( open )

[leaderboards]

WHO: Carolina + open
WHERE: Red Wings + dreamscapes + ???
WHEN: IC March 15-31 or so (eta: and later!)
WHAT: dream sharing + catchall for the month
NOTES OR WARNINGS: mentioned alcohol in two of the starters + death and some psychological horror in the other two (see comment headers for more on that)

( prompts below! feel free to reach out to arrange something new or talk about just how traumatic you do or don't want the dream sharing to go: eflat or streetsongs#5551 )

Comments

ota | obligatory displaced hanging out at red wings option

[leaderboards]

[ carolina's been settling in as best she can, getting a job and trying to set a routine that doesn't end in too much stress. that means that sometimes, when she's off work before her roommate is, she goes to red wings to wait for him to finish rather than going back to their apartment alone. it fulfills whatever basic social interaction need she has and allows her to meet a few more of the displaced while she nurses a drink for an hour or so. she's most likely to strike up a real conversation with anybody else from the most recent arrival group, but she probably needs to practice her small talk anyway, so anyone might get at least a respectful nod.

she does get bored with talking, though, which means that when the dart board is free, the redhead is likely to be there. playing alone on quiet nights, she scores highly. if anyone challenges her, she scores a little higher - carolina is aggressively competitive, even when she's being friendly. ]

[evasives]

[ cassian wouldn't say he frequents red wings, but he tries to swing by now and then, mostly to scope out the place, see who does frequent it. he'll nurse a single drink, if that, but mostly he just people watches at the bar. ]

[ occasionally, however, he also plays darts. he's not at it tonight because someone beat him to it, but even from a distance he can see she's very good. maybe it'll be a fun challenge, rather than playing it solo all the time. ]

I don't suppose you would care to share the board. [ by "share" he definitely means that challenge. ]

[leaderboards]

I think I can be talked into it.

[ carolina flashes him a wry smile before she throws the last dart in her hand - it's the third hit she's scored on the outer bullseye - before she steps forward, moving to collect the darts from the board, planning a reset for them. ]

What's your name? I'll start us a scorecard.

[evasives]

[ it doesn't take very much at all to talk her into it, but he wouldn't have pushed if she declined. there isn't much he can do to help her set up either, given there isn't much set up anyway, but he does take one more sip of his drink before setting it on the nearby table. ]

Cassian. And you?

dream | Thanks, Santa (cw: violence, blood, death)

[leaderboards]

[ in the almost two years she's had this nightmare looping through her subconscious every few nights, it's never gone exactly the same way twice. it always starts with confidence and ends with her surrounded by bodies and she's always helpless to change the outcome. ]

A | It starts with a voice from somewhere, echoing through the dark space, about as ominous and menacing as any deep mystery voice could be:

"Who are you?"

Carolina's voice might be familiar, even if her armour is not, when she answers, "I'm your true warrior."

"Actually-" There's a woman's voice not far away and when Carolina's quick to bring her gun around to aim at her as she steps into view, gesturing a thumb at her chest. "- that would be me."

"Tex?" Turns out, Carolina's not aiming at the woman because she's an unknown enemy, but because she's a little too well known. Certainly an enemy, however and Carolina is expecting this to be the great test of her strength when there's another voice, a man's, playfully light from behind and above her.

"Hey there, Carolina."

She turns, ignoring the woman in black to look up at the soldiers on the platform above her. It's like looking at a lineup of ghosts. They're all dead and she knows this and knew this when the moment first happened, but the sight of them has Carolina stunned.

"I- But I don't understand..."

The woman in the brown armour takes advantage of Carolina's stammering to jump down from the platform, landing in a crouch before she seems to saunter over to their stunned former leader.

"You didn't actually think you were the best, did you, boss?" Connie asks and Carolina, for her part, seems ready to answer when an axe-like weapon comes spinning by her, lodging in Connie's armour with enough force to send her flying back. She doesn't move again but the scene explodes into action, with so much violence that it's difficult to keep track and most deaths change every night, details blurry and her memory trying to fill in the blanks.

Sometimes, the woman in black kills them all. Sometimes, they kill each other. When Carolina's lucky, it's vague enemies just on the edge of her vision that tear her family apart.

