2020-05-26 - A Winter's Dream

It's not easy to walk through three feet of snow but at least it has stopped falling. For now. With a grunt of exertion, Ariana lifts her booted feet to take another step forward. It's just as well she wrapped her leather boots in sheepskin before she set out but even the Russian can feel the chill. An icy wind starts, blasting against her face as she squints at the cold. She pulls the hood of her cloak down a touch but it may as well not be there. Her breath appearing as puffs of smoke. Her lungs feeling the sharpness of the cold. Ariana's gloved right hand grips at a tree trunk to drag herself to the top of a rise. There she stops, looking down at the snow covered valley below. There's a small cabin. The glow of a fire can be seen through the cracks of a shuttered window. Smoke rising from a hole in the thatched roof. Shelter is close so the blonde starts down towards it, the shaft of the battleaxe strapped to her back making a groove in the snow.

Battleaxe?

Is this a dream? It can't be. It must be witchcraft. A not uncommon threat to Ariana in these dark days of 912 A.D.

These have been happening more-and-more as of late, where Ainslie is concerned. What, might you ask?

These highly lucid, realistic dreams that have been foisting her mind (BODY) forth into the strangest situations! After all is said and done, she's awake and remembering most of what she sees in the theater of her mind. Guaranteed she will remember.... BECAUSE....

Stub a toe in a dream? Damnit, Ainslie is awake with that very toe in pain. Trip in a dream or otherwise sustain a bruise of cut? There it is. Sometimes sleeping is fucking weird. But anyway...

With her bed empty in the waking world, Ainslie is back in this weird reality... and fucked if she knows why and how she is in her current predicament. She had appeared in what appeared to have been a rustic, small cabin... no electricity, no appliances. Oh hell naw: she may as well have stepped back in time for what this cabin had to offer. This went beyond rustic.. damned well beyond medieval.

But Ainslie found wood and a hearth and having grown up in the back woods, she knew how to start -- and maintain -- a fire to warm up this tiny space. Only when the room was lit and warm could she then see what state SHE was in...

Which brings us to the present.

"The fuck is this?" Ainslie grumps as she paces the cabin like an angry tigress, dark eyes looking down at the button-up white blouse with -- the horror -- a sort of dark wine-red apron tied at the front with the gathers of the material accentuating her thin waist. Her hair is up in a bun, sprigs of it popping out with every angry turn of her head.

Ainslie is in a fucking medieval apron dress. A dress. A weird damned dress.

She stabs the fire violently, keeping her fear at bay... calm now, stay calm. Just stay calm and think. Being inside of the shuttered cabin, she is unknowing of the 'warrior' who has begin to stomp toward it in the frigid world beyond.

Ainslie's peaceful, albeit confused, reverie is disturbed by a sudden thumping on the cabin door. A thumping that doesn't seem to stop. Rapidly becoming an annoying rhythm until it stops just as suddenly.

"Anyone in there!" yells a woman's voice - Ariana's. "Kip!?" The blonde's brow furrows. Where did that name come from? Ariana seems to lose herself deeper into her dreams. At least to begin with. Only fleeting memories of the 'real' world disturbing her belief that she is a Rus warrior in a medieval wilderness.

"You have until three to open the door!" A beat. "It is fucking cold out here!!" Another beat. "Three!" It seems she is an impatient soul in her dreams as well.

Prod prod, brood. Contemplate. So it is one of those weird dreams.. has to be. Ainslie remembers falling half-dead into bed hours ago after a longass day on her feet. Now she's here. Maybe if she just waits it out... hunker down here in this puny little place and wait. Ainslie may have guts but she's smart too and understands self-preservation means staying put.

Plus she's in this fucking dress and there's nothing else in here to wrap herself up in. Ainslie is not so versed in the dreamscape, yet, to manifest something else to wear or change the dynamic. She is, in fact, unwittingly in someone else's dream. But whose?

As the thick chunk of old wood takes on that ember-like glow, Ainslie grunts and is just about to plant her ass onto an unwelcoming wooden chair---

---BANG BANG.

She sits up, straight as a rod, and being the good little demure lady she is she stands, grabs that chair by two of it's legs and designates it as a weapon to use if this person -- or monster? -- at the door is violent. She COULD look badass.. but she's dressed as a gentile medieval lady!

"Who the fuck are ya? What do ya want?" Ainslie rips the door open and takes up her chair again -- it takes seconds, impressive for being in a dress -- and dark eyes bear down upon... (least it's not the chair doing the bearing-down..)

