We're Off To Never-Neverland

[opheliaafterdeath]

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!]

Comments

cw: drug mentions

[improbablenotimpossible]

[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]

[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]

[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]

....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]

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]

[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]

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]

...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]

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.