[Open] Carry you to peaceful fields

[freetobe]

characters: Castiel & You (Open) | Castiel & Bruce (Closed)
location: Beacon & In Your Dreams (no really)
date/time: During the Blizzard (Jan 7 - 11)
content: Dreamwalking! Patrolling Beacon during a Blizzard! An angel helping out and endangering himself through it! Whoo!
warnings: CWs dependant on the content of dreams



➣ Beacon {Kiss the feathers of a hummingbird in flight}

[ Castiel doesn't rely on his flesh and blood to keep him in continued existence. The cold doesn't bother him per se, though the weather proved quite vexing to navigate. He hopes that the more mortal of his allies and charges in his place are sensible and will stay inside.

Yet he himself braves the blizzard, patrolling Beacon. Checking on the Bonire, to know for certain that the fire will not be beaten down by the snow. Checking on the edges of the forest, to make sure nothing takes this opportunity to creep in and wreak havoc. Looking for anyone else foolish enough to have stepped outside in this weather. He carries in his hand a peculiar looking, shiny silver blade. His dark hair and coat are dusted with snow, and whenever visibility allows, he moves not by pushing through the snow that's piling up, but by seemingly teleporting with the sound of rustling feathers. Never far - like Crowley and Aziraphale, his flight is limited by how far his lantern allows him to see, though his wings aren't visible to the naked eye. Not unless he wishes to show them, at least.

If he happens to spot someone outside, they might see him at a lantern-light distance, and then suddenly right next to them, blue eyes on the person, and then back to scanning the surroundings. ]

Are you alright?

➣ Dreams and Nightmares {Breaking up into a million specks of light}

[ooc: This one gives you an opportunity to do some dream sharing. This is completely opt in, if you want this prompt, it happens with the OOC permission to enter/invade your character's dream - or nightmare and be witness to its contents. If you already have close-ish CR with him, he might step into any regular old dream you have to check up on you while the blizzard keeps you cooped up. Close CR or strangers having nightmares will also prompt him to make "the trip" as it were, in an attempt to help you through the nightmare and towards restful sleep. If you want him to show up in your dream/nightmare, feel free to respond with a description of the dream. Please put appropriate CWs on nightmares!

Doing this will start to sap his powers, which by the end of the blizzard's duration will run quite low, and the light of his lantern begins dimming accordingly. The implication of this is not known to most people in beacon.]

➣ [Closed to Bruce, Jan 10] Church {Take the shape of an angel in the night}

[ It's towards the end of the blizzard's duration that Castiel finds himself taking momentary shelter in the church. He's been here a few times, though not as often as one might assume an angel to come here. He doesn't bother to brush the snow from his hair, just quietly walks alongside the pews. The church has recently seen restoration efforts, and he can practically feel the care put into the project. Fascinating, the hard work and dedication people put into it. Though he supposes, here in this place, it might have more practical reasons related to that hatch, and the strange conditions of their supposed death.

He's carrying his blade in one hand, serious features trained though on the stained glass, on the alter, on the pews. He looks contemplative, maybe. Or perhaps lost. There's a certain tension in the set of his shoulders, in the tightness of his jawline, and something oddly stilted to his movements. The light of his lantern is strangely dim, and he looks tired.

Castiel eels it in the bones of his vessel, how he has strained himself to grant more peaceful rest to the souls Beacon harbours. No regrets. He won't kill himself for most of them, though if some of them happen to have nightmares, he might be lured into draining himself - draining his lantern - a little more.

He knows he's not alone. Whether Bruce enters after him, or has been there the entire time. Castiel doesn't turn towards him, but says: ]

Hello.

➣ Wildcard {On the whispering wind}

[ ooc: Maybe you want to seek Castiel out differently, contact him on the network, or have a different idea for a plot. Feel free to hit me up on plurk or discord to discuss <3 ]

Comments

Beacon

[sauntered_downward]

[Crowley is, in fact, not all right.

