[ Murphy's never experienced anything like this in his entire life of seventeen years. There's nothing to feel when they make contact. Or maybe there's no contact at all, something intangible.
His fingers splay, watching the light. The smell. The sound. The thin branching of dendrites. It soaks into his arm, making it glow. Murphy looks around when the glow in his arm dies out. ] I told you I wouldn't shit a brick [ , he murmurs. ]
[ With that same murky shift in time that occurred when the light first appeared, the boy Ronan has abruptly taken its place, sitting a couple feet in front of Murphy. He looks like he's been sitting there a while, only of course he hasn't been. ]
[ The concept of time appears to be self-evident, straight-forward, but it can get very complex very quickly. Time is not always linear.
And, just like that, Ronan appears. A smirk hangs on the corners of Murphy's lips ]. Only if you're a mob trying to kill me.
[ He pauses, gives himself a few seconds to consider his next choice of words. ] So what are you exactly? I thought you said you looked like your dad? Unless your dad looks - is whatever the hell you are.
[ Murphy chews on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Ronan can see that Murphy is trying to make sense out of the things he's telling him. ] Okay, so, you're dad dreamt up your mom. And they made you so you're a dreamer dream. Dream dreamer. Are you the only one like you?
[ Murphy plops down onto the floor, sitting across from Ronan. This has clearly piqued his curiosity. ] Do you see and hear things differently when you're-- [ His hand lazily waves into the air, mimicking Ronan. ]
[ Ronan shrugs at the first question. He's only known two dreamers. One was his father and the other one - Kavinsky - is as gay as Ronan, which doesn't exactly lend itself to biological procreation. If dreamers are rare, then dream dreamers are certainly rarer. ]
I don't see or hear when I'm like that. It's more...
[ How to put this... ]
I just know. Like my senses are everywhere. And if I go inside your head, then I know everything you know and you can know everything I know. And if I'm in more than one person, then I know everything they all know. And I can bring us together, like we're all one consciousness... which isn't usually as peace-love-and-harmony as it sounds.
[ Murphy is quiet (a rarity so please take a mental picture of this moment, Ronan), slowly digesting everything that Ronan is explaining to him. ]
It doesn't sound like something I'd want to experience. [ That sounded too much of an overload of information that Murphy could live without. ] Is that how that works when you go into people's dreams?
[ Murphy's assumption isn't wrong. Things have got extremely fucky when Ronan ended up in too many minds at once. ]
Okay, this gets even weirder, so bear with me. I'm not really going into your dream. I'm gonna be your dream. And that's how you'll be able to take what's in your head and bring it out here, because I'm there to open the transdimensional gateway of subfuckery. And because I'm your dream, and I happen to be a pretty damn accommodating dream, you'll be able to control everything in there just by thinking about it. I'll give you whatever you want.
[ In truth, he has no choice but to give it, once he's there. ]
And if you wanna see me in there, with this handsome face and everything, all you have to do is want me there and I'll be there.
[ Murphy understands the words that are coming out of Ronan's mouth. They are all complete thoughts, it's just the application that's got him a little confused. He's still wary, even though Murphy told him before that he wanted to change his room around. ]
Do I just go to sleep on my own or do you knock me out? And, yeah, I'd probably want you there with your handsome face and everything.
[ They're all a little weird in this house even if Ronan has the crown. ]
I didn't mean you literally knocking my ass out. I figured you had - fuck - I don't know, fairy dust? You know like in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorthy strolls through the poppy fields? [ Yes, yes, someone read this to him when he was an innocent child. ] Something like that.
[ Murphy leans back, resting against the bedframe. ] It'll be a little bit before I go to sleep.
[ Ronan does, as a matter of fact, have something that will knock Murphy out immediately. But he wouldn't feel great about handing Murphy a pill that'll send him hurtling into sleep. This whole process is shady enough without the drugs.
Instead, he pulls his bottomless flask from his pocket and offers it up. ]
[ Murphy takes the flask with little hesitation. He does, however, stop to smell the contents inside the flask. The strong smell of alcohol stings his nose and he tries to shake it out. ]
Well hot damn, here we go. [ He takes a generous sip, maybe too big of one for someone who has never tasted whiskey before. The sting is stronger in his throat and it burns all the way down to his stomach, leaving a warm trail behind. Murphy grins through the burn, waits for it to settle before taking another sip. ] I don't like how it makes everything warm.
