The Revival Project Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trpmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalprojectooc2021-06-13 03:25 pm
trpmods) wrote in revivalprojectooc2021-06-13 03:25 pm
Entry tags:
Summer Test Drive Meme
SUMMER TEST DRIVE MEME
Application FAQ | Taken Characters | Reserves | Application
Welcome to the Current Test Drive for The Revival Project!
This game is a spin-off from the closed The Drift Fleet game. For more information about the game, including more details on the setting, please check out the FAQ here or the premise here.
A thread on the TDM will be required for all applications. Please view the FAQ for information about how this works. Any questions about the game please direct to the comment section of the FAQ as well.
If you are a Drift Fleet alumni bringing your character from the game, please label your character as 'DFAU' on your top level. Also, keep in mind you have complete flexibility on how your character comes here. They could be taken before endgame, after endgame, two years after, one year before, etc. It's up to you! If you want to completely restart your character, they're not considered DFAU anymore and won't need the label.
So go! Explore Agra 10! And, as always, HAVE FUN!
Thread ideas:
Hot Summer Time!
If hunting for food isn't what you came here for, then sunbathing is always an option. Even if the color seems odd, this sand, also, likes to go literally everywhere.
Simply hopping into the water is also rarely a bad idea. This close to the coast there are no harmful creatures in the water, so whether you brought a swim suit, hop in fully clothed or have no care in the world about who might stumble over you naked, Agra 10's ocean is yours to play in.
Explore the city!
Most of the buildings are run down and have clearly been abandoned for years; fortunately, the water treatment center appears to be working, but power is intermittent and unreliable. What used to be stores or places to live in lies in ruins, but there may still be something to scavenge among the rubble. Do you want to risk a swim in the flooded area that has turned into a deep lake that has yet to be fully explored; or does it draw you to some of the more prominent and partially restored buildings, such as the hotel, the hospital or the amphitheater.
If you are lucky, you might even stumble over The Deep End, the bar located on one of the mid-levels of the tower residences in one of the residence towers. Unfortunately no bright neon signs can lead you there, but it does exist.
Visit the spaceships!
Maybe look around anyway. Or try your hand at some repairs?
Try the network!
There be storms...
Should you step inside the storm, or even get lost in it, it will show ghosts of people you know and those you don't. It drains you of any super-human abilities and tries its best to keep you from getting to its origin. Are you going to try anyways? Or are you going to chase the whispers of people from your past? Maybe you will simply find yourself calling for help or stumble across another lost soul in need of assistance.
More information can be found here.
Wildcard!
✧ Premise ✧ FAQ ✧ Rules ✧ Test Drive ✧ Taken ✧ Reserves ✧ Application ✧
✧ Map ✧ Devices & Network ✧ Data Points ✧ Ships ✧ Flora ✧ Fauna ✧ Supply Requests ✧ Calendar ✧
✧ Activity Check ✧ Player Plot Suggestion ✧ Player Contacts ✧ Player Permission Code ✧ Hiatus ✧ Drop ✧
✧ Navigation ✧
no subject
Kavinsky would love to say that he didn't need people, that he didn't care if there was anyone here he knew, but it would be a lie. He hated being alone. That was why he had his pack, why he'd brought Prokopenko back from the dead and why he'd tried to get Ronan on his side. He was used to getting his way. He would get his way.]
Yeah. Might as well try though. We're stuck here for the foreseeable future.
[He wondered how hard dreaming would be here, away from home. He didn't think he'd be bringing back any dragons, but he didn't have any need for them. Yet.
He felt almost electrified when Ronan leaned in so their shoulders touched. It was simple contact, just like the playful shove, but he couldn't remember Ronan ever initiating physical contact with him before. It felt like something he needed to tread carefully with, lest he ruined it somehow.]
How've you been sleeping?
[It was a simple question, casual, but deeper below the surface. It was an iceberg of a question, meaning more than Kavinsky let on.]
no subject
[He sighs, something just this side of frustration. But Kavinsky did have a point- there didn't seem to be any easy or immediate ways to get back home, to get back to the world that he knew. Or perhaps even more importantly, back to the people there.]