He had made the poor decision to go out and try to get food for the rest of his household. Crowley still can't eat (thanks HINT-O-MATIC), but they can, and they need to eat. He remembers the month the human soldier person wasn't eating and that bothers him, so he wraps up in his warmest attire, puts a blessing on himself to stay warm, and heads out.

That's when he remembers that all of his powers are really, really stunted in this place, because it is insanely cold. And Crowley is, of course, cold-blooded.

Suddenly that person, that angel person, is up next to him. Crowley will jump back, clearly startled]

What the hell are you doing out here?

[freetobe]

[ Castiel would not admit it out loud... but the fact that the demon startled does give him some small amount of satisfaction.

He hasn't experienced it often, but knows to name this emotion: Smugness.

He thinks he gets the appeal, now.

Still, he inclines his head towards Crowley. ]

Patrolling. What are you doing out here?

Beacon

[sublimebeast]

[Link has been trying to sleep in his usual spot: on the low branch of a tree at the edge of town.

The snow gathers on his cap and arms as he tries to curl himself into a ball to preserve warmth.

Maybe, he thinks, he should find shelter... But what is the worst that could happen to him if he stays outside? Will he die all over again?

He's thinking dark thoughts when he hears a voice from close by and shrieks.]

HOLY--

Gods, where did you come from!?

[freetobe]

[ Castiel looks at the man, curled up and snow covered, and gestures away from them. ]

Over there.

[ Of course, there are no tracks in the snow that would indicate he'd walked the distance. ]

It seems unwise to sleep outside.

[sublimebeast]

[Link does look and upon seeing no tracks, turns his eyes back to the stranger.]

Yeah.

But what's the worst that could happen, right?

Aren't we already dead?

[freetobe]

[ Hm... Nihilism. Castiel shakes his head. ]

Depending on your interpretation of 'worst' - you could experience freezing to 'death'.

[ He's doing the airquotes with his fingers. ]

And then perhaps you will return. Perhaps you will not, and in the latter case you could find your very essence purged from existence, depending on the metaphysical reality of our existence here.

That aside. We don't know if our existence here means we are, truly, dead.

wildcard / museum

[evulsed]

[ People don't really come here. More over, Bruce doesn't bring people here very often. Vanitas can't recall it ever really happening before— beyond, maybe, Jason. But the most recent instance had been Vanitas forcing that boy to come with him with Bruce's sleeping body. Not like this, of his own volition; and the circumstances are stranger still. The blizzard still shrieks outside, howling eerily through the yawning spaces, turning even the safety of the interior of the building cool with the lower temperature.

It would be utterly impossible for Vanitas not to know Castiel was in this place.

His grace is too powerful a thing, even dim as it is now. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the building, every Unversed in the immediate area reacted— skirting him with interest like an curious but hesitant pack of wolves. When he walks through the halls, the ones in the ceiling stir and flap away into more remote corners in a hush of leathery wings, invisible in the shadows of the dark, vaulted ceilings.

Vanitas, too, clings to the shadows, instead of approaching the angel openly. Whether that's in whatever space he's been sequestered to rest, or some other corner of the museum, where one of the many old sculptures or paintings might be— Vanitas lingers near the wall, watching. ]

[freetobe]

[ Castiel is aware of Vanitas in similar ways that Vanitas is aware of him, the duality of light and dark something neither can escape or quite ignore. Here, more than anywhere else, Castiel couldn't be unaware of Vanitas even if he tried, with the Unversed filling the space. He can't tell what they are, but they feel to him as Vanitas does, and he wonders if they're extensions of himself, or separate but cut from his essence.

He's aware of them, but doesn't acknowledge, not at first. Not for a while. Castiel feels dim and weak. He might not have agreed to come here, had he known... but then Bruce's concern had been earnest, and Vanitas so far has not given Castiel reason to fear for his own safety, other than rubbing Castiel's very core the wrong way.