The last Freelancer standing is always the tallest, broadest one, the one wearing white with the bladed weapon in hand and standing too close to the edge of something when the last blow comes and he tumbles back into endless darkness before Carolina can ever hope to get to him. She shouts, sometimes, or else just freezes, staring at the spot where he had been until there's another voice.

"Carolina? Hey, what the fuck is happening?"

The man's armour is almost the exact same colour as hers and he has gun up as he leads the others in. It almost looks like a rescue, but it isn't and Carolina barely has time to shout a warning for them to get out before she has to watch the Reds and Blues die, too.

B | The dream might pick up when the violence has ended, when Carolina's on the ground with her helmet off, cradling lifeless, sandy gold armour in her lap, as if that will make her feel any better at all. Bodies litter the area, blood slicking the floor, sparks still coming from at least one robot teammate. (Most nights, the woman in black sparks like broken equipment, too. Sometimes, when Carolina's head really hates her, her helmet comes off and she's a blonde in a pool of blood.)

One might think this would be enough for one nightmare, but Carolina's subconscious draws on another very real loss to play over this scene sometimes, adding insult to injury.

Across the room, a life sized hologram flickers into view, almost lost to static for a second before he solidifies and starts to talk:

"Hey sis, don't be mad." There's a pause. "I mean, okay, you're definitely going to be mad, but don't get so mad that it breaks you, because if you snap and do some murder-suicide thing over this, I'll have gone through all of the trouble of saving these assholes for nothing and we're all going to have a real awkward afterlife..."

Carolina knows every word of her brother's personalized goodbye message but she still listens every time her subconscious forces her to revisit it. She misses him.

C | It's just the bodies, like before. She might still be holding York's body, Epsilon's message might still be playing. But the one person that's been conspicuously absent from the dream so far finally wanders in through a far doorway, moving like he's a little dazed.

"David, you can't-!"

And Wash turns to look at her, just starting to greet her when a single gunshot rings out, from somewhere else, she never really knows where. The bullet passes through his neck before he drops to the floor and Carolina shouts again:

"No!"

[ anyone joining this dream, no matter when, is unlikely to catch carolina's attention right away. it's... kind of a lot and she's going to be so, so sorry you had to see it. ]

c; all the way at the end

[braveoff]

[ Drake hasn't been able to interact with Carolina for all of this. He's been trapped outside some kind of light barrier, so even though he knew what was happening, that this was a dream again, he couldn't reach her and she couldn't hear him... until now. When Washington crumples to the floor Drake is suddenly able to pass through the barrier. Carolina is screaming, abandoning the gold-armored body and rushing to the grey and yellow, and the sound is so raw and pained that Drake aches for her even knowing this isn't real. None of this happened, right? It's just her nightmare. ]

Carolina! Carolina, it's not real.

[ He's trying to get to her quickly, but there are bodies everywhere. Seriously, this is corpse central, and he has to slow down to not trip over them. ]

[leaderboards]

[ she's already on her knees at wash's side by the time she registers drake at all, one hand cupping his neck - even in her dream, her brain supplies the warm sensation of blood saturating her glove - and the other high on his chestplate, trying to monitor his breathing by touch. the scene is all wrong and she knows it, knows this isn't how her test with santa had really gone, knows this isn't really how wash got injured.

knowledge doesn't make her chest hurt any less, doesn't make it any easier to breathe. ]

I thought he was still beside me.

[ for a moment, carolina looks up at drake, but she's dangerously close to tears and she drops her head again almost immediately, hunching protectively over her friend in the process. she doesn't want to feel this way, doesn't want this to feel so real, but it does.

considering what he's just witnessed, drake can probably guess that this moment, wash getting shot, isn't purely a fabrication. she's drawing this from somewhere. ]

I didn't even see him move.

[braveoff]

[ Oh, is this... is this part something that actually happened? Something that Drake doesn't know about? His reassuring expression falters as he gets to her side, reaching out and gripping the very top of her arm where there's a gap in the shoulder joint of her armor and she can actually feel it. ]

Hey. Hey, it's okay, Wash is fine...

[ He just saw the guy, after all, walking and talking and pretty much the embodiment of disappointment so fine might be pushing it but. Physically. He doesn't have a scar where this shot would've been. Maybe he's from earlier?