Maybe we can turn this place into something that doesn't suck.
[There's a slight jerk of his chin to indicate the odd theater around them, still keeping their shoulders pressed together. The words are a bit more telling than Ronan quite realizes- that way that he says we, as if he's already decided that he wants to stay with the other boy, if he can. Whatever else Kavinsky was, however questionable he might be, he was something that made Ronan feel like he wasn't alone here.
And the theater might be sort of a wreck, but it could have potential. Enough space to more or less do whatever they wanted, maybe even turn it into a space he could start to settle into for the moment. Then there's that question- how've you been sleeping? and it's simple, casual, and Ronan has no reason to think Kavinsky means anything by it. But he still bites his lip, tries not to think about the horror he'd accidentally brought back.
He'd been lucky: someone else there to help, someone that thought it was just a monster from the forest. Which was an excuse that Ronan had been only too willing to play along with.]
Like garbage. You doing any better?
no subject
You know, all things considered, I think we could.
[And not just because they were both Dreamers, but because they were both stubborn and determined. When they wanted something, they put their mind to it and got it. Except when Kavinsky had failed to get Ronan.
The point was though, he could imagine the theater as something grand, or even something less grand but livable. Someplace they could be themselves without worrying about other people. As if Kavinsky had ever done much worrying himself, not since he'd been a kid, when he'd still been learning to control what he could do. Ronan was more dangerous, he figured, with those fucked up bird things in his head and whatever else he dreamed about.
He watched Ronan out of the eye while he waited for an answer to how he'd been sleeping, studying the profile of his face, the way he bit his lip. Like garbage, that didn't surprise him in the slightest. He wondered if Ronan ever slept well.]
I'm not sleeping bad. Could be better, though.
[He was practically itching with the desire to spill the beans, to say that he knew exactly why the other boy was having trouble sleeping. Kavinsky knew what he was capable of.]
I could always lend a hand.
[Or at least dream himself up another gun to shoot whatever Ronan unintentionally brought back that was dangerous. Which was still, in his opinion, lending a hand.]
no subject
But he thinks that Kavinsky is right about getting settled here, since it's not like it seems as if they can get back anytime soon. It would make being here less awful if they could make it into someplace that'd be worth coming back to at the end of the day, at least. So at the other boy's agreement, his lips twitch into something that isn't quite a smile, but there's a breath where it's almost something like one. Complicit, wanting him here with him. Maybe not in the way that K wants, but it's worlds away from it was never going to be me and you.
Honestly, his sleep isn't always bad yet. But in this place there's the fear of it, of the harm he could do, and having just brought through something terrible and horrific with slicing claws and strange eyes, like a twisted version of his favorite things. And it had hated him. He tries to shrug the thought off and instead looks at Kavinsky with a slight tilt of his head, almost bird-like. Something a bit more wild about this Ronan, but without the cruelty.]
Yeah? What do you have in mind?
[The tenor of his voice is more curious than suspicious. He doesn't get the sense that K is looking to hurt him, but he's a drug-dealer and Ronan isn't an idiot. So it's a question. Of course his Gansey was less his moral compass so much as co-conspirator at this point; he wasn't the boy that had to protect him from himself.]
no subject
Instead, it was far more plausible that they could dream together. He could help shape things, try to keep shit under control. He could also dream up a failsafe, in case he couldn't keep things smooth. Ronan hadn't struggled all that much with unintentional dreaming during the days they'd spent together, but Kavinsky vividly remembered the fucked up shit that had come from the other boy's head.]
We could dream together. Let me take the reins a little.
[He was throwing caution to the wind. The months he'd waited back home before confronting Ronan about being a Dreamer had been long enough. Sometimes he was patient, sometimes he wasn't.
He also wasn't entirely sure how dreaming together worked, though. He didn't have a lot of experience with it, but he was sure he could influence someone else's dream just like his own. On the other hand, he didn't know how much experience Ronan had with dreaming with other Dreamers. He knew less than he would have liked, but there was always time.]