So he wanders, for a while, exploring the museum quietly. He tries not to slip away here, to fall unconscious in order to recover. That, he cannot consider wise with people and... beings presen whose intentions he doesn't know. It's a slower recovery, but he also appreciates the chance to observe the art.

Angels do not... create, not in way the humans can. They are not meant to have emotions, creativity, imagination. It's a shame. The things humans produce are raw and beautiful. So he looks at the paintings, the sculptures.

But he's aware, always. So after a while, he speaks, calm and soft, with his lantern barely bright enough to illuminate the dark: ]

You've been keeping a close eye on me.

[evulsed]

[ Vanitas knows that the lanterns are a reflection of their owners. He knows when they go out it spells death. He knows the way Riku's had guttered, diminished as he'd slowly been freezing to death in the outside. He wonders if Castiel faces the same limitations as himself; is he suddenly sequestered in a human body? Did he need to eat and sleep, was he exempt from it before, the same way Vanitas was?

His lantern fire is low, a soft glow that might seem welcoming to anyone who spent their time in the light. Anyone who wasn't Vanitas, from the other side, who can't help looking at it and seeing the weakness. This man was powerful, and on their first meeting, Vanitas is only half certain he'd be able to war with his grace&mdsah; but now, if he attacked, he thinks he could take him down. He thinks he could smother that light in all his darkness, wrap it up and make it his own.

It wouldn't be the same, but the impulse is there. Vanitas curls both hands into fists. ]

You're dimmer, ligthbearer.

[ Vanitas seems to take being addressed as an invitation, but doesn't approach directly. He instead comes toward Castiel at almost an angle, like a shark tightening it's circle. ]

Was it the cold?

Or something else?

[freetobe]

[ Castiel's eyes remain on the artwork. Vanitas will understand better than most that not all beings see with just their eyes, that Castiel is keeping track of the movements. He recognizes how predatory it is - but doesn't consider himself prey.

Vanitas might be able to take him, and Castiel doesn't know just how resilient he is here when weakened. Whether he's... more mortal than he should be. Still, he has no fear of that. Just an acknowledgment, silent and to himself, of the option. ]

Something else.

[ If Vanitas hopes Castiel will elaborate, he'll be kept waiting - perhaps indefinitely. ]

'Lightbearer'?

obligatory hozier reference

[pearlstrings]

[Bruce is not an idiot. He stayed inside for the worst of the blizzard because while Gotham might not become a winter wonderland, he's no stranger to snowy conditions and plunging temperatures. Besides, after Riku had turned up half frozen on his doorstep and given Vanitas the fright of his life- they had their hands full. But conditions are beginning to wane and he can see the first signs as the howling wind starts to quiet one day, and then the next. It still isn't safe to be out for very long and exposure continues to be a real risk. So Bruce pulls his mask down over his face- then two layers of socks, then his gloves. He wraps extra fabric around his neck and layers his shirts.

He's made a habit of stocking supplies for months now and had more than enough to sustain himself during the ferry's crash and absence. Circumstances are much the same now- there's a great deal inside the museum to keep themselves safe and healthy and warm. But Bruce doesn't keep all of his supplies in one location, and that's the reason he makes his way to the church now. One of the pews has a hollowed out leg that he's been carefully folding rations in- not just food, but tools and weapons, medical equipment.

There are no prints in the snow when he approaches the church and he isn't surprised then, when he enters and finds it empty. Or rather- His gaze moves immediately to the trap door. Where he knows the other occupant resides.

But instead of allowing himself to be sidetracked, he makes his way to the pew. Second from the back, left hand side. Bruce crouches, all but invisible to anyone surveying the chamber- and he takes a knife from the mouth of his boot to wedge the tip into the crevice, to begin to pop the false panel out. When he hears it. Hello.

It startles him so profoundly that Bruce sits up. And smacks his head on part of the wooden armrest.]

the giggle at a funeral, etc etc

[freetobe]

[ The sound of the boy smacking his head on the armest echoes in the empty building, and even Castiel finds himself close to wincing. He may not care himself whether he hits his vessel's head on something, but he knows how fragile human bodies are when not currently inhabited by celestial beings.