The dream seems to fuzz around them, the other bodies fading as Carolina's focus narrows to Wash's bloodstained form. Drake takes a slow breath. ]

What happened, Carolina?

A — sometime after march 26th

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine has never dreamed about this.

He knows some of it already. Isn't surprised by how it goes. South, North, York, Texas — those deaths he knows or has inferred. But others are completely out of nowhere: first C.T. falls, then Florida, then Wyoming. All Freelancers who should be alive and well.

It doesn't make sense. He never dreams like this. Why the fuck is this in his head?

Then it's just Carolina and a copy of himself — a copy wearing a slightly different model of armor than he is. He expects for the copy to attack Carolina. He expects to witness himself ripping Carolina's A.I. out of her head. Instead, Maine watches himself tumble backward and fall into nothingness.

Something clenches tight in his throat. He swallows. Stares at Carolina, still trying to make sense of what he's seeing.

"Carolina? Hey, what the fuck is happening?"

Maine knows that voice. He turns to see Tucker leading a group of soldiers. No, a group of sims. And finally, it clicks.

This isn't Maine's dream: it's Carolina's.

Maine tries to move forward, but it's like walking through tar. He strains against it. Growls and throws his weight into the effort, feeling like he's pulling a fucking train behind him. He tries calling out, but even his voice seems to stick in his throat.

The sims are closing in on Carolina. Maine sees shadows moving at the edges of his vision, like enemies lurking just out of sight. He knows he needs to get Carolina's attention now.

So Maine does the only thing he can think to do. He pulls off his helmet and chucks it straight at her. ]

[leaderboards]

[ even knowing it's just a dream, just the fucked up memory of a test she failed, carolina can't do nothing. she needs to feel like she tried to protect the reds and blues, even when she knows that she can't. it won't change the outcome, but that's how this goes: she's too shocked to do anything about the freelancers, but she tries when her new family shows up, regardless of their fate.

she's facing away from maine when she brings her rifle up, planting herself protectively between the bulk of her team and the nearest edge of the nightmarish training grounds. a few meters behind her, tucker's drawn his sword - carolina hears it hum to life - and she's ready to fight when something hits her hard in the leg. her weight shifts automatically to absorb the impact so that it doesn't affect her balance and her first reaction is only to look down and identify the object.

maine's helmet. the helmet tucker had been wearing when epsilon died. the latter explanation clicks before the former and she she turns on her heel, weapon still at the ready as her gaze goes first to tucker - still wearing the armour she expects him to be - before she finally, fully looks in maine's direction. he's helmetless, relatively unscarred. she can't remember the last time she dreamt about him like this, which means that something's wrong.

she keeps her gun trained on him as one of the reds drops behind her, the weight of their armour making for a loud thud when they hit the ground. (it's why she watches, when this dream repeats; hearing them die doesn't hurt less than seeing it.) ]

What now?

[ whether this deviation from the norm is because of her own subconscious or some outside intervention, carolina doesn't know, but she sure sounds upset about it. ]

[bloodbathing]

[ It's a dream. Maine knows that. Knows because it's happened to him before, getting pulled from one fucked up fantasy to another back on the station. Knows it's so common in this place that they put it in a fucking guide. It's a dream. It's not real.

Doesn't change the fact that Carolina's aiming her rifle at him.

Maine's fingers twitch at his sides, reflexively wanting to reach for his sidearm. He doesn't let them. Keeps himself perfectly still, hands loose at his sides. Not a threat. Not the fucked up future-self that attacked her. Nothing she needs to shoot.

(Does she know what he becomes? Her armor is completely different: she must be from his future. How far along is she? How long has she been here? Is she really here at all?)

One of the sims drops to the ground. Carolina keeps him in her sights; Maine keeps his eyes on her. When he tries to speak this time, the words finally come. ]

You're dreaming.