Ainslie freezes.. "What... what... Ari?"

Ariana steps back from the violence of the door opening and the prospect of being brained by chair-fu. The woman standing there in the out of character clothes has the blonde struggling to identify her. The setting of the dream fighting with her 'real' memories.

"Ainslie?" she asks in return, sounding confused and disbelieving. "I know you..." she mutters before her eyes grow wide in alarm. "Witch!!" That must be the explanation.

The battleaxe swung down off her back and raised to strike. A roar even emerging from Ariana's purple hued lips (it's cold) before she suddenly stops as if shot. Her eyes narrowing. "Ainslie...from the bus station. And the trailer." That second glimpse of memory has her grinning for a moment as the axe is now held in a safer manner. "What are you doing here?" She looks around at the snowswept valley. "What am I doing here?" A little shiver reminds her how cold she is. "Mind if I come in?" It seems she is politer in dreams.

The battleaxe being lifted threateningly elicits in Ainslie a defensive response, the chair being lifted higher in front of her chest and neck with both hands bracing to catch the strike as opposed to being the one to do the striking. Luckily, as both women recognize one another -- it takes Ariana a bit longer but thank fuck she does -- Ainslie lowers the chair right when the blonde drops the 'kill-y' look with the weapon.

"Yer right... the bus station, and the fine fuck in said trailer. If that doesn't jog yer memory I don't know what will." She schools the anxiety in her voice, tries to sound her typical unflappable self. Dark eyes peer past the warrior in the direction of the frozen expanses of land. "Huh..." She steps back, "Get in here before ya freeze yer tits off. Ya may be Russian and used to the cold but this is next level." The wariness leaves her expression and there's that typical Ainslie grin.

She steps back, skirts swishing, and she gives Ariana the onceover as she likely stumbles indoors. Once in, the brunette will bar the door closed again. "I can't answer either of those questions easily... I dunno why I'm in this shack and hell if I know why yer dressed all warrior princess viking-like. So let's settle with bein' warm and safe-ish in here and try to figure out... how.."

Ainslie has obviously produced a fine fire, because the space is warm and comfortable. Ainslie begins poking around, seeing if there's any foodstuffs or things to make life easier. Or clues.

"Is Kip here too? I thought I heard ya call out for her."

"Kip?" That has Ariana thinking again even as she starts dropping equipment to the floor. That's something that hasn't change in dreamworld - that wonderful messiness. It looks like she really has to concentrate to remember things from the real world, at least initially. "Yes, Kip. She is usually here but...she's not. You are." What that means is beyond the blonde - though it was a damn fine fuck and it left an impression.

She holds out her hands to the fireplace before shrugging off the fur-lined cloak. "Why wouldn't I be a warrior princess viking?" she deadpans. It sounds perfectly appropriate to her. "Where do you think I got this blonde hair from?" She looks over the clothes that Ainslie wears and has to snort with amusement. "Those clothes do not suit you at all. You should be a warrior too. Not a...is that a maid uniform?" A wry smile appears. "Though I think you in a maid uniform would be worth seeing."

There are bottles of drink, probably vodka, in a cupboard along with rough brown bread and old cheese - the alcohol much more important than foodstuffs. Does that give a clue to whose dream it may be?

"I do not think we are in Kentucky anymore" Ariana misquotes.

Weird, how Ariana hesitates when recollecting Kip. By now Ainslie is realizing that this is a product of that strange-ass 'shine' that infests this town. (Little does she know, Gray Harbor is but a beacon in what is certainly a worldwide phenomenon.)

Golden-brown eyes watch Ariana as she peels off some of the outerwear.. it doesn't take a rocket scientist to discern that Ainslie likes what she sees. When in Rome, right? She grins a bit as she opens a rough wooden cupboard, finds.... yup. Ainslie knows this is a dream and she reckons she knows whose it is. "You own that attire, from the top of yer head right down to yer toes. Looks hot." A beat.

She pulls down the meager supplies and some wooden cups and bowls, pours the clear spirit and holds a cup of vodka out to Ariana.

Then, a snort, "I don't wanna look like this... I look like one of those stupid fuckin' handmaids that people are readin' about in novels.. I forget the name of it..." (Psst: A Handmaid's Tale) ... "... I wanna be a warrior too, but it is what it is. I'm the intruder here so I reckon s'why I'm lookin' like this." What does she mean by that?