That's why you're sleeping like shit, right? The dreams? And all of this-
[He gestured around them at the theater, but he meant this whole place, the planet, the weirdness of everything. It was a strange place, and most people had to feel safe before they could relax enough to sleep. It was hard to feel safe so far from home. He'd sleep better himself with a gun within reach again.]
no subject
It feels like everything stops for a moment. Ronan inhales, blue eyes looking at Kavinsky as he tries to find the words to say, find anything to say. The other boy's words feel like they bounce around inside of his head, his heartbeat caught on his ribs. There's something about the moment that's a little like when Kavinsky had brought Ronan to his house after he wrecked the Pig. It's that sense of being so stunned that he gets a little bit lost inside of himself. But it doesn't last nearly as long. It's not that sort of edged thing, the way he looks at Kavinsky with a sort of awe that felt somehow dangerous and enticing.]
No one's ever said it out loud before.
[His voice is a low murmur, reflexively uncertain about talking about it, like everyone else has always been with him. With all the things that Ronan's head is swirling with, it's not really what he means to say to Kavinsky, but it's the first thing that comes tripping over his tongue. No one has ever said dreams to him, and meant the things that Ronan woke with in his hands. He doesn't know that his mother is a dream, or his younger brother. No one in his family talks about it.
His father told him to never tell, but this wasn't telling because Kavinsky already knew. His mother told him to bury it, to keep it secret forever. But this wasn't really giving up the secret; it was shifting the lines so that it was their secret. Part of him wants to ask if he's a dreamer too, but it's mostly just because he wants to hear him say it.
His heart is racing, his pulse rabbit-fast against his ribs. But he nods at the question, fidgets for a moment, bites at his lip again, but then a moment later seems to have come to a decision.]
Everything feels weird here. And when I did manage it, I pulled something from a nightmare. It just- makes it that much harder.
[There's a flutter of something awkward to his blue eyes, a little like shame, a little like hurt. But he nods, dragging fingers through the curls of his hair to push it back from his face as he looks at Kavinsky. He's younger here, even a little more clumsy with dreaming than the Ronan he'd taught the first time. This is Ronan before living in Monmouth with just a closed door as insurance for Gansey's safety, where he'd had to learn control.
He's shifted how he was sitting so he's turned toward the other boy. There's no ruins of an orange car, but it's still K offering a branch when Ronan needs it.]
Okay. Show me.
no subject
My folks didn't like talking about it either. They treated me like a freak.
[But he'd gotten back at them, both of them.
More than his desperation to not be alone, to have people around him like his pack, he was desperate to have someone to share the dreaming with. Someone he could talk to about it, dream together, work together, two kings. He'd thought that would have been enough of a connection for Ronan before, but he'd been wrong then. He was still bitter about it, but this Ronan didn't know what had happened. He didn't deserve Kavinsky's bitterness, so he kept it to himself.]
You've got some fucked up shit in your head. [He didn't say it meanly, just matter-of-factly, a simple stating of the truth.] Nothing wrong with that, so long as it stays in your head. Some things don't need to see the light of day.
But mistakes happen. They could happen to anyone.
[There was a reason Kavinsky slept with a gun nearby usually, and it wasn't just because he was worried about people.
Don't be too hard on yourself, was what he meant. He'd never say it in so many words, though.]
Have you ever dreamed with somebody before?
[He dug in his pocket as he spoke, eventually pulling out a couple of green pills. He hadn't arrived with them--in fact, he'd arrived with nothing but the clothes on his back--but he'd already been busy at work. So long as he could still dream, he'd have his custom drugs.]
no subject
He laughs a little, a slight shrug of his shoulders as the boy declares that he has fucked up shit in his head. And he's not wrong, not even a little bit. But the thing that makes it light is the way that he says mistakes happen like it's okay. Like he understands.
