I'm having multiple writing-things-down-in-my-journal dreams (in one night), which is really annoying when I actually wake up and find it blank. Occasionally I can remember bits and pieces of what I wrote, but still: irritating. Apparently I'm going to have to RC more while I'm journalling. In one of my fragments, Neil Gaiman was trying to take over the world. Apparently he's on Time Magazine's Most Influential People list, so this wouldn't be too surprising. Oh, and he's capable of adding to historical mythology. Be afraid. The Heist: I'm robbing an art gallery. This is the easy part, casing the place, looking for details that might assist us in our escape. It's near closing time, and we need to know exactly how the staff shuts the place down - so we're posing as tourists, waiting to be shuffled out of the building. The place is huge, large enough to have their own conservator on staff, a woman that I'm talking to right now. I'm pretending to be a collector, probably talking about donating a piece to the public collection. We're discussing the minutiae of restoring a particular piece, a thirteenth-century painting that I actually have no interest in (ie: we're not stealing it). "Where are the security cameras?" I ask her. After all, I want my donation to be safe. I've spotted one camera in the entrance lobby, but none in the main areas or at the employee exits. "Oh," says the woman, "We don't have any." I look at her blankly for a second. "Well," I say, "That's stupid." I look over the woman's shoulder at Johanna, the blonde ghost girl from #59, Ghost Ship. My accomplice is decidedly un-ghostly today. She's with a tour group, examining the high-tech vault that our prize is locked in. The metallic display swivels around, forms a coffin-like shape, and seals itself away, fitting like a puzzle into the tile floor. The rest of the group applauds enthusiastically, but Jo limits herself to a small smile, eyes glittering with anticipation of the challenge. Jayne Wisener Johanna I signal Johanna and say goodbye to the conservator. We shake hands and she tells me to contact her if I have any questions. I assure her that I will, and I slip away into the back hallways of the art gallery, off limits to the public. Jo meets me at our planned escape route, one of the employee exits that requires a code to leave without setting off the alarm. I notice the visible red laser line over the floor, which could be stepped over easily, but the door is alarmed as well. I hear a voice over the intercom, saying that the museum will be closing in a few minutes. There's a keypad beside me. I enter the code, which I gleaned from the mind of the conservator when I shook her hand. This is why Jo and I work together well: I get the information and she steals the priceless artifact. We split the danger and the cut. And I do my job well - the outer door swings open, and the alarm switches off. "All guests have two minutes to exit the building," says the intercom. Jo and I grin at each other and step out into the alley. We pile into a small green car with a few other girls. This was our test run. We'll come back tomorrow night and pull the real heist. We've stopped at a hostel/diner/convenience store. While waiting in line, I'm looking through the racks for a pair of sunglasses that don't make me look like a girl. Everything's sold out though, and apparently I already bought the last pair of sunglasses, which are either broken or missing. DCs have been telling me, for the last few minutes, that I'm late for the Evil Meeting of Evil. This is, apparently, not a good thing, as the meeting is headed by one of the organization's scariest members. I remember being appropriately terrified earlier in the dream, but now, semi-aware, I can't see why I should be afraid of a DC. When I step outside, I see minions of the League on rows of fold out chairs, under a bright blue sky. Odd. The terrifying speaker is a black woman with straight, shoulder length black hair, who bears a remarkable similarity to Zoe from Firefly. This, of course, means she's a badass character who I should probably Run Away From Really Fast, but instead I pretty much ignore her as she yells at me and tells me to sit down. Not!Zoe continues her pep-talk, and I wander back into the building, finding myself in a hostel-style dorm room filled with bunk beds. The first person I notice is a Legion-style, long-limbed teenager. I'm fascinated by how tall he is, and by the way he's swinging from what are effectively monkey-bars suspended by the bunk-beds. Apparently, the boy can't support his own weight. He stumbles into the diner/convenience store area, and his mom snaps at me not to stare. What are you looking at? I turn around, and suddenly there's a high speed bundle of white lace crashing into my arms. I catch the little girl as she throws her arms around me, demanding a hug from a complete stranger. I stand there awkwardly, regaining my balance. The mom rolls her eyes when I look at her, and tells me that the girl used to suffer extreme pain when anyone touched her. Now she's cured. Okay... I leave the strange family behind and go back outside to deal with my fellow villains. Who want me to become Doctor Insano. I tell them that I really would (I have my lab coat on and everything), but I can't find my swirly goggles - I only have a set of pink ski goggles, and those just aren't the same. So yeah. Johanna and I are back in the art gallery, along with another girl, Macy, who's actually outside. Macy was with us in the getaway car, and she's possessing her pet cat (her spirit animal) so we can have another set of eyes on the inside. The cat is darting through the gallery's hidden places, under tables and behind exhibits, practically invisible unless you know what you're looking for. Jo and I are about to split up, while I keep the entrances clear, when we're interrupted by the most ominous sound I have ever heard. "KITTY!" shrieks a delighted, childlike voice. This is followed by a chilling snarl from Macy's cat. I turn around to see that the cat is a charred pile of fur and skin on the floor, and the little girl from before looks absolutely stricken. I look upward and sigh, knowing that we won't have a chance at the painting at this point. I'm waving at the little body, willing it up from the floor, and slowly toward the side door. At the same time, Jo and I are having a heated discussion over who gets to take care of the girl without making a scene. More so than the fireball and the crying child already have, anyway. "Me?" I ask incredulously, "I'm not a Meta!" (I don't have superpowers.) Jo sends a significant glance at the cat magically floating out the door, and looks back at me with a raised eyebrow. Well, I can't argue with that. I go over to the little girl and ask if she remembers me. She nods her head and I hold out my hand, and we all go outside. Jo is over with Macy, who's a sobbing wreck on the ground, leaning against one of the tires of the car. She's looking at her cat, lying on the dirt a few feet away from her. Apparently, her experience was slightly traumatizing. I lead the girl over to the cat, and kneel down beside it. I give a heartwarming speech involving the importance of responsibility and compassion, and tell her how important it is that we keep our powers under control. Then, waving a hand over the cat, I tug at it's life energy, and the cat gets up and wanders over to Macy. "There," I say, getting up and dusting myself off. "No harm done." An alarm starts to blare from within the gallery. "Son of a bitch!" All of us pile into the backseat of the car, which is suddenly filled with half a dozen girls, and we speed away. The Heist. Scare Factor: 3.