Ainslie pours her own glass, "This has happened to me a few times since comin' to this place... endin' up in weird places, usually with strangers. This is my first time knowing whose here." She takes a deep gulp... tastes like the real deal. She prowls over to the fire, feeds it another hefty log. It crackles and snaps merrily.

"What should we do?" She swirls her drink, "Should we set out or wait?"

"I suppose I own it" Ariana replies about the clothes. She's wearing it, so whose else would it be? "And damn right it looks hot. I'm in it" she adds in her deadpan way.

Ariana takes the cup and downs the contents in one go. Closing her eyes with pleasure once she is done. "I needed that. I think my brass monkeys were rendered inoperable by the cold outside." A wink for Ainslie. "I'm sure you could warm them up though." A shrug at poor Ainslie's outfit. "If you don't like it, take it off. You're a warrior as far as I'm concerned." Her brow furrows. "Intruder? If you are an intruder, then I must be too." Ariana may dream of being a warrior and vast amounts of vodka, but would she really put Ainslie in that costume? Or any costume.

"Set out for where? All I saw out there was snow and dead trees." She pours herself another vodka. "I have a feeling I know why I am here. That there is something that needs doing." That faint smile of hers reappears. "I know someone that needs doing." But before Ariana can get anymore classy, there is a howling outside. A long, loud howl that chills to the bone.

Ariana picks up her battleaxe. "That was not a normal wolf."

The raunchy banter flows easily despite their strange circumstance because by now, Ainslie is moving onto cup #2 of vodka. As her throat burns pleasantly she's cutting up the hard old cheese... gives it the sniff test. Should be good. Cheese only gets better with age... right!? Grabbing the mealy brown bread she brings that and the cheese over to a rickety old table and sets the lot of it down.

Ainslie gives up on what to do with this strange dress... but oddly enough, as she becomes more and more immersed and interactive with this dreamscape.. suddenly over by the hearth there is a bundled-up thick fur cloak, created from some long-dead mountain monster. Alongside it, a composite bow and quiver of arrows. Well now!

As she pads over to investigate, Ainslie pauses in her tracks as she hears the howl. Horniness immediately drops onto the back burner and Ainslie makes to grab up the cloak and weapon. "Well fuck. Ain't got no firearms here but I can aim just as well.." She remarks solemnly, her dark eyes intense and wary. "Don't sound good.." The heavy robe is thrown on over the dress and as Ainslie readies herself mentally.. hey! Boots! She kicks off the docile flats that she 'arrived' with and slides her feet into the warm shitkickers.

"Now we're fuckin' talking." She moves to join Ariana.

The meal moth larvae in the bread is fine. Added protein! Whoever is dreaming this obviously doesn't hold food in high regard. Ariana watches the other woman preparing the meal, still not happy about how the other woman is dressed. Yeah, raunchy thoughts in full effect.

A look of surprise at the appearance of the weapons and cloak, though she definitely approves. "Nice" she grumbles about the clothing before downing some more vodka...and then a little more.

And then the howl.

Ariana shoots to her feet and grabs her battleaxe. "We don't need firearms" she growls in Ainslie's direction before shaking her head. "No, it doesn't sound good...but it sounds fun." A smirk at Ainslie's enthusiasm, appreciated enough that the blonde gives the other woman a hard kiss when she arrives. Someone's horniness is still fine. "I have a feeling this is why we are here. But I don't think this is my dream. Is it yours? I am told that the things in the Veil like to frighten us in our Dreams. Feed on our fear and pain." A wink for Ainslie. "I do not frighten easily."

She slams the battleaxe into the wooden table so she can check what other weapons she may have been blessed with.

The (masterfully returned) hard kiss is all Ainslie needs to get those fires burning. Yes, fires. There's the one behind wanting that dash of adrenaline and then the other... well. It's a heady mix but even Ainslie -- who is an expert at quickies -- knows when it's not the time. Maybe after they chase off whatever horror is howling outside!

Ainslie pulls back and ponders the question as she looks over the long stem of an arrow, "I... don't think this is mine. I miss the rustic-ness of my home and all but not enough to paint it as a frozen valley. And, uh..." She looks at the dress... "I hate dresses and dreams like to show us things that we don't like all that much. But a dress? What the fuck is this Veil trying to pull? Maybe this is a blended dream? Yours and mine? The vodka is a damned sure sign.." A shrug then, "Whatever it is.. let's fuck this thing up yeah?"