He's never had someone like K before. He loved his brothers- they had been his closest friends until he'd met Gansey. But they didn't dream, not like Ronan did. Flaming swords and so many strange and impossible things clutched in his hands as he woke. There's a strange sort of happiness that flutters in his chest as he shakes his head at the question. The sort that comes from kinship, from belonging.]
Only with dreams. I didn't know you could.
[There was Orphan Girl, but she wasn't a dreamer. She wasn't like him; she was an odd little girl with goat legs and a fondness for fried chicken that stayed in his dreams. Kavinsky was a real boy here with him in a world that was alien, but somehow still real. There's a flicker of curiosity at the pills, gaze slipping against K's fingers before he looks back up to meet his eyes.
The idea of dreaming with someone else is electrifying in a way that's entirely new. A thrill that warms his skin as he reaches out, takes one of the pills in the tips of his fingers.]
What do they do?
no subject
He wondered how many dream things Ronan had. Kavinksy had none. He'd never dreamed a companion for himself or a psychopomp. The closest he'd ever come was Prokopenko, but that wasn't quite the same. It was just him in his dreams, taking and stealing what and when he had to.]
You can do anything in dreams. Especially with another dreamer.
[Normal people would never know what it was like. They would never understand being something other and having what felt like no limits. It was power, raw power, and Kavinsky felt giddy at just the idea of it. He'd only dreamed with Ronan once, and that hadn't been the best experience, really. This time would be different. Better.]
They help you fall asleep.
[Which sounded less intimidating than 'they knock you the fuck out'. Not that he was foolish enough to think that Ronan was easily intimidated, but he was treading carefully.]
I dreamed them up for situations like this.
[When he needed to fall asleep at the drop of a hat and didn't have time to wait around. It was a lot better than doing things the old fashioned way, the normal people way.]
no subject
It feels like truth, the idea of being able to do anything between the two of them. Not just because they were dreamers, but because that was the sort of people that they were. He wanted to learn, he wanted Kavinsky to show him all of the things he didn't understand. For the first moment since he realized that this was real and that he was alone he forgets about having lost his family and his home.
Ronan might be softer, but he's still reckless, still likes adrenaline and craves stimulation. It just doesn't have the same sort of desperation, self-destruction threaded through it that it does in the boy that he becomes later.]
You dreamt them.
[There's a bit of awe to his voice. The pills might seem meaningless, but they're so clearly something that comes from being able to dream what you want, that he can't help himself. K can devise the answer to a dream problem, and then go get it; both things that Ronan has yet to manage. And while Ronan is before the insomnia, he still knows that sleep can be an uneven thing. Especially when you want it, and that makes them invaluable.
He rolls the pill between his fingers, looking it over, and then with a smile at K that's clearly conspiratorial, places it on his tongue. He probably should've grabbed water from the fountain before he headed out here, but he hadn't been thinking about it at the time. But it's fine. His saliva is enough to swallow, even if it's not precisely comfortable.
He does not expect it to hit him as fast as it does. It hits him hard, too. The way it drags him down like there are claws involved.]
no subject
[He had a lot of different drugs for a lot of different things, always in the form of pills or joints. Here, he only had the green pills so far, but he'd rebuild his stock of things if given enough time.
He'd warn Ronan about how hard the pill was going to hit, but...he just didn't feel like it. It wasn't like it was going to do him any harm, anyway. So instead of warning him, Kavinsky watched him with a smirk that steadily grew into a grin, and then he popped his own pill. He was out within seconds, head lolling back as sleep claimed him.
The pill hurtled him into the dream, no waiting, no mess. The only difference compared to normal was that he made a conscious effort to pull Ronan into his dream space. He thought it would be better that way, being the one with more control over the dream, knowing the limited bit he did about Ronan's dreaming. His dream space was derelict, not much different than the city they'd found themselves in on this planet, but the difference was, he could shape this abandoned, run-down neighborhood into anything he wanted.
He already knew what he wanted to dream back with him, even though there was no rush right now. But the white sunglasses were in his hand all the same, identical to the ones he'd always worn back home.]
Doing good?
