hypnagothic | [The City] IC Contact

Likely when I least expect it.

[ he turns away briefly, but only to reach for a soap bar and washcloth, dipping both into the water before beginning to rub them together. ]

[ The sight nearly brings a smile, never having thought she'd see him act as a nurse. One of the nicer ones. ]

Do you remember the story that you told me during our night together in the mall?

Of course.

I would like to know how it ends.

[ She had fallen asleep so early on, and until now she hadn't wanted to hear the rest of it. ]

Do you wish to hear the story now? Or perhaps later this evening as you lay to sleep?

[ he dips one hand back into the water to rinse the soap off, then offers it up to Vanessa, intending to hold her hand while he rubs the soapy washcloth over her extended arm. ]

[ She'll slowly begin to reach for him before realizing that this is going to be a hindrance if the bandages get wet. They would then need to be changed, anyway, so first she'll unwrap one of her wrists as carefully as she can.

It isn't as bad as it could be, by Vanessa's standards, but it isn't a sight she would be eager to show off, and the pain is notable despite her ability to hide it. The skin has been rubbed raw from her restraints, with open sores fresh enough for it to burn when she needs to peel the gauze away. Some of the blood has already dried, so that makes it more unpleasant to unwrap where it sticks. ]

I don't know. [ Hm, making decisions? Now? Silent, invisible panic. ] What of...a poem this time?

[ he watches quietly as she unwraps the gauze, his expression not betraying any kind of reaction, no shock or dismay, barely a blink. he merely takes her hand in his once she's finished, and gently, ever so gently begins to wash her arm. he starts with the dried blood first, dabbing the area to wet it before he actually starts to lightly scrub. the open sores he treats even more softly, though there is still some pain with it, he tries to keep it as light as possible. about halfway through the first wrist, he briefly turns away to reach for the sink, rinsing out the washcloth there rather than in her bath water. ]

I would share whichever you wished to hear, my lady.

I don't know.

[ If the touch hurts, she doesn't seem to notice. She has hurt her wrists worse than this from struggling against cruder restraints for longer. If there are any tears shed now while she watches with glassy eyes, it's for every other kind of pain that now has nowhere to go. ]

I don't know anymore. It no longer matters.

[ there's suddenly two hands holding hers gently, Dream having turned back from the sink and leaving the washcloth there, his grip tightening gently around her fingers. ]

You need not despair, my love. This, too, shall pass.

[ another light squeeze before he reaches back to retrieve the cloth, resuming his care for her wrist, one then the other. he speaks while he does, low and slow, letting his voice fill the air of the small washroom around them. ]

Once upon a time, only a twin brother and sister lived upon the earth. Their names were Yama and Yami, and they loved each other dearly. They roamed the earth enjoying its smells and tastes, its sounds and sights, the touches of the breezes, and the feel of the grass beneath their feet.

Where Yama and Yami lived, it was always day, and the season was always spring. The sun never set and the moon and stars lay hidden behind its bright, golden light. Time stood still and there was neither yesterday nor tomorrow. The flowers never wilted or died. Beehives overflowed with honey and it was never dry or cold. The birds never became tired of flying, and the trees were never empty of plump, ripe fruits. In this sea of the eternal, happy moment, Yama and Yami swam peacefully like twin swans.

One time, when Yami returned from a solitary walk, she found Yama lying under a tree as if he was asleep. She whispered his name, but he did not answer. She cried out his name in a loud voice, but still there was no answer. Then she shook him gently, but he did not move. She could see no sign that he was breathing and his body felt cold and still.

Yami knew suddenly that she was alone in the world. Her brother Yama was dead. Yami’s sorrow, deeper than the ocean, began to flow out of her heart and through her eyes. It emerged as tears. The river of her tears swelled and began to flood the world. Her sobbing shook the earth and sky, and her grieving heart sent forth an intense fire that started to heat everything up. The gods and goddesses of the elements became worried about the welfare of the earth and all its creatures. They were afraid that Yami’s mourning would bring about the destruction of the world.

The gods took on visible forms and went to Yami as she sat immersed in her agony. They hugged her and spoke words of comfort to her about the inevitability of death and the need to light the lamp of hope again. But Yami was too sad to listen to consolation. She kept repeating one sentence over and over; “Yama died today! Yama died today!”

The gods and goddesses left in despair. They went to a hillside and sat in silence. Then a thought occurred to them. Yami’s sorrow was perpetuated not just by her love for her brother. In her life, she had known only today. There was no yesterday and no tomorrow. For the pain of Yama’s death to become easier for her to bear, today must end and tomorrow must begin.

