2022-03-22 - The Night Mares

There was a time in Ravn Abildgaard's life he preferred to sleep in the nude. The likelihood of a wrinkle in the fabric of a shirt or similar is less likely to nip his skin and wake him up rudely. Neuropathy is also a bitch when you're asleep. He used to sleep under a sheet, nothing else, whenever possible.

That Halloween night -- well, morning technically -- that had Vic Grey stumble into his trailer, drunk as an Arkansas skunk, dropping her sexy nurse costume on the floor and crawling into bed with him cured him well and solid of such aspirations. Sure, Vic was as embarrassed as he was, not to mention gloriously hung over -- but it was still a kind of wake-up call Ravn could have gone without. He's slept in sweatpants and a t-shirt since. He wishes he could sleep with a first aid kid and a firearm strapped to one leg but he has yet to work out the mechanics.

He's going to add socks to the list. And boots. Because the gravel path is cold and wet and it's March and bloody hell, no, why can't dreams like these come with a five minute warning to get dressed?

Una Irving never fell into the habit of going to bed naked: she graduated from footie pyjamas to cotton separates to sweatpants and a t-shirt without ever exploring the joys of sliding between the sheets just as god made you.

That's for the best, as it happens, though now-- sleep-deprived, bleary, bare-footed and grumpy-- the bed-headed redhead would probably like to turn back time and add 'and a bra' to her nighttime routine: not so much of a problem when her eyes open, blinking at the night sky that is suddenly above her instead of the nice, safe, white-painted ceiling, but likely to become one as, still blinking, she rolls over and tries to work out where she is.

"Hey," she says, tucking one arm beneath her boobs-- really, it's not the modesty thing of wandering around with your boobs hanging out beneath your threadbare t-shirt; it's the hanging bit, distinctly less fun when, like Una, you've more than a handful to hang out with-- and turning towards the teen. "Hey, you're okay. It's going to be okay."

"Whoa, no," Ravn manages to say and raise his hands in front of himself -- gloved, apparently he does in fact wear those gloves to bed, too. "Not kidnappers. Look at us, we're in the same situation you are, never mind, you're not listening."

He looks down. And then walks over to the stone railing to look down. "And you can sod right back off into the ocean where you belong. No swimming into fresh water, no taking women, no taking people who shine. You have a deal. Shoo, get! Out into the brine, buzz off, get lost, scram, scoot!"

It probably makes sense to him. And possibly to the crazy homeless guy they call Mermaid Denny.

Was Una aware of Ravn before now? It's hard to tell. It may just be that glance she aims over her shoulder at him is surprise at the content of his words and rather his presence; it's a little difficult to tell, in part because of the darkness, and in part because, well, her face isn't that expressive.

She hastily turns back to the teen. "We're not kidnappers," she confirms, as firmly as she possibly can. "And that... well, I don't know what it is, but that's not your mommy, I'm 99% certain, so let's... uh stay up here, right? We're all going to get out of this together, I promise."

"Katieeeeee, come here dear," The voices echo, seemingly not heeding the Dane's shout. If anything he thinks he hears snickering. Or is that the odd whicker of a horse? Hard to tell with the echoes under the bridge. And the girl? She starts to back away slowly from Una and Ravn, shaking her head at the strangers. That voice, however spooky, must sound enough like her mom to convince her.

"I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming and that's my mom and I'm gonna wake up," The poor girl says in a shaking voice, thick with fear.

"Ravaaaaaaan...sad child, lost child, hurt child," The voices take up a second call now. And as he leans over he sees shadows manifesting into shape below the bridge. At first humanoid and then seeming to morph and change into black snakes slithering along the bridge. Up from the darkness and towards the small group. "No time for poor Ravaaaaaan. Not good enough, child. Why can't you be normal?" And in that moment Ravn realises those echoes are in his native tongue. Una and the girl? Yep that's another language all right. And it sounds, perhaps, more eerie.

"I don't think those are Denny's mermaids," Ravn murmurs, and his voice is hesitant, wavering. "I don't think they are the mermaids at all."