[He asked as he hooked the sunglasses on the front of his shirt after a moment of inspection to make sure they were right. He'd dreamt so many of them in the past he'd be more surprised if he hadn't gotten them right, honestly.]
no subject
The space they're in together is a derelict, run-down reflection of the derelict, run-down city they were in. But Ronan knew enough about dreams to know that what it looked like wasn't really the part that mattered. Usually, Ronan was in a forest, but he brought back all manner of things.
It's the casual way that Kavinsky shapes the sunglasses into his hand, and slides them onto the front of his shirt. And Ronan knows that they're what he'll bring back. And the truth is- he'd never considered that he got to choose, or that he could. It makes something snake through him, warm and giddy and he laughs with a slight shake of his head.]
Yeah... Yeah, I'm great.
[His voice tries to sound like he's not overwhelmed by the sheer possibility of all, like he can hide how much this all means to him, standing here with Kavinsky, closer than he's ever been to anyone. No one else really understood. He swallows and reels under the weight. Not knowing what to say, how to say any of it, and so instead it's this instead:]
Do you dream all of your shitty sunglasses?
[But he grins at K, like it's a joke they're both in on, not a rejection.]
no subject
He could shape this space into anything he wanted, even if the run-down buildings were comforting in their familiarity, now that he didn't need to play the role of thief. The forest wasn't here to muddy his intentions, to try and stop him. Besides that, his sunglasses were so familiar to him that he should have no problem pulling them from this dream.
Laughing, he reached over to ruffle Ronan's hair, because he could and what else was that hair there for besides touching and grabbing?]
Sometimes. They didn't make the trip with me.
[And he missed them. Was there ever really a time when he was without his sunglasses? Besides, he felt like he needed to bring something back with him from this dream.]
You're the first person to ever be in my head.
[He added. Which meant this was special, not just for Ronan but for Kavinsky, too. He usually wasn't sentimental, but sometimes, when there were important firsts, he could be persuaded. Like this moment. He wouldn't forget this.]
no subject
There's something to it, the way it feels being here in a dream with someone else. Having it be Kavinsky of all people should probably make it strange. But instead it just feels like something that Ronan hadn't even had the words to ask for. His world has always been small and insular, Gansey the only friend he didn't share blood with.
And now this. A first for both of them. Part of him wants to take K's hand and never let go, but he is still a teenaged boy raised where Boxing was a better form of communication with his brothers than words. So he doesn't say it.]
I'm pretty sure yours is nicer than mine.
[It's a joke, but it also isn't. It wasn't just the nightmare from the other night; Ronan's thoughts and his dreams tended toward the wild and untamed. Thorns and briars and impossible blue flowers, acid butterflies, horrors, even if all he woke with was a bauble or a whisper, his dreams themselves were rooted in the stories he'd grown up on: grand magic, and haunting green hills and misty forests, but also deadly bargains and doomed heroes.
Ronan didn't know what he wanted.
Kavinsky's dreamspace was.. different. It felt less frantic, more malleable, like taffy. He didn't have that sense like he did sometimes that there was something searching for him. Maybe it was the difference of having someone with him like this, maybe the other boy was just better at it.
He focuses on the dream, on pulling out something he can bring back. Something small. Something as familiar as Kavinsky's sunglasses. And slowly five leather bracelets appear on his left wrist. Borrowed from his father on one of his month-long trips, because there was nothing Niall appreciated so much as a thief and a liar. But Ronan hadn't been wearing them when he ended up here.]
How do you make sure you bring it back with you?
no subject
He liked this place better than the forest. The forest had always fought him, and even though he liked a little challenge sometimes, it was nicer not to worry about waking up scratched to hell by thorns. His favorite dreams, though, were the ones where he didn't plan on bringing anything back at all. Then there was nothing to worry about and he could fuck around to his heart's content, a king, a god.]
It's about intention. Knowing what you want and holding onto it. It's easier to get in and out before the dream knows you're there, so it doesn't fuck up your intent, but I can take shit either way.