THe sound of the battleaxe hitting the table doesn't even make Ainslie flinch. Bow ready, arrows ready... save for this tangible weapon, she wonders if her stronger one is still in effect here. The one that 'comes out' when she's angry.

"Ready when you are."

A quickie? Never. For Ainslie, it is only longies. Which means that even Ariana knows they don't have time. Not with monsters outside.

The blonde has to give a reluctant shrug of acknowledgement that the vodka is probably part of a dream she would have. But it is also part of her reality so why would she dream it? "If they are controlling this dream, then they have seriously underestimated us." She has managed to find a dagger on her body but the battleaxe is her favored weapon by far. "I wouldn't have dreamed you in a dress if that's any consolation."

Axe in hand, Ariana makes her way to the door and listens through it to the howling wind outside. At least it is only wind howling for now. A quick check to ensure Ainslie is indeed ready before tugging the heavy door inwards. Snow rushes inside, driven by the frozen wind. A blur of white to obscure their sight and make the Russian close her eyes to protect them as she steps back. "It must be summer here" she deadpans...

...just as a huge beast leaps through the snow with a roar. Clawed feet digging into the wooden floor as it lands on two long, muscled legs covered with fur. It growls at the pair. Yellow eyes above a snarling muzzle filled with sharp teeth. A werewolf! It stands almost seven feet high. Gray fur covered by melting snow that. Its rancid breath billowing out in clouds.

"Damned skippy." Ainslie grates out, acquainted now with the bow and arrows and even the great cloak that she had thrown over the dress. She, too, is content to find the fierce sterling length of a mean-looking dirk. This is slid into a hoop of the dress apron.. good-e-fucking-nuff.

As Ariana stalks toward the door to give a listen, Ainslie is padding along in her wake. An arrow is nocked and her dark eyes stare with intensity at the entryway as the blonde pulls open the door. Ainslie winces lightly but does not seem to balk against it... she, too, is used to temperamental winters. A soft snort at the 'summer' comment, but Ainslie remains focused and wary.

"Maybe it was a trick of the w---" HAH! Of course it wasn't! Right then and there the beastly thing comes roaring into the little cabin. The small dwelling serves only to accentuate the sheer size of the werewolf. Ainslie's eyes round themselves briefly in a spike of horror before she schools herself, exhales sharply and grabs for sanity. "Well fuck me running.." She grates out. The arrow is lifted, she is ready to fire!

Ariana is straight into action. No hesitation. Unfortunately, not much thought in it either. She charges, raising her axe to swing down at the hideous beast.

It is big but it is also quick. It easily evades her blow and, in return, draws long, sharp claws across her belly. Ariana lets out a grunt as clothes are rent and flesh is torn open. Now she's angry...even as her blood drips on the cabin floor.

It's hard to hear the sounds of Ariana being struck, and to the Russian's credit she takes the gut-wound like a boss. Then Ainslie, bless her -- and perhaps thanks to the flexibility of this weird Veil-woven world -- takes to the bow and arrow just as adeptly. THe sharp arrowhead winks in the latern-light and in the diversion created by Ariana, the werewolf is briefly prone.

The arrow is let loose and it flies! Embeds itself in the monster's head, likely close to an ear or somewhere not immediately warranting of a quick death but... it's gonna cause some trouble! Ainslie dances backwards, heart pounding, readying another arrow. "Ariana! Are you alright!?" She shrieks.

The werewolf roars in pain at the arrow stuck in its ear. That can be quite a distraction. It's certainly enough for Ariana to get her groove back on. A little less reckless than last time...a lot less...she times her blow with the heavy axe. The blade slicing through hair and muscle to dig deep into the monster's side. The Russian wriggling it around for maximum pain before ripping it free with a fountain of blood following.

Sadly the brunette's moment of distraction -- in checking on Ariana -- serves to be her downfall... almost. The monster charges forth and catches Ainslie in the midsection, a ribbon of blood flying outwards as she is sliced in a manner similar to the Russian's wounding. Alas, Ainslie only has a dress and cloak as her armor and she is cut deep. She yelps -- does not scream -- and stumbles backwards into the foyer of the tiny cabin. Her weapon clatter to the floor.

Silence. Is she 'dead'?

No, she's ANGRY. As she pushes desperately to sit up, her stomach searing in pain and anger pulsing in her body... a familiar sensation arises.