The gods and goddesses summoned their powers of creation. First they created the sunset. Then, slowly, a gentle blanket of night enveloped the world. Under the soothing, dark sky of the first night, Yami fell asleep, just as the birds and the animals did, for the first time. When she awoke, the sun was rising in a glorious dance of colors in the eastern sky.

Yami said to herself, “Ah, Yama died yesterday.”

The following day, the gods and goddesses heard Yami say, “Ah, Yama died the day before yesterday.”

As time went by, Yami’s grief began to lessen as the merciful hands of the night dissolved the pain of Yama’s death. Although she never forgot her dear brother, her pain lost its power to haunt her. Her sadness became less fiery, her tears dried up, and the danger her sorrow posed to the world began to fade away.

[ No yesterday, no tomorrow.

She's complacent while he continues to help bathe her and tell the story. She doesn't need the help, and some part of her should feel more ashamed for acting so pitiful, but she is too weary to think about that now.

By the time he's through, the water has chilled, and she stares (blinks) up at him. ]

She never should have stopped.

[ he's completed cleaning the sores and washing her limbs about three quarters through the story with the pace of his drawl, so he's washing her hair by the time the tale comes to its end, fingers pausing in the strands when she speaks. ]

My lady?

Only when she was a threat to others did they act. They only cared about the danger that came with her grief. She should never have stopped mourning, she could have made them all mourn with her.

[ Something about just that alone strikes a chord in a memory that she hasn't experienced yet, and she stares past him while trying to catch an image of it.

There's only smog. ]

But how could the fire in her not fade away, with nobody left to love her more than they loved the world?

You believe that she stopped mourning merely because her pain no longer ruled her?

[ he cups a hand to dip into the water, rising again to start rinsing her hair out, section by section. ]

Though if she had brought the destruction of the world, who could have mourned with her after everything and everyone was destroyed?

She mourned alone, didn't she? Their comfort was for the sake of the world, not for her.

[ Hugging her knees close with little scratches, Vanessa straightens back up and shuts her eyes. ]

At least she once had passion, but then she had to let it go.

Some would think of how she was a part of the world as well.

[ he encourages her to tip her head back a little more, rinsing out the finer hairs at her temples. ]

Though the first of those to hear that story found their focus on another matter than what you speak of.

[ One can trust Vanessa to relate to the most depressing thoughts over a story on the best of days. ]

What was that?

[ he can't really blame her in this moment for it, considering what she's gone through, whether he knows exactly what that was or not. so there's no reproach or annoyance of where her focus is with the story, continuing in that same storyteller way as he finishes rinsing out her hair. ]

They found solace through the story in the creation of night. It allowed the creation of time, allowing wounds the ability to heal and rest.

[ Time. This too will pass.

How many times has it happened already? How many times is she supposed to let go of it?

She's never known how to do that. ]

Time means nothing here. We're as trapped as she was in the first day.

[ Pulling away, Vanessa leans forward onto a hand and wipes at her face. ]

Nothing here will go away, nothing except what is good.

[ his hand fall from her as she pulls away. ]

And yet, you returned.

[ At their bidding. And at their bidding, she'll no doubt return. She doesn't have the heart to say that to him when he's trying to be kind in his own way. ]

May I— I can finish. I need...a moment, please?

[ there's a moment of pause, Morpheus going still as if surprised by the request. but then he moves, dipping his hands into the water to rinse off the last of the suds, then rising slowly while drying his hands on a hand towel. ]

As you wish, my love. I shall wait outside.

[ She nods, glancing at him again with a sudden flickering smile of gratitude despite the furrowed brow. She appreciates what he's already done more than he can know, and it's taking all of her strength to keep her voice (mildly) steady at the moment. ]

Thank you.

Do not hesitate to call should you have need of me. I will hear you.

[ but he steps through the bathroom door, closing it delicately behind him. ]

[ In that case, she does her best to keep her weeping as silent as possible.

There isn't too much more to do to wash up, so it isn't long before she's climbing out to find what looks like a clean towel to wrap herself in. By the time she's sitting on the tub's edge to drain the water, her face is dry.

She doesn't know what to do with the clothes, she can't just leave a mess there. She wouldn't mind burning them, really. ]

[ he honors her privacy as best as he can while still listening, waiting as long as necessary. it's only when he hears the water drain and then the silence after of no movement does he knock gently on the door, speaking low through it. ]

There are clean clothes that I can offer you, if you wish.

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