[It was just easier when the dream was unaware.]
It takes practice, too. Months. Years.
[He'd worked hard to get to where he was and he was damned proud of it. Once, he'd been a boy, younger than Ronan was right now, with only tentative control over what he brought back and what his dreams held for him. He'd had no one to teach him; the burden had been firmly on his shoulders. But he'd done it, he'd conquered his dreams, given himself worth and purpose. He made his dreams work for him.
He wanted to ask why the fuck Niall Lynch had never taught his son how to dream properly, but it would open the door for questions about why no one had taught Kavinsky how to do the same. Maybe the older Dreamers were selfish. Maybe they didn't care. You'd think, with a gift as special as this, you'd want someone to know how to use it. That was part of why Kavinsky was going to teach Ronan.]
no subject
That was always the difficult thing for Ronan - even now. Maybe even especially now, when those thoughts had less direction, fewer clear targets. Being able to work through his own desires, to be that honest with himself; these were still difficult things. What did he want?
He wanted this. At least he knew that much. He wanted to have someone that understood him, this part of him that no one else would talk about. It was a thrill- the transgression of being known, when it was the thing that was most forbidden. The fact that someone could still catches in his chest, his pulse like the beat of one of his favorite songs.
He traces his fingers against the bands against his wrist, trying to focus on the feeling, the way they're just a little loose on his wrist, the leather old and worn soft, warm. His teeth marks, the way it tastes when he gnaws on them, the weight light but firm enough that he feels strange without the press of them against his skin anymore.
Intention. Practice.
He thinks he can do this.
Somewhere to start, anyway; it's nice just to have the promise of it. The energy of the dream around them, all potential and possibility. He was still figuring it all out, hadn't even dreamt the keys to the Camaro yet. He accepted what his dreams gave him, whether it was a pencil or a glitter globe or a piece of the night sky you could hold in your hand.
He'd asked himself a hundred times why they didn't talk about. He still didn't know the answer. But maybe it didn't matter, because they could talk about it, figure out the way through the dreams, how to feel what he wanted. The awe settles a little, but there's still a certain intensity in how Ronan looks at him, the way he watches.]
What was the first thing you ever brought back?
no subject
A dog. [The memory was hazy, faded with time and how young he'd been, but the trauma of it made it sharp at the same time.] I didn't mean to, but I wanted a dog so badly.
[Something he could connect with in lieu of actual friends. He'd always wanted someone or something he could connect with, for as long as he could remember. Yet he'd never dreamed himself a companion. After the dog, he'd been afraid to.]
Dad, he- [Kavinsky made a face as he looked away. He could still remember the way his father had reacted, the horrible things he'd done. He remembered crying and being yelled at for that, too.
He wasn't going to say what had happened to his newly dreamed dog. He wasn't that cruel.] The fucker.
[Taking a breath, he looked back at Ronan, schooling his expression into something that said he didn't care about what had happened, even if it was a huge lie. His previous tone had already given it away.]
What about you?
no subject
But it means something; it's a glimpse that makes him more than the drugs and the rumors. Even more than the fact they're both Dreamers.
Something about the other boy tugs at something in Ronan, in a way he doesn't linger on. But it's a secret he knows, now: Kavinsky cares. And for someone like Ronan, especially this Ronan, who feels so much, it matters. K doesn't say what happened, but Ronan can guess at the shape of it. And it makes him hate Kavinsky's father for what he took from him.
At the question Ronan shrugs his shoulders a little bit sheepishly.]
It's hard to remember. I was young.. but I think it was flowers.
[He swallows at the memory of it, also because Ronan is still soft in ways Aglionby boys weren't always kind about. This is Ronan before the fights were a coping mechanism, but he was still no stranger to bloody knuckles.
His is a different sort of trauma, that he's not sure anyone who wasn't a Dreamer would understand. The sort of wonder and horror that were Ronan's dreams, of being utterly alone with that. Knowing there was not only no help, but no one that would understand -- no one he could tell when he woke up shaking with the taste of blood in his mouth, unsure if it was a sense memory, or something he'd brought back with him. He takes a breath and lets himself tell him, quiet but dream doesn't really care about the distance anyway.]
