjoy your new roommates!

Meanwhile those who check the network will find a message waiting for them.


UN: T. Sandman

I hope you are well rested! What good and fun it is to get a good night's sleep, isn't it?

(No need to thank him.)


[Information on this plot can be found here!]
improbablenotimpossible: (My mind rebels at stagnation)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-17 11:29 pm (UTC)(link)
[He walks through the fog, watching as the world shifts - the dream was a traveler, someone who did not have a settled 'home' in a very long time, Sherlock observes.T There's a nagging sense of the familiar as he examines the doors, the black was locked... but brown?

The detective slowly opens the brown door]
hatesdeerstalkers: (fine.)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-18 02:29 am (UTC)(link)
[Inside, there is a comfortable study - it's hard to tell if it is old or new, with details shifting just as much as the outside does - but there is a clear path to a desk, and many shadow figures near the wall, giving warm - if incomprehensible - greetings, some even coming close to give a friendly handshake or a pat on the back.

At the desk is what looks like writing materials...]
improbablenotimpossible: (You know my methods)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-18 02:32 am (UTC)(link)
[And this just adds to his evidence of being in a dream, it frustrates his natural curiosity that such details fade and change, as he gives polite greetings to the shadowy groups, before sitting himself at the desk, fingertips pressing together]

I may have a suspicion...

[He lifts a pen, and places it to paper]

Let us see...
hatesdeerstalkers: (staring into the distance like a prettyb)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-18 03:20 am (UTC)(link)
[As he places the pen to the paper, he suddenly begins to automatically write - And at first, the shadows around seem pleased, and it seems easy. The letters shift and change just as much as everything else, but it seems...Good. No, Great.

...But then, slowly, things begin to change.

An air of discontent seems to come from the shadows, as the writing speeds up - and there's nothing you can do to stop yourself at this point.

There's a sudden sharp sting - and now, the letters being written are a bright red, even your energy begins to fade...]
improbablenotimpossible: (You see but do not observe)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-18 03:46 am (UTC)(link)
[Sherlock 's eyes narrow, he could sense, whatever it was - it was genius, even revolutionary... but the murmurs, the threatening shadows... the pen refused to obey, and he realizes with a sharp cry]

Blood...?

[He hisses, even in a dream he could feel this effect?]
hatesdeerstalkers: (the rare sad moriarty)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-18 03:53 am (UTC)(link)
[The pen continues to write, on and on - and with it, you feel more and more drained, even as the pace becomes frantic and the sense of completion, of something that could change the world comes forth -

Before the shadows suddenly rush for the desk, some grabbing Sherlock with harsh, rough hands, the other grabbing the completed stack - A manuscript - and tearing it to pieces right in front of him, crushing the fragments under heel.

...What a horrifying feeling of loss.]
improbablenotimpossible: (Stop right there!)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-18 04:02 am (UTC)(link)
Wait-!

[His reaction was reflexive, even if it was a dream, even if it was someone else's actions being channeled through him - this was wrong, the thought was visceral. The vampire trying to wrest out of the grip, snarling as the manuscript was torn and stomped on - managing to lunge forward with enough strength to tumble over the desk, crying out as one of the shadowy boots stomps and digs into his hand.

No...]

Is this... is this...?
Edited 2019-09-18 04:02 (UTC)
hatesdeerstalkers: (the old spider)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-18 04:10 am (UTC)(link)
[There's no response to his cry - even as the hold him down, there is only disapproval and anger, along with the feeling from some of them that you got what you deserved.

Quickly - despite any struggling - they usher him towards the door, despair and fear rising up even as feet dig into flesh and the voices roar in an angry chorus of sound, overwhelming and painful.

The door he came in through is flung open, and the Detective is bodily flung out of it towards the shifting street below.

As the brown door begins to shut, finally, a voice that makes sense comes through -]


We don't want you here, []. You'll never work in [] again, not after what you wrote.

[The slam that comes is so terribly, terribly finite.