The name is wrong. He clings to it. That's not how his name is pronounced. Which means -- it's not his mother calling. It can't be. Unless she too gets the name wrong? Maybe he's the one who got it wrong.

He gets everything wrong, after all.

Weak, sickly, asthmatic kid. An embarrassment. Portraits of ancestors, looking down from the walls, disapproving. His ancestors were knights, lords, even a duke. And he's just a kid who wants to run away with a circus. A kid who fantasises that he's been swapped, somehow, like the changelings in the fairytales, that it's not really his home, and these aren't really his parents.

But there are no true parents coming, and there never were. There is just disappointment. He falls to his knees and struggles to breathe because he's just this asthmatic, useless, unwanted --

Una, Una-the-unflappable, looks like-- just for a moment-- she wishes she were positively flapped, so she could nope out of this and not have to turn her attention between Katie-the-retreating and Ravn-the-wheezing and try and figure out how to make this work.

She stands there, bare toes curling into the ground, and squares her shoulders. "Katie," she begins. "Stay here. Please. And Ravn--" It's more difficult, with Ravn, but she's already determined that she can do this, and so she will. "This is not real. I don't know what it's telling you, but whatever it is, it doesn't matter. We're going to wake up, and we're going to be fine, because we are strong, smart, brilliant people and fuck the rest of them."

Sorry, Katie: Una said a swear, and she's not taking it back.

There is that snickering whickering sound again. Crawling up the side of the bridge and towards them with the shadows. The shadows that shift from snake to horse to person and back to amorphous shadows once more. "Ravnnnn, you could never try hard enough...not for them...only one place wanted you. But you wouldn't stay, would you...made yourself this way, Ravn," The crooning in Danish continues.

Now the voices are joined in a third, English speaking, voice that is familiar to Una. Una the unflappable hears her parent's voices. But it is in quiet whispers and criticisms. "Trying too hard...everyone knows she's just faking it. Her friends pity her...doctor what can I do? She's fake even to us. We don't know who she is. She won't be herself...won't tell us what is really wrong. Is it drugs? Is she hiding a habit? Maybe that's her problem...all that makeup to hide the dark circles and too-pale skin..."

Katie is frozen in place. Not sure whether to run or, well, run. So she stands there, arms wrapped around herself, and crying as she stares at the Nightmares crawling into form. This girl, who barely shines, is rooted to the spot. "Katieeeeee...so sad...always in black...hiding away...tell us what's wrong Katieeeeee, dear."

The darkness has taken more solid form. It seems there are five of the inky black creatures. Red eyes blaze from the darkness. And each horse bares a squat and goblin-like form. Gripping it's hair and cooing to the poor sleepers. One creature slides over towards Ravn from behind, reaching out inky hands to press on his back.

Maybe that is the mistake. That one thing that's meant to drive in the final nail, ends up being what jolts Ravn somewhat back to coherent thinking. The pain when he is touched, unexpectedly. It does not matter whose hands. It does not matter what they wanted to do, whether it is a gentle touch or a slash of claws. His nerve system simply registers, fire!

The hands latch on to something, fingers burying into -- whatever it is they find. The Dane screams -- he's on fire, and he knows he's not, but it feels that way, and the only way to deal with it is to curl up, tiny ball, wait until the pain goes away, until it subsides. There is no dignity, no control, not like this. There is just whimpering.

Except that there is. Because there should not be pain like this, and there should not be shadows with red eyes, and whispers like this. He manages to squeeze out, "The nightmares!" even as he curls up like a hedgehog, trying to protect his vulnerable core.

Una was doing so well. Una-the-unflappable, Una the leader.

Una, who hears her single mom's voice, and crumples, dropping to her knees as she wraps her arms around herself. "I'm not," she says, her voice low and pitiful and >.< this close to a sob.

There possibly could not be a worse thing to hit the redhead with, not now: not when she's literally just back from a visit to see her mom, a visit so unsatisfying and bewildering she's not really processed it.

"Mom?" she asks, even though she knows this can't possibly be her mom. "Mommy."