[ His voice is as deep and gruff as ever, but he raises it enough for her to hear. He tries not to wonder how long it's been since she's heard him speak. ]

dream | Lockdown (cw: death, psychological torture by isolation/deprivation)

[leaderboards]

[ there's a room. twelve advanced suits of armour, all of them sporting some kind of obvious customization by their previous owners, distinguishing them, are positioned around the room. most of the suits are arranged in such a way that it looks like they're ready to fight - weapons up, posture defensive.

it's a twisted sort of trophy room and, at first, anyone slipping into this dream might think it's static, just a blank, looping memory given dream form. except- ]

Oh, no... Wash?

[ surprise, carolina's definitely dreaming about that time she and her best friend almost died because their armour had been intentionally locked down by a revenge-hungry psychopath. she's in the middle of the room, fists up, trying to get the attention of the suit of armour beside her. he's not answering. ]

No, this is wrong. We were out, I swear...

[ this would be a great time for someone to inform carolina she's dreaming and can, in fact, probably move if she wants to. break that spell, save the night, never speak to her about this again, thanks. ]

[championofsnark]

[Why does Hawke keep ending up in other people's dreams? That's a question she finds herself asking yet again when she comes to consciousness again in a place that's clearly not her world or the one she's gotten used to. Hawke swears to herself, turning a few times to try and make sense of it. This one isn't a fun bar though, which is a real sodding shame. This time she appears in her full look, nothing like the body-armor that super soldiers have. She feels better with the weight of some armor and knives on her back though.

She hears someone speak further in the room and she wrinkles her nose; these body suits look odd and creepy and a bit soulless. She vaguely understands what they are, but they don't look very useful if you have to actually see what you're doing. Hawke taps one of the heads and it's empty inside, so she keeps going. The voice sounds slightly more panicked, so she moves a bit faster, dodging around to where she thinks it came from.]

Hello? Someone in there? [Since this woman who looks straight out of a medieval battle definitely does not fit in with the modern suits of armor, it might be jarring or at least clue in to what's happening. Plus, Carolina's met her once already.] I think I caught something about out? It's fine, you're in a dream. This isn't real.

[leaderboards]

[ she's hallucinated in this room before. when this really happened and previous times that's she's dreamed about it, people have been here that shouldn't be before. but they've never sounded like this, never had much to say outside of assuring her she deserved this fate. a nice hallucination is much more suspect than medieval style armour.

the familiarity of the voice might just be a trick, too, but then the woman circles close enough for carolina to see her and- ] Hawke?

[ this isn't real, hawke had said. a dream. relatively safe, asleep on earth, connected to the other displaced in a way she hasn't felt so exposed by before. this isn't real, carolina tells herself, fighting against the memory dictating the dream to try to move. her fingers uncurl first, just the motion of her hands, and then the spell seems to snap all at once and she's stumbling forward, one knee hitting the ground before she manages to catch herself, cyan armour hunched over, hands bracing herself on the metal floor. it's hard to tell, so padded with layers and with her head still hidden in her helmet, but it looks like carolina's shaking a little. ]

Damn it... [ she sounds shaky, too. this is as embarrassing as it is distressing, at this point. ] I'm sorry, I- I never wanted anyone to see this.

[championofsnark]

[This is a very odd dream, and she can't tell if it's the type that's from a memory or made up. It feels like most of them end up being memories of a kind, but it's not something she's going to bring up to anyone else. If she accidentally stumbled into their dream, the least she can do is not make it odder. Though it would be more fun to flirt in a dream like with Ginia. Alas.

She recognizes the voice and nods.] Yeah, Carolina, it's me. [She waits and is a little too slow to catch the woman as she goes down, but she sees she can catch herself. In that armor, it must blunt a great deal of pain and scuffling. That's the one thing she can see would be the benefit, for certain.

Hawke tilts her head at her and settles down on the floor, sitting right there cross-legged and casual. She doesn't like making other people awkward, but she's not about to just wander off either.]