I was.. there was this thing, and I could tell that it wanted me, and I was running, trying to get away, to wake up and-- I fell. Grabbing on to whatever I could, and I woke up with them in my hands. Flowers and smashed petals and the way they smelled.
[If they weren't in a dream, if Ronan didn't know they were in a dream, he might have just tried to describe them. All stumbling words, fumbling to explain the impossibility of them, the ways they were wrong and different, the color, the way the scent on the air made you feel. But instead, he's able to tug at it, to gently ask the dream for what he wants, for Ronan's blue flowers to take hold in among the cracks of the ruined city they stand in. And he grins at K, all bright blue eyes, heart-racing with the adrenaline feeling of being able to show someone.]
no subject
Of course, it was flowers. [He said, but not meanly. He didn't know much about what Ronan usually dreamed besides night horrors and pens and cars both tiny and large, but somehow flowers didn't surprise him. He wished he knew more about what the other Dreamer usually dreamt of, not just because he was curious for the sake of knowing, but because he could-... Well, if being gifted cars didn't impress him, Kavinsky could find out what did.
It wasn't like him to want to impress someone; usually, it was up to others to do the impressing to hold his attention. But this was different. Ronan wasn't like other people. He had the capacity for greatness, a potential that could be unrivaled by anyone except K himself. Of course, Kavinsky didn't have any other Dreamers to compare them to, but he didn't want them. Ronan, choosing with him instead of against him, would be all he needed.
He crouched next to the flowers, touching the petals gently. They were beautiful, but he didn't say that. He could already tell there was such a difference in their dreams that made him feel a little jealous. They were each a product of their upbringing, and flowers and dogs might not have seemed that different, but ruling out the dog, most of Kavinsky's dreams were industrial. He'd had the forest as his dream place in Henrietta, and before that this place, but the things he'd brought back with him had been more mundane than fantastical. These flowers were the opposite of that.]
Is something usually after you in your dreams?
no subject
There's something about the gesture, about watching Kavinsky crouch next to the flowers, fingers touching the petals in this dream that they share, and it feels almost intimate. But he shrugs off the thought. Instead just lets himself smile at the appreciation- he might not say it outloud, but he can see it. And that makes Ronan feel almost giddy. Because he'd always wanted this, to be able to show someone and have them appreciate what he made, not tell him to bury it forever.
He shrugs a little bit at the question, and his smile thins into something that isn't so easy; complicated and a little bit fraught.]
Not always. But- sometimes. [Ronan tries to act like it doesn't mean anything, like it doesn't bother him, because he doesn't quite know how to ask for help. Doesn't really know if there is such a thing as help for the things that haunt his dreams.]
If it turns into a nightmare. Or if I try to change the dream too much. Sometimes it just- happens. Sometimes it's just some thing, sometimes it's the horrors. They chase me, and if I don't wake up first they...
[His words are tight and clipped until the end, when he trails off. Of course, Kavinsky's seen what they do to him. Seen the scars on an older body, seen what happens when he brings the damage back with him, but Ronan doesn't know that. Of course, maybe the telling part of how much it affects him, is how the dream starts to pick up on it. He doesn't mean to, but K might want to remind it that it's not what they want before Ronan accidentally makes things messy.]
no subject
He nodded slowly as he listened, stroking one finger along the flower petals before he straightened up. It wasn't like he didn't know about the night horrors, but he'd wanted Ronan to tell him about them. They'd been plaguing him for longer than Kavinsky had imagined, and he wondered what had spawned them in the first place. More importantly than that though, he realized the dream was picking up on Ronan's influence and he pushed back against it, trying to keep things stable and calm.]
Ronan. [Not Lynch like normal. This was a somewhat delicate moment.] Don't bring them here. You're safe right now; they can't hurt you.
