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singillatim2024-01-02 09:56 am
20likes) wrote in singillatim2024-01-02 09:56 am
See the sun set;
Character Name: Heartman + you
Who: TDM continuation + a few open prompts re: prelude
What: The prelude dream doesn't bode well for someone like Heartman
When: Night of Jan 1st
Where: Community hall, Outside
Content Warnings: TBD, will update as needed
i. The Dream;
Heartman's a very light sleeper. Doing everything in 20 minute cycles means his body's circadian rhythm is severely off, if nonexistent at this point. There's no Beach to go to, no wandering black sand and smelling the salt and decomposing fish, following familiar footsteps until he tires himself out. It's just him.
When he does sleep, his dreams are never. It's usually the same dream, one Heartman stopped dreading once he knew the scientific reason but still finds deeply unpleasant. He should be glad--is glad--that he only suffers a mild case of DOOMS. He lacks the homicidal tendencies for one, the suicidal behaviour is thankfully non existent. The dreams, though. The nightmares are relentless, sharp and vivid but never in colour.
This dream is not the same.
Heartman wakes with a gasp in the community hall, hand flying to his chest out of habit--no, his heart is fine, it's still fine here--and knocking the sleeping person next to him in his hurried attempt to rise. His brow furrows, determined, panting from the adrenaline as he scrambles up and shoots to the closest scrap of paper on a table, knocking over a chair in his haste to reach for his glasses at the same time.
"It's different--" His lips frown deeply, immediately twitch into a half smile in a temporary moment of sheer scientific excitement, and his face eventually settles on a very stern sort of look, lips parted as he scribbles madly.
"This... is... different."
ii. Outside;
He can't go back to sleep. Time seems to stretch on here, elongated and like a giraffe neck in comparison to the nice, neat, short and compartmentalized moments he's so used to. He's left rudderless, aimless without his research, and while he's already started to shift his work to solving this puzzle and trying not to focus too much on the one back home in order to retain his sanity here, it's difficult.
This dream, the wolves and the voice, even the word interloper is both a blessing and a curse. Heartman decides to go for a walk, bundling up as tightly as possible and throwing a blanket around his shoulders for good measure. The air is crisp, reminiscent of the mountain air swirling around his lab, but it has far more of a bite. Temperature, perhaps. Or the sense of foreboding that new dream has weighted him down with has clouded his judgement.
If someone else is taking a night walk, Heartman will politely raise his hand in greeting, sticking to the town itself and never straying too far from the community hall.
He does nip out a second time, this time to watch the sun rise, bundled just as tightly. For all of the unanswered questions he has, Heartman still has time to enjoy the natural beauty of it all. There's no Timefall to worry about. Just sheer, natural beauty.
Who: TDM continuation + a few open prompts re: prelude
What: The prelude dream doesn't bode well for someone like Heartman
When: Night of Jan 1st
Where: Community hall, Outside
Content Warnings: TBD, will update as needed
i. The Dream;
Heartman's a very light sleeper. Doing everything in 20 minute cycles means his body's circadian rhythm is severely off, if nonexistent at this point. There's no Beach to go to, no wandering black sand and smelling the salt and decomposing fish, following familiar footsteps until he tires himself out. It's just him.
When he does sleep, his dreams are never. It's usually the same dream, one Heartman stopped dreading once he knew the scientific reason but still finds deeply unpleasant. He should be glad--is glad--that he only suffers a mild case of DOOMS. He lacks the homicidal tendencies for one, the suicidal behaviour is thankfully non existent. The dreams, though. The nightmares are relentless, sharp and vivid but never in colour.
This dream is not the same.
Heartman wakes with a gasp in the community hall, hand flying to his chest out of habit--no, his heart is fine, it's still fine here--and knocking the sleeping person next to him in his hurried attempt to rise. His brow furrows, determined, panting from the adrenaline as he scrambles up and shoots to the closest scrap of paper on a table, knocking over a chair in his haste to reach for his glasses at the same time.
"It's different--" His lips frown deeply, immediately twitch into a half smile in a temporary moment of sheer scientific excitement, and his face eventually settles on a very stern sort of look, lips parted as he scribbles madly.
"This... is... different."
ii. Outside;
He can't go back to sleep. Time seems to stretch on here, elongated and like a giraffe neck in comparison to the nice, neat, short and compartmentalized moments he's so used to. He's left rudderless, aimless without his research, and while he's already started to shift his work to solving this puzzle and trying not to focus too much on the one back home in order to retain his sanity here, it's difficult.
This dream, the wolves and the voice, even the word interloper is both a blessing and a curse. Heartman decides to go for a walk, bundling up as tightly as possible and throwing a blanket around his shoulders for good measure. The air is crisp, reminiscent of the mountain air swirling around his lab, but it has far more of a bite. Temperature, perhaps. Or the sense of foreboding that new dream has weighted him down with has clouded his judgement.
If someone else is taking a night walk, Heartman will politely raise his hand in greeting, sticking to the town itself and never straying too far from the community hall.
He does nip out a second time, this time to watch the sun rise, bundled just as tightly. For all of the unanswered questions he has, Heartman still has time to enjoy the natural beauty of it all. There's no Timefall to worry about. Just sheer, natural beauty.
no subject
"Something from my world, a contaminate of sorts. There's an hour glass over there containing some," he motions with his head where he'd set his hour glass on a shelf next to a picture.
But, quickly: "Please don't break it. While this is a shot in the dark that chiral contamination has a hand in this and is present or is even active in this atmosphere--world, I suppose--I'd hate to expose you to it. Just in case."
no subject
"Contamination, huh." As he leans in to peer at the hourglass over the rims of his shades, he raises a hand to gently tap at it with a single gloved fingertip. "What would it do?"
no subject
Heartman's beginning to undress the corpse, casual as he talks.
"There are certain people who have a resistance to it, such as myself. But it's still not very pleasant. My worry is even if there is no Chiralium here, there may be something similar."
no subject
Easier not to get sidetracked by the unpleasant implications, when he's listening to a description like that.
"If you've got a way of testing for it there's no reason not to," he agrees. Then gives his left hand a shake to draw attention to the monitor clinging to his forearm, if Heartman happens to be looking at him when he continues. "Since you mention it, my geiger counter hasn't picked up shit since I got here. Status says it's still functional, so I guess you can take that as a consolation."
Now he'll glance back at the man, offering up the extra information freely: "We bombed the world to shit about two centuries ago, where I'm from. I don't know how much yours has in common, but there's nowhere this clean in the wasteland."