Fascinating, how much humans can bear before breaking, when they are such fragile creatures.

Quietly, he stops towards the pew, and looks at the bundled up shape.

He's alive, that much Castiel can tell, but not quite if he's hurt.

He thinks, for a moment, and remembers Dean's angry rebukes of Castiel's silent approaches and invasion of personal space. It follows, then, that the blame for any injury incured lies at Castiel's feet. ]

Do you require healing?

[ Castiel thinks he can spare... a little, yet, without risking the light just going on. It's dim, he's exhausted. He's done some good, though, and that's what matters. Purgatory offered penance in the shape of being fodder for monsters. Beacon is penance through using himself up for those in need.

The gaze that rests on Bruce can't exactly be called sympathetic - it's slightly blank, just like Castiel's features. He's observing, waiting, watching. Blinking too little and standing just a little too still. ]

[pearlstrings]

[The knock isn't powerful enough to white out his vision, but it's more than enough to promise a bruise over his eyebrow and a significantly larger bruise to his ego. He's trained the reflex that keeps him from reaching up to touch, to draw attention to an injury, and instead Bruce maintains his grip on the knife in his palm- catches himself just short of stumbling with his opposite hand.

Apart from the sound of his own breathing and the quiet footfalls that approach, the church is an empty space. There are no other voices to fill the void, there's no music. From time to time the wind rattles the door on it's hinges and hisses through the cracks it can find- Bruce's breath clouds in the air.

But as the space between himself and this person narrows he chooses to abandon the pew and it's false panel, glancing instead towards the door as a possible escape route, to the candle stand that he could use, if the need arose. The knife turns over in his grip and his head lifts, face still covered by the black fabric of his mask.

He doesn't recognize the man who looks back at him, impassive but no less aware. Unnaturally still.
Bruce looks back at him but doesn't yet climb to his feet.]

No.

[His eyes move- from the man's face to his shoulders. His bare hands.]

Do you?

[freetobe]

[ Castiel just stares back, head tilting to one sight slightly. The human before him is puzzling in different ways than many of the ones he's encountered. He's quiet, for one, and for Castiel that doesn't just mean how he moves. He knows humans can be stealthy. No, there's something quiet about him that goes deeper.

It's tempting to just look deeper, too. He can already see beyond cloth and flesh and bone to what matters, to the light inside, the glow of a soul, but there's something achingly familiar in the caverns of his heart and mind. Privacy for such things is such a human concept - but one Castiel has grown to at least try and respect, unless he feels it impractical to do so.

So he doesn't pry. Not... yet, at least.

Not deeply, at least.

He muses on the mask instead. Wonders if it's mere protection against the cold, or if it's similar to Peter's odd, masked pyjamas. There are gazes no mask can protect you from, though. Castiel's is one of those.

At the question, Castiel looks down, following the gaze he can feel on himself. He looks at his hand as if puzzled by it. Flexes the fingers. Contemplates, for a moment, the strangeness of existing in this body, this vessel, when Jimmy Novak's soul has long passed on.

It doesn't look as if he's paying any attention to Bruce anymore, but his senses rarely rely on mere sight. He's aware of the young man's position and movements, if there are any. ]

No. I was patrolling. Nothing has hurt me.

[equinoctials]

[ Sometimes people wander in here like they don't realize this is somebody's house, maybe they just don't notice things like a kitchen and dining area where one might expect a museum office or gift shop. A workshop in progress getting built out of a former storage area for archives that don't exist anymore. Bedrooms upstairs. Or even the toothbrushes in cups by the bathroom sinks, a comb with black hair in its teeth, a hair tie with tangles of silver.

Bruce doesn't seem like the kind of person who brings people into his space eagerly or readily. That's what should be making Castiel's presence so remarkable.

It is, but only by half.

The rest is how he seems to radiate, not light the way their lanterns do, but with Light, and yet... there's a darkness that clings to him like smoke.