You'd know more than me. [ He assumes that the older version of himself liked whiskey so maybe he'd grow to like it, how whiskey leaves that distinct warmth in your body. ]
Are you just going to sit here and watch me until I go to sleep? At least turn into yourself, maybe turn into a comfortable pillow or something. [ Murphy teases, taking one last sip before pulling himself up onto his feet.
He wipes the corner of his mouth with a knuckle as he settles down onto his bed. It's early morning, nearly 4 o'clock and he could fall asleep easily now. ] Maybe sing me a song.
[ Oh, is Murphy joking? Because Ronan, in fact, has the voice of an angel, and nowhere near enough opportunity to show it off these days. Getting good and comfortable right where he is, he lifts his chin and immediately begins singing A Stór mo Chroí in the smoothest of timbres: ]
A stór mo chroí when you're far away From the home you will soon be leaving It's many's the time by night and by day When your heart will be sorely grieving...
[ It was a joke, Murphy was not being serious when he asked Ronan to sing to him so imagine his surprise when Ronan starts to sing. Murphy has a tender spot in his heart for music. He'd sing to himself most nights but not recently. He gets hit with a wave of emotions, it feels so physical and it makes his chest hurt.
Murphy wants to tell Ronan to shut up but his voice is so nice, so comforting and he hasn't been sung to it a really long while. Instead, he lays on his side, back facing Ronan because he would like to shed some tears without Ronan seeing.
So he closes his eyes, the corners wet with this tears and tries to go to sleep. ]
For the stranger's land may be bright and fair And rich in all treasures golden You'll pine, I know, for the long, long ago And the heart that is never olden...
[ The moment of Murphy's drifting into sleep, where reality ends and the dream begins, is a blurred passing. At some point, Ronan moves from the floor to the edge of the bed, leaning over Murphy to comb his hair back with soothing fingers.
He's home now. Murphy's home, whatever he wants home to look like. ]
[ Murphy keeps his eyes closed long enough that, eventually, sleep takes him. Sleeping soundly and at peace.
It's dark, his dream. A blank canvas before it spills into different hues of greens and browns. Things take shape, the ground, the grass, the trees, the light of the sun seeping through the branches. He's on the ground. All alone for now, the dropship open and in the background.
[ Ronan is still there, just beside Murphy, like he'd promised he'd be. He's tall enough that even on his knees beside the chair, he's about eye-to-eye with Murphy. His singing echoes through the trees, so that the song continues a moment or two after his lips have already stopped moving.
His fingers pause in their caress. He leans in to murmur in Murphy's ear: ]
[ Murphy's looking at the dropship expectantly, he's waiting for someone to come out. It's the familiar voice that lures his attention away, drifts right to where Ronan is crouched, besides that damn chair. ] We're here. [ Murphy confirms, taking slow steps toward Ronan.
Everything is so distinct and vivid, he can even smell the dirt and the grass. That distinct smell right after it rains. ] Am I doing all of this?
[ Ronan's on his feet suddenly, though the moment of his standing somehow went unnoticed. He raises his hands toward the canopy of the trees in a grand gesture. ]
A second later, or maybe it had vanished before now, the chair disappears. It's replaced by a gentle breeze and the branches sway soundlessly. Little things are changing if Murphy realizes it or not. Parts of the farmhouse start appearing, slowly building into the scene. ]
Welcome to the ground. [ He pauses when he steps next to Ronan - and now they're the same height. ]
[ If Ronan has noticed this change to his height, he doesn't comment on it. He merely looks around, mildly curious about the shifting of their surroundings. ]
[ A subtle change that not even Murphy, himself, notices. Sections of the Arch start to bleed into his dream and soon they are walking down a metal skeleton of a hallway. And, at the end, it leads up the stairs to their bedrooms. ] Not always. Does this happen? Things not making much sense? [ Noting the mismatch scene that he's been creating. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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His fingers splay, watching the light. The smell. The sound. The thin branching of dendrites. It soaks into his arm, making it glow. Murphy looks around when the glow in his arm dies out. ] I told you I wouldn't shit a brick [ , he murmurs. ]
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Yeah, you don't scare easy.
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And, just like that, Ronan appears. A smirk hangs on the corners of Murphy's lips ]. Only if you're a mob trying to kill me.
[ He pauses, gives himself a few seconds to consider his next choice of words. ] So what are you exactly? I thought you said you looked like your dad? Unless your dad looks - is whatever the hell you are.
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This looks like my dad.
