[Now she's just musing, but her musing isn't quite the same he usually sees. There are skips and leaps all throughout. It keeps him listening, and in the distance, the whales' voices are replaced by the steady rushing of waves, like whispers creeping across the sand.]
They all sink eventually. I might be there when they do, but I've often been there when they did not.
[His world doesn't have those yet. Lights that turn green. Enough cars to need traffic regulated, for that matter. But he can see forever, so it's not difficult to imagine how it goes.]
[Now he's actually getting up off that little boat and walking toward her. He's got boots on, so there's no need to worry about splinters or glass shards or nails, or odd glowy substances in the sand.]
[Sensible people don't usually meet a Leviathan. After all, let's face it, sensible people tend to be incredibly boring.
She takes his hand, and she'll find it feels much like any human's might, just cold. In the span of seconds, all the surrounding impressions fall away, the smell of water and sand, the sound of waves, the broken things along the shore. The shore. For a moment, they're both suspended in absolute nothingness.
Then something new unfolds, starting under her feet. Green, green grass, and shade, and the void giving way to what looks very like a blue sky. All around them, things are comingtogether, green and blue and all aglow, nothing like the foggy shore. He lets go of her hand. Incidentally, he's still floating, ignoring the gravity that might apply to everything else.
[She's never seen anything like that before. She doesn't have her camera here, and she wishes she did, but then she thinks it probably wouldn't work, anyway. Dream stuff isn't like real stuff. That's kind of the point, really. It felt... not like floating, or flying, or even drowning, but... like trying to build something out of ash.
Well. It's green now. And growing!]
Somebody sure likes summer, huh? [All it needs are cicadas.] Oh! [The grass feels like grass, when she steps forward through it.]
[There are no cicadas here, or birds. The tree makes a sound like wind moving its leaves, but someone forgot to add the actual wind. Oh well. The Outsider smiles faintly at her reaction. It has an innocence to it. A kind of honesty.]
She was an artist. But out of all the beauty in the world, growing things were her favorite.
[she'll be hanging out in one of those doorways now. Doesn't wanna get rained on that much, after all!]
Okay! Hmm... Oh! Maybe... try thinking about rain...?
[Couldn't hurt, right? So she thinks of rain. The light showers and the downpours and the kind that's more like mist ad the kind that feels cold on a hot day and the kind that feels cold on a cold day.]
[She thinks, and he can sense her think, her imaginations and memories, and one way or another, the Void reacts. Water falls, dripping out of the make-believe sky without the aid of clouds. It's saltwater though. And once it hits the ground and gathers back together into big enough drops, it drips right back down.
When it strikes leaves and blades of grass, they whisper.]
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They all sink eventually. I might be there when they do, but I've often been there when they did not.
[A shrug. What's morality to the Void?]
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Can you go anywhere you want?
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[That might be a smile.]
Can't you?
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[In her town. That's why she tries to leave so often, in whatever way she can. Some of those ways are dreams. Some of them aren't.]
It's not so bad. Like waiting for the light to turn green, but there aren't any cars coming, so you cross the street anyway.
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So you leave often.
[In whichever way.]
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Oh! But I bet you don't have to go at all, huh? It'd be kinda hard to build one here, you know.
[There's so many broken things. That doesn't mean they fit back together.]
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[Nobody who stays here for long hangs on to their sanity very well, says experience.]
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[Or maybe they sank on those ships after all.]
I guess that might get kind of lonely.
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It might, but I can go anywhere I want. So I can visit anyone I feel like.
[We're not saying those people necessarily want to see him though.]
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Does everyone dream the same things? With the broken ships and the sea?
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Everyone dreams differently. Some bring buildings, some moments from their lives frozen in time. Some bring gardens.
[A beat.]
Would you like to see?
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Okay! Do I have to do anything...?
[she's never dreamwalked before ok.]
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All you have to do is take my hand.
[He's offering it.]
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She doesn't do any of those things. She grabs his hand.]
Hee, it's like going on a date. [She's kidding, she's kidding. Even omniscient dream dwellers can get teased, okay.]
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She takes his hand, and she'll find it feels much like any human's might, just cold. In the span of seconds, all the surrounding impressions fall away, the smell of water and sand, the sound of waves, the broken things along the shore. The shore. For a moment, they're both suspended in absolute nothingness.
Then something new unfolds, starting under her feet. Green, green grass, and shade, and the void giving way to what looks very like a blue sky. All around them, things are coming together, green and blue and all aglow, nothing like the foggy shore. He lets go of her hand. Incidentally, he's still floating, ignoring the gravity that might apply to everything else.
Go on, take in the new surroundings. He'll wait.]
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Well. It's green now. And growing!]
Somebody sure likes summer, huh? [All it needs are cicadas.] Oh! [The grass feels like grass, when she steps forward through it.]
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The Outsider smiles faintly at her reaction. It has an innocence to it. A kind of honesty.]
She was an artist. But out of all the beauty in the world, growing things were her favorite.
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[Doot doot doot exploring continues.]
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They will grow forever, or until nobody imagines them anymore.
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[what goes in here? more exploring.]
Hey, if I thought of it, would it rain? Or get windy?
[he did say imagines, right?]
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You could try.
[Her chances are pretty good. He might help and pretend that's not cheating. Maybe.]
After all this is a dream.
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Okay! Hmm... Oh! Maybe... try thinking about rain...?
[Couldn't hurt, right? So she thinks of rain. The light showers and the downpours and the kind that's more like mist ad the kind that feels cold on a hot day and the kind that feels cold on a cold day.]
no subject
When it strikes leaves and blades of grass, they whisper.]
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What are they saying? [The grass, she means.]
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They whisper secrets. Some of them, men or women were too scared to speak of.
[Or too broken.]