[He took a breath. Maybe he could dream something to help keep Ronan's dreams on an even keel? But that would be close to drugging his dreams, stifling him, and Kavinsky wasn't sure he liked the idea of that.]
And if you stick with me, I'll make sure you never have anything to worry about again. I've got a gun, just in case.
[He might have had the one he'd dreamed with Ronan with him here in this place, but he'd had one before that, too. It was his safety measure against nightmares.]
I can teach you, too, how to keep them out of your dreams. [If he could, if it was possible. He was sure it had to be in some way; he'd come leaps and bounds himself, after all. If he could stomp down his own nightmares, he could help someone else overcome theirs.]
no subject
Okay.
[It's a simple acceptance, but there's something to the words. Letting himself trust the insistence that he's safe, that they can't hurt him here. That Kavinsky will keep them safe in the ways that Ronan's never been good at. It hits a chord in him, the feeling of being here, with Kavinsky offering the things he could never even allow himself to admit that he wanted.
Kavinsky is maybe the person from back home that Ronan should be most disinclined to trust, but they were both dreamers, and that made them something else. Especially in this strange place, it hard to see them as anything but together.]
I want to get better. I like dreaming most of the time, it's just--
[There's a wry curl of his mouth as he looks at the other boy. It's difficult to know what he wants, what he doesn't, and the dream doesn't always tell the difference. And then there's how fraught the dreams themselves can be, because Ronan hasn't figured out how to choose what he dreams. He's learning without a teacher, and more vulnerable to them- half a dream himself, even if he doesn't know it. He gestures with his hand, a breath that's sharp with something like dark amusement, considering what had almost just happened.]
You know.
no subject
Dreaming's freedom, where you can really be yourself.
[Without worrying about other people and what they thought. Unless, of course, you didn't know how to be yourself. Did Ronan know? Or had he been too smothered for however long? Kavinsky knew they had to keep the dreaming thing under wraps, but there was a difference between keeping secrets and being smothered.]
You'll get better.
[Kavinsky was going to help him. And they were, maybe, in a place that was safe for dreaming, so Ronan could practice more. He had faith in Ronan's ability to dream even if he didn't have faith that he wouldn't drop Kavinsky like a hot potato again.]
Did you want to set shit on fire or did you want to get out of here?
[Because he was starting to itch with the desire to hurl a Molotov into one of the empty buildings around them. It was safer than setting shit on fire for real, which took some of the thrill out of it but not all of it. Destruction was still destruction and there was nothing he could lay waste to for real right now without someone yelling at him, probably.]
no subject
[For Ronan, dreams sometimes made the real world feel pale in comparison, like it wasn't enough. But he's always been here alone, and so dreams never quite felt like enough either. The prospect that this was something that he could share, that he wasn't alone, that there was more here than just Ronan and the things he conjured was a thrill he couldn't have articulated if he wanted to.
There's a spark of something pleased when the other boy reassures him that he'll get better. And Ronan believes him. What can't they accomplish here, doing this together? Two dreamers. He almost wishes that he'd known before.
And then there's that question, and Ronan looks at Kavinsky and he grins. And this is a look shared between this Ronan and the one that the other boy knew better. Because not everything was different, not everything about him had changed. Trauma just shaved away all the things about him that had been soft or too weak to bear it- but there had always been pieces of him that were sharp. It was why he liked Gansey, back when he'd been burning, back when he was sharper too. Maybe why it's so easy to let himself slide into this odd rhythm with Kavinsky, too.]
I wanna set shit on fire.
[He says it like it's easy, obvious, and maybe it is.]
no subject
He grinned, wild and pleased. Cars dotted the run-down road around them, weeds growing up through the cracks in the pavement--the cars hadn't always been there, but a little tweak of the dream, a little push, and it was like they'd existed the whole time. Between them and the decrepit buildings, some of them in better shape than others, there was plenty to set on fire.
A lit Molotov appeared in Kavinsky's hand, melting into existence, and he held it out to Ronan, the flames reflecting in his dark eyes.]
Pick your poison.
[He gestured with his other hand to their surroundings.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)