Riku's recent brush with hypothermia has made him keenly aware of how little clothing he's bothered to own. The shirt he wears doesn't belong to him, dark and snug around his chest and arms, but it's warmer than the white v-neck shirt he's wearing under it, and the Museum feels a little drafty due to the blizzard outside.

He's come under the pretense of getting himself something hot to drink, encountering Castiel somewhere between the stairs and their kitchen. ]

Don't usually get visitors.

[freetobe]

[ Castiel feels tired and worn, more so than he cares to admit. His grace his hollowed out, and while Bruce brought him here suspecting the wrong kind of damage, Castiel is grateful for it. The museum is a quiet, dark place, and Castiel finds it soothing. Despite Vanitas' presence, which still catches on the jagged edges of everything in Castiel that has mindlessly fought demons for billions of years.

He's taken to wandering the expanse of it, quietly slipping through the hallways. His lantern, currently, barely illuminates his surroundings, the flickering, almost fluid silvery white light in near looking like it may well just wink out in utter exhaustion.

Castiel has given too much. It doesn't feel like he's given enough, wanting to hollow himself out seeking atonement, yet knowing he cannot balance the scales of his sins through what little good he can do here before he breaks something or someone else. He just hopes that someone is going to be him, not anyone else.

The young man he encounters has silvery hair and strangely bright eyes, and Castiel looks back at him from the body that looks like a tax accountant in his mid thirties, with eyes that are a shade of blue that's just subtly a little too intense.

Castiel looks at Riku, still and not blinking quite often enough for comfort. ]

I don't usually go on visits.

[equinoctials]

[ His lantern is dim, Riku can't help but observe that fact as clearly as the exhaustion written all over the stranger's face, the way he carries himself. It could be anything - some hidden injury, a dwindling desire to keep going, a lack of food, drink, or sleep - but the cause being undefined doesn't subtract significance from his state. The silver-haired boy eyes him off.

And speaks: ]

...Fair. Do you drink coffee?

[ He turns and resumes his walk towards the kitchen area, opening up one of the cupboards. No answer is waited for - he just gets three mugs down from the cupboard, a pair of tins. His own cast iron lantern sits on the counter top as he puts a kettle of water up to boil on the stove. ]

[freetobe]

I've developed a fondness for it.

[ Castiel watches Riku prepare the coffee, thinking back to Biggerson's. Travelling between near identical locations of the chain all over the US, forcing the angels into a quantum superposition, trapped by the sameness of the chain in trying to locate Castiel, while never allowing their clinical, precise calculations to place him inside the hundreds of spaces he kept filter through through the sheer, messy unpredictability of spontaneity.

And whenever he had his pursuers sufficiently confused and frustrated, he could stop at one of the chain restaurants, order a coffee, talk to a waitress. Compliment the beverage and watch the pleased spark with which the human soul reacts to genuine compliments. ]

I remember when humans discovered coffee. They just chewed the beans, at first. Learned that from the goats... got more clever about the process later, of course.

dreams and nightmares; cw: death, violence

[antiwhat]

[ Ellever's fallen asleep on the living room floor, an ocarina on her chest, her tablet laying next to her. This is the sort of thing she used to do where she came from, too. But her mind is a much more vulnerable place than it was there. She's been plagued by doubt and hopelessness ever since she came to Beacon, and it manifests in her rolling restlessly from side to side, the ocarina tumbling to the floor next to her.

She's in the main warehouse of Zier Security, a retrofitted massive building in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. Part of it is a parking garage for the company vehicles, most of them black vans; part of it is offices and meeting spaces, for working and dealing with clients; and the rest of it is almost like a cross between a zoo and a prison for the creatures they don't think would make a safe fit with the rest of society.