I get that, but s'better when it's a stranger, isn't it? Less baggage. You don't have to explain anything about this to me, I wouldn't know where to start. [She shrugs. A person who knows Carolina might have more questions or push. It's not really her way.] Unless you feel like it. I won't make it weird if you don't.

dream | Errera

[leaderboards]

[ this dream is about a club. aesthetically, it's not far off something one might find somewhere on the earth of 2512 that the displaced have found themselves in. but it's not 2512 and it's not earth. it's a colony world that wasn't too far away, in some other version of the universe.

it's loud and full of people, but a redhead in a white sleeveless shirt and blue skirt still manages to turn a few heads as she makes her way through the club. for anyone who knows carolina in new amsterdam, she looks a lot younger - not more than twenty - and although she's still built like a soldier, she's less scarred, less perpetually exhausted looking in this dream. there's a lightness to her step and a sway to her hips that she's all but lost. her hair is long, pulled back with wisps framing her face, a deliberate style choice. but that bright red is hard to miss.

eventually, carolina winds her way towards a bar, stopping shy of actually stepping up to it, just leaning against a nearby railing as her expression softens. for all the other patrons in the club have been vague, blurry in that way the details of dreams can be, the man who's caught her attention is in clear focus. it's years before the incident that'll scar his face and damage his vision - he's young, too. he's got the roguishly handsome look going on, but he doesn't look thrilled about being here, alone and abandoned by his friends, working his way through a drink while he toys with a novelty lighter.

from her vantage point, carolina can see the way the flame reflects off his glass and the surface of the bar every few seconds.

when this happened for real, she hadn't hesitated, just came up behind the then-stranger and snatched the lighter from his hand, flirting with him until he kissed her and offered the promise of a lot more than kissing. it was years before she actually gave that lighter back to him and she wishes she never had.

sheltered by dream logic, though, carolina doesn't move, doesn't rush the memory of the first time she saw him. she just watches indefinitely with a stupid little smile on her face. it's not until she actually realizes that someone out of place is there that she straightens up and pulls herself back together. ]

Sorry. Hi.

[ in the weird glow of the club's lighting, it almost looks like she's blushing. ]

[unlucky7]

[There's a funny thing about clubs and that's they're all the same down in the core. The crowds change, the music, the decor, but there's a core in all of them. It's a place people go to when they're looking to have fun. Getting lost in the music, getting lost in drinks, getting lost in the crowd or with someone specific; it's a constant.

Ginia has a fond view of clubs, having lived in and out of them for three years. Her blood sings to the beat as she walks through it, boots clicking on the floor. She's in tight skinny jeans and an off the shoulder crop top, showing off her abs and arms to the world. But nice as the club is, she knows there's a floaty lucidity that means this is a dream. Which means it's a matter of finding the dreamer and either backing out or seeing if they're amiable for company.

She sees Carolina from a distance. The woman is definitely younger, but her hair stands out as much as her frame. She looks happier, maybe. Ginia wouldn't really know, they've only met the few times. But it's a different look. Ginia traces Carolina's look over to the guy playing with the lighter, finding herself smiling a bit. She doesn't really know the situation, but there's some part of it that's clear. So, taking her time, she makes it over to Carolina, leaning back on the railing. Hi. Hello. Closer now, Ginia can tell the other woman isn't as tired looking.

She smiles and tilts her head over at the man.]

Going to say hi to him?

[leaderboards]

[ carolina shrugs, half turning so she's looking more at ginia than the man at the bar - she can still turn her head to catch sight of him again, but it's a deliberate effort. so, too, is the conscious attempt of trying to make her smile a little less dopey looking and more about friendly familiarity. she's not entirely sure that she can call ginia a friend, no, but carolina certainly respects her. ]

Nah, he can wait.

[ in her dreams, in this dream, when her subconscious is nice enough to show it to her, she knows york'll be there, knows just what he'll say. it was a perfect encounter, but she's in no rush to get to it right now. ]

So... Welcome to my probably spotty dream memory of Errera.

[unlucky7]

[It seems pretty good as far as dreams go. At least, Ginia can only speak for usual set of dreams and the one of Ephemera's she stumbled into. The ones she can remember are usually a loop of nightmares, though she's had a few rare good ones. Ginia gives Errera another appraising look.]

I've been dreaming a lot about a club lately. One I work at back in my world.

[Something about this world and dreams clubs, maybe. Or a strange coincidence.]

I like the look of this one.

[She pauses and looks at Carolina's outfit. Ginia is pretty sure Carolina is older than her, but with how much younger she looks now and the looks she was giving that guy, she decides to hold back any light flirting. Instead, sincerity.]

Nice outfit. Blue looks good on you.

