[ 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. ]