At present, Ellever finds herself on the sofa in the breakroom. She has a brief flash of laying here, needles in her arm, a stern-looking woman with kind eyes hovering over her with a gun in her hand — Circe, the head of HR, someone she looked up to as a person. The someone who killed her. She gasps, jerking to her feet as a thunderous voice echoes through the warehouse: ]

IT WILL BE HER. THE YOUNGEST OF THE NINE CHILDREN. TEN CHILDREN! SHE WILL BRING ABOUT THE CURTAIN OF EVERLASTING SHADOW AS THE NINE WILL DEVOUR THIS WORLD.

[ She's heard these words in almost every nightmare she's ever had. But they don't distract her from the sight of her body back on the couch, as if she's having an out of body experience. Circe's gun is smoking. The contents of Ellever's head decorate the top of the couch and the wall next to it.

The windows of the warehouse itself darken. Pervasive whispering — what she hears when she focuses on shadows for too long — seems to go right into her ears as she covers them and stumbles out of the room, shaking. Massive noises of impact start outside, deep and unsettling sounds, alongside sirens and screaming of confused and terrified people. Ellever almost stumbles down the long hallway, the walls ending one floor up and the rest of the warehouse visible beyond. At the end of the hallway stands a dignified, fierce-looking man with white hair, dressed like a cowboy cop. He glares at her and then walks away, down another branching corridor. Ellever pales. ]

Dad! Wait—

[ But when she speeds up, the hallway where he should be is empty. Her heart is racing. Her restless turning outside of the dream has only increased. ]

[freetobe]

[ Castiel is accutely aware of Ellever. They share a living space, and although Castiel does not quite consider it home because he lacks a true concept of such things, he considers it safe, a place he can reatreat to and recover. The company he keeps there is something he's come to value. Their coexitence was one of practicality in the beginning, Castiel knowing that this place would force him to rest and recover in ways he's not used to, and Ellever needing a roof over her head.

It's become something more than that over their time together. Some would observe them in their house and consider them uncaring, maybe, but they're able to co-exist on a level that Castiel appreciates deeply. He's always aware of the souls around him, senses always stretching as far as he can to try and ensure his charges are safe. It's good to be able to exist in the same building and even room with someone without the need for much chatter. And when they do talk, the bright streaks of curiosity her soul sparks with make it easy to humour her, and share what he is comfortable sharing. She has a sharp and open mind - Castiel can appreciate that.

All this is perhaps a roundabout way of saying that he's grown quite fond of his room mate.

Her movements on the living room floor would by themselves not be loud enough to catch his attention, but Castiel has been tapping into his powers to reach out, to feel for his charges and assure their wellbeing in conditions that force most regular humans into isolation to protect themselves from the biting chill. The blizzard howls outside.

Castiel doesn't invade her dreams immediately, only when it becomes apparent that the nightmare is here to stay rather than fade on its own. He walks out into the living room then, looks down at her.

It will drain his powers, he knows that. He will, one day, kill himself trying to do good where it's a comfort rather than a necessity.

With this thought, this knowledge and certainty, Castiel kneels beside her, and focuses on the threads of her dream. He could just soothe them over, let her sleep be kinder to her.

Instead, he steps right in. Observes her death, with a needle in her arm and brain and skull splattered at the far end of a smoking gun.

He follows the essense of her dream self then, lets her pursue the specter of her father, before he himself approaches her in the empty hallway. ]

Ellever.

[antiwhat]

[ This is normally where the nightmare goes Hinky, as her father would put it. Sometimes it blurs out entirely and she can only hear the sounds. This time, as she stands in the dark hallway, everything remains crystal clear. She can hear the sounds of her terrified employees, panicked, not that far away. But over them is a terrible noise that drowns out all others. Like a huge beast roaring, rattling the windows, but not high like a snarl — low, growling before it crescendos just a bit more before the end. The hair on the back of her neck is standing up. She knows what that is. Who that is.

And then, a voice.

Ellever's heart is still racing as she whirls to face who it was, and frowns as she sees the figure of her roommate, who has never appeared in her nightmares before. Silly dreams, maybe, but never this reoccurring nightmare. ]

Castiel? [ Her voice comes out too quickly, but she manages not to jumble the sounds together. ] What — what are you doing here?