[requiemshark]

[ This is new one. Ephemera stays in the shadows, wary and hating that he's out of armor even though no one in the club seems to have noticed him. He's dressed in his civilian clothes, a hood up to hide his scars. Already he's tried to leave and found that he can't, just like none of the people he approaches seem to hear him.

He gives Carolina a suspicious look. She's—

Younger, here. ]

Where is there?

[leaderboards]

[ she's aware of ephemera before he gets to her, but doesn't acknowledge him right away, waits for him to speak. if he's too uncomfortable and just wants to wake himself up, that isn't something carolina could hold against him, after all. but he approaches and he talks and carolina folds her arms loosely across her chest, leaning against the railing to her side as she glances at him. her posture is deceptively at ease, as if she isn't afraid of how this might go. ]

Welcome to my favourite place to visit in New Alexandria. Before the Covenant got to Reach, obviously. [ it's a little bit of context, some timeline, before she softly adds- ] It's probably still closed.

[requiemshark]

[ This is early days, then. Ephemera rocks back on his heels. He never fought on Reach, but he knows the score. ]

You were stationed here?

[ He's not sure what else he's supposed to do but ask stupid, easy questions. The music is loud, but not so much that he can't hear himself think. That might be a bad thing in this dream. He'd rather fade entirely than stand here, trying to figure out how the fuck he's supposed to react. ]

for ephemera

[leaderboards]

[ for someone who likes to fight as much as she does, carolina doesn't frequent the fight clubs that often. she tags along to watch wash sometimes — critiquing him the whole way home, after — but she's rarely here for herself. the opponents don't tend to be enough of a challenge for how long she's expected to drag the fight out, how much of a show she's supposed to make it. it's a lot easier to show off when she's evenly matched.

but she's particularly frustrated this week and asking wash or maine to spar isn't helping her with her restlessness, not the way she wants it to. so she makes a few calls, promises to put on a show, and winds up one of the first fights of this particular night, with an opponent whose reputation matches hers, relatively unknown. he's a terrible fighter, clumsy and cocky, but carolina watches his feet, tracks his movements as if she's taking notes for training later, and drags the fight out long enough that she hears congratulations when she's through.

that's the trick, then: she just has to pretend she's dragging the fight out to train her opponent, and not just awkwardly trying to make minutes out of a take down that could have been over in under thirty seconds.

carolina gets stopped for a conversation about her win, so that her opponent is on his way out of the locker room when she enters, and it's from a genuine place that she offers— ] You should practice your footwork. Keep moving and you won't have to take so many hits.

[ the response, however, is a "fuck you" as he stalks past her, the locker room door hitting the wall hard when he swings it open on his way out.

so much for trying to help.

carolina gets another two steps into the locker room when she realizes it's not empty, one of the later fighters already there, and an all too familiar one at that. she grits her teeth, makes herself stuff her frustration back down long enough to give him a respectful nod of greeting. ]

Ephemera.

[requiemshark]

[ For all things have changed, Ephemera's routine really hasn't. Sometimes he wonders about that, what it is about him that he rolls so easily with this but not other things. He's been thinking a lot about the Insurrection lately too. The philosophy they espoused and that he tied to adopt as his own, the friends he made and lost. The way it ended, not so different from the UNSC after all. And he wonders most of all whether he should have stuck with it. Tried to change things instead of writing them all off as broken and corrupted.

His family kept on kicking. They were good at surviving, right up until they weren't anymore.

Then Carolina walks in.

Ephemera gives her a cool look, eying her up and down. He's seen her a few times, though she rarely gets into the ring. And sometimes there are even nights when he doesn't imagine what it would feel like to bash her skull in. ]

Carolina.

[ So. This is where they stand now. He exhales. He goes back to wrapping his hands. He's up later tonight, he has to get ready. Unlike most of the fighters, Displaced or otherwise, he always fights in long sleeves. ]

You make money tonight?

[leaderboards]

[ she expects to hear her name, or at least see a nod, but carolina's expectations end there. that ephemera says anything else feels like progress, miles beyond their first interactions in new amsterdam. ]

I did.

[ passing him, she goes to the locker she'd stored her things in before her fight, tugging a sweatshirt out first, continuing as she pulls it on. ]

The only real challenge was pretending it was one.