Go to the moon was kind of my madness mantra last night. Attempted to remember that I wanted to do this. I'm in the basement of a building my grandparents used to own. In the dream, it had been extensively remodeled since then. I try to apply the actual blueprints to the dreamscape, but it's too confusing. I hear newborn kittens. I see a few heads of bread-mice scattered around. The mice here are made of bread. I pick up a half-eaten copy of a book by Neil Gaiman, and decide that this is all his fault somehow. Shift. I'm in a love story, switching between two of the three main characters' points of view. I leave down the stream with the guy who's not me? This is confusing. Shift. I'm in a forest, hearing a Voice that gives me instructions. I'm happily running through, surrounded by green, green grass and trees, when I come to a stream. I jump straight over it, but land awkwardly on the other side, not having gone as far as I thought I would. Water saps your power away, The Voice explains, That makes rivers difficult to cross. I'm frustrated, because dreams should be doing whatever I tell them to, but the dream-logic makes sense for now. I consider another, wider, river nearby. I'm near where the forest was, but now I'm surrounded by stone: banisters and stairways and what could make for some very fun parkour sequences. I glide up onto the banister, ready to jump, when I suddenly realize that because this is a dream, I really can go anywhere. Go to the moon. Oh, yeah, I was gonna try to do that tonight. I hop off the banister, landing easily on the stone floor. I hold a hand out as I had visualized, feeling through the dream-fabric. I feel and hear a buzzing, and watch in amazement as the dream within stone building abruptly disintegrates, leaving only the night sky. I look down, fully aware that I made it and I'm on the moon and - Too much surprise. I'm lying face down on the bed, just like when I last went to sleep. Everything is dark and I keep my eyes shut, trying for another shot at the dream. I feel plastic beneath my hands*, but I aim to kneel down and feel the moon rocks that must be at my feet. Shift. "How the hell are we going to stop that thing?" "I'll take care of it." "How?" "I'll take care of it." I'm using a fellow officer as bait, but I don't have any strong feelings on the matter. The monster is approaching from down the hallway, turning a corner toward me. It spots me, and I retreat into the room, leaving the door open behind me. I'm standing just around a corner, out of sight from the door. The monster steps into the room, and spots the injured officer lying on the bed. I remind myself that this is a dream and I will be able to do this. The monster rounds the corner, snarling, and I grab it by the scruff of the neck and somewhere along the back (it might have been wearing clothes) and I throw it - hard - toward the window. It goes flying as if it weighed a pound, crashing either through the mirrored door of the closet and the wall behind it. It didn't land as if it weighed a pound. I'm outside, on the red, ceramic tile rooftops, no longer worried about the monster. I consider taking another shot at getting to the moon. I hold up another hand, trying to feel the dream fabric. I little bit of deep blue bleeds through where my hand is. I put up the other hand, trying to force myself through. It doesn't work. New method. I'm standing at the edge of a rooftop, unable to see into the abyss that lies before me. I jump, only concerned that this might make me wake up. I land. Without looking, I can tell I'm still in the same dream-scape, so I jump again. This time I fall and fall and fall, visualizing the black tower that Nomad described. I land, easily, and I can tell that I am, in fact, on the top of a black tower. When I open my eyes, though, I consider that this might not have been the one I was looking for. This one is only three or four stories high, and it's surrounded by brick buildings on all sides. A watchtower. I sigh. I hop down onto the dirt and paving stones, and look around at the DCs in the area. There's a cute blonde with long, wavy hair, chatting with some friends at the edge of the courtyard. I consider that I might be half in the moon-dream somehow and these might be real people, but I dismiss the thought as unlikely and walk toward the girls. I step through her friends, smiling at the blonde girl and holding out a hand. She takes it, and I spin her around and kiss her. Oddly, I have the sudden ability to smell and taste (morning breath) and I quickly block it out. And suddenly I'm playing a game of the Sims, and there are a bunch of options on the screen. Now I'm talking to family members on the other side of the courtyard and looking for the girl so I can actually talk to her? Voices Trying to Limit Your Dream-Control. Scare Factor: 2. Though the bread-mice were somehow creepy. *So very much a false awakening.
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