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psychoshenanigans2016-02-14 08:38 pm
birdsbirdsbirds) wrote in psychoshenanigans2016-02-14 08:38 pm
Drift Fleet // Canon
[
the first thing he sees is the metal ceiling. the bolts, the seams. the sound of the engine churning somewhere beneath them sounds like the crooning of the dead from wherever they were buried, and he thinks he's back for just long enough to struggle upright in a half-blind, rising panic.
his heart is pounding so hard he has to blink past it, realize he's seeing his locker and the shelf above it. he picks out the shapes of that stupid bird sculpture, and the stuffed dog, and a couple of other silly things he's collected during his time on the Bloodsport.
on the Bloodsport, not in the Dragons' Underground. he clutches his chest, shivering with relief.
it's fine. it was just a dream. he's not going back. it's fine...]
robin, oh robin...
won't you... come home...
the snow is so cold...
and we're chilled to... the bone...
the trees have all died,
the children, they cry...
oh where has... our dear robin... gone.
the first thing he sees is the metal ceiling. the bolts, the seams. the sound of the engine churning somewhere beneath them sounds like the crooning of the dead from wherever they were buried, and he thinks he's back for just long enough to struggle upright in a half-blind, rising panic.
his heart is pounding so hard he has to blink past it, realize he's seeing his locker and the shelf above it. he picks out the shapes of that stupid bird sculpture, and the stuffed dog, and a couple of other silly things he's collected during his time on the Bloodsport.
on the Bloodsport, not in the Dragons' Underground. he clutches his chest, shivering with relief.
it's fine. it was just a dream. he's not going back. it's fine...]
no subject
Dark places.
[it's not a lie, though it hardly covers the whole of it. the dreams that come to him even while he's in the safety of another person's company are usually so... distorted and multi-faceted. those dreams have long fingers and reach into every bad spot at the same time, pulling and twisting through years and feelings... how do you describe a cacophonous symphony to someone who's barely heard music?
but the details start slipping away from him anyway, as the moments pass, and his body loosens up the less he's gripped by his own memory of the nightmare.] Mostly just a voice from the ground, like... There's a dead man who's bled into everything, and the sound just kind of...
[he raises one of his hands a little, sounding foggier by the second.] ...Follows? Like it's always there, and it wants me down there too...
[...he drops his hand back down on the pillow.] I dunno, it was scarier before I woke up.
no subject
whatever else might be behind it, the gesture is at least meant to be reassuring; whether or not he was pretending to follow, he was listening.]
no subject
it's very sweet. for them, anyway.
so he makes a soft little noise and scoots backwards, getting comfortable next to his bedmate again. now, if anything, he's got to pretend he's not instantly charmed.]
no subject
so, he scoops him close and keeps him.]
no subject
he falls asleep after that. probably wakes up with limbs sticking out, one leg partly hanging off the edge of the bed. he yawns through his early-morning haze (or... it could be lunchtime, or evening, or the dead of night, since it all looks about the same in space) and looks over to see if his bedmate is still snoozing...]