Dream

|| With a vocal shove, Dream was forced from her day-dreaming. Carrick, barreling through the market like a pissed-off bull, demanded her assistance. And still, Caoimhe stood, smiling crisply at him for a moment. Her head tilted, eyebrows pulling painfully at the skin of her forehead over the dark black holes she had for eyes. “Carrick Vaskaris…” she mused, voice grinding out the new acquaintance’s given name as amusement played at her tone. He must have been truly desperate. Caoimhe was far from able to assist him, as she was still acclimating to her new surroundings, and regrettably incapable of any magical talent for the time being. “Is she sleeping, perchance?” Dream asked, though she already already knew the answer. No— nobody at the market was sleeping. Except that one slag at the nearest tavern, who dreamt of lewd things with faeries, laying in a drunken puddle on the floor. (insert viewer here). Caoimhe remained with Carrick, as it seemed that he was deeply perturbed by the sudden disappearance of his Ophelia. Moral support seemed necessary, and wasn’t that a kind of help? She loomed behind him, careful to hover outside of his wake. She made no comment regarding his rusty greeting. Nor did she banter about ‘favors’ either. She was passive, comfortable with her autonomy. There was little that truly frightened the spirit. Given that most living creatures were driven by survival, Dream had little to sway on the topic of life and death. Her day would come, but it was long and far away. So it was that down some winding alleys and into the darkest corners that Carrick searched and Caoimhe followed. As they drew in on the living embodiment of honey, Dream bled out a powerful and strange calling to those who were so inclined to hear. Mages were such keen ears. Ophelia and Carrick were no exception. And for someone who lacked the opportunity to recognize Caoimhe by visage prior to the current eve, Carrick had certainly been able to identify her when she wasn’t his paramour’s doppleganger. Ever surprising, another curiosity drew nearer. The ghost mage Kira, who behaved as sentinel, approached Caoimhe. She felt her newbile flesh prickle as the ghoul approached- a sensation that was both delightful and uncomfortable- and Dream smiled pleasantly. “Greetings, ghost.” she murmured. But with a task in mind, Kira passed by. Just after, Dream and Carrick found the end of their destination. Greetings were issued, and while Carrick fumbled for an explanation, Caoimhe waited patiently. She took an extended hand and felt the warmth of Ophelia in her palm as she spoke. It was soothing. “Ophelia,” she repeated “Ah, yes. Ophelia Vaskaris,” Caoimhe tasted the woman’s name as she spoke it. “I wasn’t -in- Carrick’s dream. He’s having a difficult time understanding. I -am- Dream. So yes, we are well acquainted, though only in spirit. I have known you all of your living nights, I am Caoimhe.” Her flesh would have been cold, very likely as a result of scant clothing, poor nutrition, or because she wasn’t exactly living. Or all three. Caoimhe regarded the second man, Nhyliss. Dark, seemingly brooding eyes turned over him as she searched curiously for some trace reminders of the subconscious within. She knew most people best by their unbridled minds, more powerful in sleep. Much like Ophelia, Nhyliss’ greeting was warm and enthusiastic. Caoimhe’s smile remained, hand slipping from Ophelia’s to Nyhliss’. Another Vaskaris. It seemed she drew them like a magnet, though Dream didn’t mind. They continued to be colorful and diverse, just as interesting in their waking lives as they were in sleep. “A pleasure.” Caoimhe echoed as she shook his hand, passing a somewhat smug glance to Carrick. Hey, since she was here, she ought to try out a few humanisms, eh? Wasn’t the jest part of the fun? It seemed a common trend between Nyliss and Ophelia, in any case. ||