Outside of her body. It is like... reaching out....

'Things' in the hovel begin to quiver and shake... a knife on the table, the scattered arrows, wooden chairs (one of which Ainslie initially wielded to brain Ariana) .. etc.

It's not a huge amount of flotsam, but it's pointy and being lifted by apparent nothingness. As Ainslie's lashes flutter and her expression becomes a pained grimace, her Glimmer flares forth 'weakly' and hurls the aforementioned things -- knives, wooden chairs, arrows (no bow necessary!) and assorted bowls + cups -- in the werewolf's direction. The prone brunette is surrounded with a honey-gold aura.. her shine.

This is not one of Ariana's favorite dreams. Where are the naked immoral dancing girls? No way would she have included this much pain for herself. And no way would she have dreamed of Ainslie being torn apart in the same way. Ariana would have at least thought up a different attack.

Time to see if her 'powers' work in dreams. Her blood still dripping on the floor, Ariana raises her hand and unleashes what looks like electricity from her fingertips. The smell of burning hair filling the air. The werewolf does not like it. Staggering back, swatting at the arcing energy. It doesn't even see what looks to be everything that wasn't tied down in the cabin hurtling through the air at it. They hit. Loudly. Bloodily. Painfully. With a howl of intense pain, the creature stumbles back out into the snow.

And then Ainslie, bless her, has the grit to ease her body sideward. How does stuff hurt this bad in dreams? This can't be a typical dream. Of course it's not.. it's fucking Gray Harbor.

But Ainslie presses her hand firmly against her torn flesh and grates out a malicious chuckle as she watches Ariana effectively electrocutes the brute.

"Fry the fucker.. fry him.." Her own influence wanes, other meager objects clattering harmlessly to the floor. ".. fry his ass, Ari."

As the howl ripples across the dreamscape, Ainslie begins to get bleary as pain sears and shock starts to take hold.

There's no door to slam in its face but the beast doesn't look to be coming back. Ariana stands at the doorway, watching it disappear into the flurries of snow, her hand pressed hard against her wound. It looks safe. "I need a drink" she grunts to herself, looking down at her blood covered hand with a growl, and then realising that the bottles had been flying through the air or dropping to the ground. No vodka? The horror!!

Finally, she notices that Ainslie is not in the best of shape and staggers on over to help out. "Not how I wanted to spend a dream with you" she smirks, checking out the wounds with a frown. "Hey, can you her me, Ainslie?" A light slap of her cheek. "Stay with me. Don't make me tickle you awake." Time to start tearing up some clothes for bandaging. "What do you think we have to do to wake up? I would suggest a kiss but we've done that already and it didn't work out." A beat. "Not that I would be against trying again." A grimace as her own pain reminds her that it is there. "Fucking, motherfucking, fuck." That must be an old Russian prayer of healing.

Bless Ainslie, she stays awake. "No ticklin'... m'fine.. just a scrape." She grunts, eyes cracking open at the sound of tearing fabric. She seems to deflate, ".. well shit, thought you were ripping off yer shirt... turnin' it into a right gory bodice ripper. Crisis titties. But yer doin' the bandage route too... I guess that's useful..." She winces in pain.

"A kiss could work.. even if it ain't the right way, I can opt for the distraction.... give a victory kiss, get my mind off of this.." A gesture to the redness blossoming along her midsection. At least it's slowing down... not bleeding out. It doesn't look dire at all, just uncomfortable.

"I'm ok Ari.. don't worry, let's figure this out." She whispers tiredly.

"Don't worry, there'll be tits aplenty soon" Ariana assures the other woman as she starts plucking torn fabric from Ainslie's wound. "We only need to cover the wounded bits. I'd pour alcohol on your wound but if we still had any, we'd be better off drinking it." Why? Because!

"Damn impressive with that bow you found." She admires her handiwork with the bandaging. It'll do. There are more important things to worry about. Like kissing...and shared bodily warmth.

With the door broken apart and snow gusting into the small cabin, they'll soon be quite cold. The fire sputtering under the assault of the wind. "I think best when I'm kissing" Ariana smirks before she does the latter at least. "Nowhere near as brainy when I'm fucking but we don't want to ruin this damn fine bandaging I've done." The kisses are hungry. Passionate. a good distraction from the iciness that begins to consume them. "We'll be fine..." she promises with a weakness in her voice that is not her. Maybe she is still losing blood.