And now, there's just the other two doors, as the brown one fades into the ever-shifting background.]
improbablenotimpossible: (My mind rebels at stagnation)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-18 04:21 am (UTC)(link)
[He struggled, lashing in response - but there were too many, and he still was dizzy from the loss of blood and it didn't seem like he had his vampiric strength, not against them - or worse they're stronger... they're dreams, they have the power here.

Soon he rolls on the street, grunting on impact as the door slams. The Detective groans, rising unsteadily to his feet as he slowly recovers, but still staring at where the door was, his eyes distant and contemplative]
hatesdeerstalkers: (mmhmm)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-18 04:24 am (UTC)(link)
[The silent streets shift as he stares, though if he looks behind himself, he'll see that there's a path out of the fog now - one leading towards...somewhere unknowable, most likely to another dream.

The black door gives a rough click, apparently having just now unlocked.

...Will you leave? Or will you choose another door?]
improbablenotimpossible: (A three pipe problem)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-19 12:55 am (UTC)(link)
[A wiser man may leave, but while he makes himself aware of danger - he has an acute sense of curiosity, and he approaches the black door, slowly opening it]

Well, if it's locked then there is something valuable to him behind this.

[He pauses for a moment at the thought, before pushing on]
hatesdeerstalkers: (I'll say goodbye soon)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-19 02:25 am (UTC)(link)
[And he pushes forward -

falling right into the empty, black void. It's cold, so cold - but it's comforting, like air conditioning on a hot summer day. And even though you could feel - just a moment before - little by little, all senses are lost. Touch, taste, smell, sight, sound...They all fade away, but there's no fear. No fear, no pain - just the feeling of being wrapped up in a heavy darkness that calls for you to sleep.

This feeling...

Perhaps, Sherlock has felt it once before. Just once, as he lay broken on the banks of the falls, beyond the pain.

That gentle, quiet, call to let go completely.]
improbablenotimpossible: (A study in crimson)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-19 03:09 am (UTC)(link)
[He tumbles, the darkness swallowing him - apphrension started to bubble up and coil in the pit of his stomach, but the emptiness started to calm, even losing his senses, one by one, which should have filled him with terror was simply met with a feeling of 'oh, this makes sense'.

His eyelids felt heavy, it was... tempting... to just... let it go, and simply...

simply... but something at the edge of his consciousness just could not go along with it]
hatesdeerstalkers: (Telomere's First Cries)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-23 04:26 am (UTC)(link)
[Even if there is a small bit that fights the end - it is still enough for eyes to close, to fall into -

The scent of wildflowers is suddenly all around, and there is no longer any sensation of falling - Sherlock's senses returned, along with something else that was taken from him so very long ago.

The warm wholeness of humanity.

And if he looks, he'll find himself in a sunny, beautiful meadow - butterflies of all kinds flitting around, with a deep sense of peace and contentment and rest. A scene out of an idyllic dream, or a childhood memory of the time before one had to grow up and join the rest of society.

These fields...feel like a longed for home.]
improbablenotimpossible: (My mind rebels at stagnation)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-23 05:23 am (UTC)(link)
[Soon his eyes opened, the scent and colors, he was laying on his back, reminded of those days where he could doze in the grasses all afternoon, his heart gently beating in his chest, eyelids fluttering, tears starting to spring up the simple feeling was overwhelming.

It took him minutes to recover from the shock of humanity, his hands wiping away the joyful tears before he force himself to sit up, to look, watching the butterflies flitting]
hatesdeerstalkers: (Default)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-29 04:43 am (UTC)(link)
[They're at peace.

Everything is at peace, here - it feels perfect.

But somehow, there's an odd scent - not blood or metal, but...

...poppies?

It seems to be coming from somewhere to the north...]
Edited 2019-09-29 04:44 (UTC)
improbablenotimpossible: (Let me ponder the matter further)

cw: drug mentions

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-29 04:49 am (UTC)(link)
[Poppies, the source of some of the laudanum he had partaken while alive, flowers associated with Morpheus, the god of dreams.