[ Maybe this is a dumb question to ask something she only imagines is a projection of her mind, like the rest of it, but he takes her by surprise. ]

[freetobe]

[ Castiel doesn't immediately look at her, eyes going up and over, as if taking the measure of the hallway while a roar rattles through it. His real measure is the depth of her nightmare, though. ]

You're unrestful. I could feel your nightmare throughout the cabin, and thought I could be of assistance.

[ After a moment or two, Castiel looks down, eyes on Ellever now. ]

You're not dreaming me, if that's what you're wondering. Just the rest.

dreams and nightmares (cw: light body horror?)

[techtype]

[Prompto isn't a huge fan of snow in general, and blizzards are even worse. Snow reminds him of loneliness, of Niflheim, of his dad and everything he knows of his dad's research...and now, currently it's annoying because it's forcing him inside when he has no video games or television to occupy himself.

It's not snowing here. Not inside the facility--or what appears to be a labyrinth of hallways and rooms--though the air gets colder going down some of them, making a nonsensical dream-transition to snowy rock walls in some places and ending in snowy patches of ground.

They're mostly empty, except for the sound of footsteps. Prompto's, mostly, as he nervously makes his way down them in an attempt to find the exit, or perhaps make any sense of the layout. However, sometimes the footsteps continue even if he's stopped, or the mechanical sound of a door opening catches his attention, and he points a handgun in that direction. Even if the gun doesn't have any bullets; it's never had bullets the last couple times he's had a dream like this.

Periodically, a PA system will crackle to life and robotically intone a number sequence: 05953234

0͟5̸̷͡95͝͏͠3̛͘͝2̨͘͠34̕ 0͟5̸̷͡95͝͏͠3̛͘͝2̨͘͠34̕ 0͟5̸̷͡95͝͏͠3̛͘͝2̨͘͠34̕

A second Prompto appears from one of the hallways. He appears normal at first, but the closer he gets to the first instance of himself, the more distorted he becomes, flickering like a bad projector image. Each flicker changes him somehow: a flesh-and-blood limb turning to black smoke or morphing into a robotic one and back, his apparent age changing for just a split second, or even disappearing altogether and reappearing further down the hallway.]

Stop it!

[When the lookalike 'moves' down the hall, he goes after it.]

What do you want from me?!

the latest

[freetobe]

[ Navigating dreamscapes can be difficult. Some are simple - scenes playing out, unfolding like a play. Others are more complex. This labyrinth isn't simple - it's twisting corridors within the man's mind, the nightmare twisting within itself, coiling.

So Castiel doesn't find him immediately, navigates the pitfulls of the psyche by letting all his non-human senses guide him through, guide him deeper. He looks like himself, here, even though he's not technically here - but he finds it best to retain a representation of his vessel. Humans aren't known to take well to the sight of angels as they are, and it wouldn't do to fuel the nightmare.

He finds him, eventually, deep within the nightmare, sees him following a copy of himself.

Castiel reaches out and places a hand upon Prompto's shoulder. It translates to a physical weight within the dream, but will not hold Prompto back unless his mind follows that impulse. If he keeps going, he'll find it hard to shake Castiel, though, who stands behind him, observant. ]

that's okay though

[techtype]

[It's a good idea Castiel showed up as himself, even though 'himself' isn't an expected part of the dream to begin with. Prompto has seen the man around Beacon a handful of times and knows vaguely what he looks and sounds like, but Castiel hasn't announced his presence within the dream audibly.

So from Prompto's point of view, the hand on his shoulder could be literally anyone, friend or foe, and after yelping and nearly falling over from surprise, he's turned to look back at Castiel, this time aiming his gun at the angel's face. It's shaking for the few seconds he keeps it trained there.]

Six-damn...why are you--how did you get here, I've never seen you here before. You're...I've seen you around town, you're not one of them. Hi?

[The other Prompto has disappeared by now, but the dream intruder is more interesting.]