The blackness of the creatures becomes more solid. Now they move forward more freely towards their victims. Voices echoing among the group. now. Passing from Nightmare to Nightmare. One moves over to Katie and the creature riding the back of the horse made of shadow. It's hands reach out and circle around her neck from behind. As it levers itself onto her back, pushing the teen to her knees with a sob. "Pooor, poooor Katie, dear. It's all right to cry, mommy is here," Croons her Nightmares as it strokes her hair and slowly begins to strangle the sobbing girl. So slowly she doesn't even seem to notice, her breaths just hitching up more and more.

Another moves towards Una, her mother's voice calling to her. "I just don't understand you. I tried to hard, but you always pushed me away. Let me in...let me close," That voice pleads as inky black hands reach out to grasp wrap around her, much like with Katie. A deadly piggy-back ride.

The last three circle Ravn. Perhaps because he has the brightest glow here. And they are hungry, oh so hungry. Feeding on wisps of dreams isn't enough. These three reach out to ensnare the Dane in group hug, their arms blending together as they do. But what they encounter is not expected. And Ravn likely doesn't expect it either. Their hands can no longer touch him. Can no longer pull from him the thing they hunger for. The whickering turns into an equine shriek of rage as they try to pummel the sudden shield apart. "Ravn! Open this door right now!" His mother shouts in Danish from three different sets of mouths.

Ravn is curled up in a ball. He's rocking back and forth ever so slightly, trying desperately to will himself out of there, back into his own mindscape, into his fortress of steel and mirrors where nothing ever stirs but himself. It doesn't work. And what brings him out is not the voice(s) of his mother.

It's Una's broken little pleep. Mommy.

Rage rises up in the folklorist. Mommies are not supposed to hurt their children. Daddies are supposed to be there for their children. They are not supposed to be alone in this.

When Ravn was seven years old, a man in a car invited him for a ride. The man took him to a diner along the highway. The man put his hand somewhere Ravn did not want it to be. And suddenly, off the table, the fork flew, embedding itself in the man's crotch, and Ravn ran, ran, ran, and never looked back.

Now imagine something similar happen to rocks and benches and bridge railings around him, except that he is not a seven year old child, and he is far more powerful than he even realises himself. And all of it, all of it lashes out, at the critters, get off her, go away, leave her alone!

Sorry, Katie. Ravn isn't usually this callous to the plights of someone else, but his focus is extremely narrow at the moment. Una is him and he is her, and there are bad parents and monsters and it's all blurring together and

GO

AWAY

Una is barely even aware of those nightmar(e)ish hands, at least initially: it's all she can do to keep herself from outright sobbing.

(It's so unfair. She and her mom were so close! Why did they have to stop being so close? Why did her mom have to stop understanding her? Why? How? What?)

Indeed, the thing that breaks her out of that mental prison is not her own set of thought processes at all, but the rush of power (not to mention physical objects) all around, and that, in turn, draws a shuddering, aching breath and then a gasp as Una tries to shove herself away, protect her face, and yell:

"YOU ARE NOT MY MOMMY."

There is a second in which surprise registers on the faces of the Nightmares. Before they ALL go flying away. Away from Ravn, away from Una, and away from Katie. All of them feel that weight lifted from their chests. Their Glimmer, which they had been feasting on, returns to its normal brightness within each of them. Though perhaps Ravn is glowing a bit brighter. Or at least more aware of how brightly he does.

Una and Ravn's powers mingling for a moment as they repel the creatures. And scenery too. There's a bench that will need replacing. And a few bushes. But the Nightmares? Well...they were literally blown away. Their echoing voices and the deep darkness that had gathered in the area is gone. Leaving three people in their PJs standing on the Stone Bridge in Gray Harbor park.

Did Ravn also blow them from Veil to Reality? It seems so. There is the soft hooting of an owl from the trees, angrily protesting the rocking of it's roost. Farther away there is the sound of a small town in the wee hours. The soft rushing of a car going by. A frog or three croak once more in the pond. Katie continues to sob, curled around her knees on the wet grass.