[ Now he gestures toward the air, indicating... whatever it was Murphy just saw. ]
That looked like my mom. Who was a dream. Dreamt by my dad. Who was a dreamer. Which makes me both, I guess. Or something new? I don't fucking know.
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[ Murphy plops down onto the floor, sitting across from Ronan. This has clearly piqued his curiosity. ] Do you see and hear things differently when you're-- [ His hand lazily waves into the air, mimicking Ronan. ]
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I don't see or hear when I'm like that. It's more...
[ How to put this... ]
I just know. Like my senses are everywhere. And if I go inside your head, then I know everything you know and you can know everything I know. And if I'm in more than one person, then I know everything they all know. And I can bring us together, like we're all one consciousness... which isn't usually as peace-love-and-harmony as it sounds.
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It doesn't sound like something I'd want to experience. [ That sounded too much of an overload of information that Murphy could live without. ] Is that how that works when you go into people's dreams?
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Okay, this gets even weirder, so bear with me. I'm not really going into your dream. I'm gonna be your dream. And that's how you'll be able to take what's in your head and bring it out here, because I'm there to open the transdimensional gateway of subfuckery. And because I'm your dream, and I happen to be a pretty damn accommodating dream, you'll be able to control everything in there just by thinking about it. I'll give you whatever you want.
[ In truth, he has no choice but to give it, once he's there. ]
And if you wanna see me in there, with this handsome face and everything, all you have to do is want me there and I'll be there.
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Do I just go to sleep on my own or do you knock me out? And, yeah, I'd probably want you there with your handsome face and everything.
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You don't want me knocking you out, man. Just go to sleep on your own and I'll meet you on the other side.
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I didn't mean you literally knocking my ass out. I figured you had - fuck - I don't know, fairy dust? You know like in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorthy strolls through the poppy fields? [ Yes, yes, someone read this to him when he was an innocent child. ] Something like that.
[ Murphy leans back, resting against the bedframe. ] It'll be a little bit before I go to sleep.
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Instead, he pulls his bottomless flask from his pocket and offers it up. ]
It's called whiskey.
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Well hot damn, here we go. [ He takes a generous sip, maybe too big of one for someone who has never tasted whiskey before. The sting is stronger in his throat and it burns all the way down to his stomach, leaving a warm trail behind. Murphy grins through the burn, waits for it to settle before taking another sip. ] I don't like how it makes everything warm.
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[ Ronan, at least, has found a great deal of comfort in liquor's warm embrace. ]
Close your eyes and you'll be out in no time.
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Are you just going to sit here and watch me until I go to sleep? At least turn into yourself, maybe turn into a comfortable pillow or something. [ Murphy teases, taking one last sip before pulling himself up onto his feet.
He wipes the corner of his mouth with a knuckle as he settles down onto his bed. It's early morning, nearly 4 o'clock and he could fall asleep easily now. ] Maybe sing me a song.
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A stór mo chroí when you're far away
From the home you will soon be leaving
It's many's the time by night and by day
When your heart will be sorely grieving...
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Murphy wants to tell Ronan to shut up but his voice is so nice, so comforting and he hasn't been sung to it a really long while. Instead, he lays on his side, back facing Ronan because he would like to shed some tears without Ronan seeing.
So he closes his eyes, the corners wet with this tears and tries to go to sleep. ]
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And rich in all treasures golden
You'll pine, I know, for the long, long ago
And the heart that is never olden...
[ The moment of Murphy's drifting into sleep, where reality ends and the dream begins, is a blurred passing. At some point, Ronan moves from the floor to the edge of the bed, leaning over Murphy to comb his hair back with soothing fingers.
He's home now. Murphy's home, whatever he wants home to look like. ]
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It's dark, his dream. A blank canvas before it spills into different hues of greens and browns. Things take shape, the ground, the grass, the trees, the light of the sun seeping through the branches. He's on the ground. All alone for now, the dropship open and in the background.
A rickety chair under a tree. ]
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His fingers pause in their caress. He leans in to murmur in Murphy's ear: ]
We're here.
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Everything is so distinct and vivid, he can even smell the dirt and the grass. That distinct smell right after it rains. ] Am I doing all of this?
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This whole world is yours. It answers to you.
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A second later, or maybe it had vanished before now, the chair disappears. It's replaced by a gentle breeze and the branches sway soundlessly. Little things are changing if Murphy realizes it or not. Parts of the farmhouse start appearing, slowly building into the scene. ]
Welcome to the ground. [ He pauses when he steps next to Ronan - and now they're the same height. ]
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Weren't we always on the ground?
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