He breathes, exhaling, in this dream - he could feel his heart beating - it's so - so mundane, and calming. Soon, once he gathers himself, recovering from the shock of peace, he starts heading north]
hatesdeerstalkers: (fine.)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-29 05:05 am (UTC)(link)
[And eventually, he finds the source.

there's a small clearing - just large enough for a single human. in a circle, lie Poppies - but so many other flowers besides. Meadow Saffron, Heath, Purple Verbena, meadowsweet, Gum rockrose, and oddly enough, Bay leaf. They turn in the breeze, surrounding...

Moriarty.

Lying on his side, sleeping - apparently in a deep, deep sleep, and for a moment, his face...changes, to a face long gone by -

Before it smooths back out to the face he has in daybreak, old and mustached.

There's a sense that going west from here will free you from the dream, but...

...Well. What happens now is up to you.]
improbablenotimpossible: (Let me ponder the matter further)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-29 05:20 am (UTC)(link)
[Everything has meaning in dreams, especially flowers - the art of reading their symbols was lost in time, but he remembered, despite thinking them something not worthy of his attic space.

Loss, mourning, regrets, longing... and bay - 'I can but in death'. The face - changes, for a moment one he was too familiar with - then it vanished like a bubble on a pin.

He should go, leave the man to this Elysium, but he lingers, sitting close - listening to his own heart, hearing the rustling of the flowers, taking in their scent. It's easy to just stay - then he opens his eyes, starting.

How long was he here? Did time even matter here? Reluctantly, he pulls himself up, and hesitantly, his hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the man's shoulder, gently nudging him]
hatesdeerstalkers: (ah...?)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-29 05:29 am (UTC)(link)
....nn...?

[At the touch - slowly, ever so slowly - Moriarty's eyes open, blue-gray irises looking over to the one who roused him.]

...Ho...lmes...? What...?

[He sounds confused - but he blinks, rubbing his eyes with one hand.]

...'ere are we...?
improbablenotimpossible: (A man who loves art for art's sake)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-29 05:33 am (UTC)(link)
Ah, I was afraid you might be harder to arouse than this.

[He sits up proper, breathing out as he lets the man gather his senses]

To sleep, to perchance to dream... this seems to be a dream of some sort.
hatesdeerstalkers: (Hmm...hmm)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-29 05:38 am (UTC)(link)
[Honestly? For anyone else, it would have taken much more shaking.

Sitting up, he gazes out at the flowers around - his face turning to confusion to something like annoyance, before shaking his head.]


A dream...of a meadow? A rather tame dream, then. And I was asleep, inside of a dream? Hmph, I can't be THAT tire-

[..Wait.

Something is wrong.]


....!

[Without pause, he suddenly reaches out and touches Sherlock's throat, right where one could feel the artery pulse in time with the heart - and then touches his own in return.

There's a flicker of something like hope rising up in his eyes before it's suddenly quelled.

...And then, he gives a dry laugh.]


...A dream, indeed. You've regained your humanity, Holmes - in here, at least.
improbablenotimpossible: (My mind rebels at stagnation)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-29 05:46 am (UTC)(link)
Like a field...

[He murmurs, the wheels of his mind seeming to visibly turn behind his gray eyes... gray? When he suddenly froze as fingers touched his throat, the pulse quickening from the start. He didn't need to hear the next words, the way Moriarty's eyes bright and seem to dim to tell him what he was looking for, and did not find]

It seems that way - I'm unsure whether to think it's a kindness, or a more subtle cruelty.
hatesdeerstalkers: (somber...)

[personal profile] hatesdeerstalkers 2019-09-29 05:57 am (UTC)(link)
...If this is my dream? Then it is both, most likely.

[Knowing his mind? definitely both, and to both of them.]

...A field of flowers.

[He murmurs it, almost softly - before shaking his head again.]

I can't be - that tired.

[But that...is said uncertainly.]
improbablenotimpossible: (Let me ponder the matter further)

[personal profile] improbablenotimpossible 2019-09-29 06:01 am (UTC)(link)
That would be like you.

[He absentmindedly touched his fingers to his throat, feeling that pulse]

The field - I think might be what you think it is, I went through darkness before arriving here... human.