"What. The."

Ravn doesn't manage to end the sentence. Slowly, he uncurls, tries to get some kind of grip on himself, on where he is. Who else is there.

There was a girl. What happened to -- she's there, sobbing, but alive. And Una -- the same. Her shriek echoes in his ears. "Not your mum," he murmurs. Hold that thought. It's a good thought. Hang on to it.

He manages to stand up. Manages a glance around. It's the middle of the night on the bridge over Gray Pond. It's cold. It's wet. It's awful. And none of them even have shoes.

There are holes in the railing. Did he do that?

He's pretty sure he did that.

He'll have to sort it out later. Now?

One: Throw up over the railing. Two: Try to reach the girl, make sure she's in one piece. Three: Same, but Una. Got to get to the kid first.

Having yelled, Una finds herself... no longer in a Dream. No longer petrified with that sick, dark dread (which is not to say there's not a different kind of petrification going on, but it is that: different). She's on the ground, mud streaking her sweat pants, tear-tracks down her cheeks, but she's alive and breathing, and after a few deep, shaky breaths, maybe even more or less cogent in her thinking.

She doesn't manage to stand up, but she does manage to sit, arms wrapped around herself. She probably only catches the tail end of Ravn's vomit-over-the-railing, and only that because he's the thing moving, and she's not quite capable of anything else just yet.

Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

One hand stubbornly wipes away the tear-tracks down her cheeks, attempting to remove the evidence.

Poor Katie is curled up in a ball. Head buried into her knees as she rocks gently to and froe. "It's just a dream. Go away. Wake up. Just a dream. Just a dream," The teen whimpers to herself. No one here will go home unblemished. Either in psyche of physically. A bruise appearing on their back or chest. An aching thing to remind them of their close encounters with a true horror from the other side. One that is apparently feasting of people's Glimmer?

"Nightmares," Ravn manages to murmur as he half walks, half limps over to kneel next to Katie. "Girl, we need to get you home. I don't suppose you have a phone? Me either. Maybe we can walk you home."

A glance to Una. "Those were definitely nightmares."

Una swallows, thickly, and nods. It takes her a few seconds more to find words to put in her own mouth, though, and, "Yeah," is not a great start.

She lets that hang a moment, but that mostly seems to be so that she can pull herself off the ground and step towards rocking Katie and helpful Ravn.

"You're okay," is said very quietly: Una's babysitting experience did not cover traumatised teens, but she was a traumatised teen once, and maybe that helps.

"Well-- no. I bet you're not okay. I bet none of us are, huh? But we're safe, now, and Ravn and me, we can help you get home, okay?"

Katie is in a semicatatonic state. If their words reach her there is no reaction. Except perhaps a little whimper as they coax her to stand. But this poor traumatized teen is able to be guided at least. The problem comes in that she isn't able to respond to questions. Just whispering, "It's just a dream...just a dream...wake up...wake...wake up," Ever now and again. This girl may in fact need more than just to go home. She may need some intensive therapy.

"I think maybe we should head home," Ravn says quietly to Una. "And once we've got a phone, call in for one of those doctors who are qualified to deal with something like this. Or police, same applies. She's going to need trauma help, and we are going to need to not end up in jail as abductors."

He gently touches the girl's shoulder. "Come on, you. Let's go. Maybe we will wake up if we keep walking. Una's kitchen is just over on Oak Avenue. Pancakes and coffee sounds nice now, doesn't it?"

Una gives Ravn a hesitant little nod. Very quietly: "I'd try and talk to her... mentally? But I suspect that would make it worse. We need a professional. Maybe Ava will know who we can call?"

Glimmer on a glimmer injury is probably a very, very bad idea.

"C'mon, Katie," she confirms, a little louder and with determined enthusiasm that doesn't seem wholly faked (though it surely must be). "My kitchen is bright and full of light, and we can get you some clothes to wear too, if you like, and definitely some pancakes. I'm Una-- I live on Oak, like Ravn said. I have some roommates, but you'll like them, if you meet them. And there are cookies. There are always cookies in my kitchen."