August 27th, 2008
|05:05 pm - keys (Snake Crossover)|
Author's Note: Some people we know are in a Jeep. I'm pretty sure this Jeep is heading to Pen Howell's place. Emma is driving; passengers are Dance and Emberley and Drin. There has been some trouble on the road, before and behind them.
If you're getting into this, make sure you get added to nagasvoice's Dollstory filter. Please also see kiyakotari's recent entries (look for "snake crossover" tags and read them in chronological order) so you can see what the guys in the Jeep are headed into.
This nutty three-way adventure may be subject to a certain amount of editing for continuity.
“Well, first of all,” Emberley is saying in his dream, “I don’t really get why there’s such a reluctance to actually get the instruments to play together, in these student pieces. Unless we get all Adorno on it and talk about commuter trains.” There’s a polite inquiry from the back of the room of the dream. “Commuter trains,” Emberley hears himself say obligingly, eyebrows going up and down, “you know the experience. We’re going in the same direction. We’re all rolling somewhere together. But we’re all alone.”
His eyes flutter open as he feels broad, wet leaves stroke his face. The Jeep—he’s still in the Jeep—is negotiating a terrain change, moving from pitted blacktop to a narrow, deeply carved deer path or hog trail or something. The air is full of latent rain. The Jeep is moving almost delicately, like a spider, over tufted hummocks and ruts left behind by ancient tires.
“Christ on a bike,” says the gal behind the wheel.
“Want me to spell you?” asks Drin from the back seat, the Drin, Emberley remembers, the Shadow King and ghost patron, the answer to a lot of unasked questions, the maker and unmaker of war.
“I’m fine, love,” the gal replies, not sounding so sure.
“We look to rejoin the main road up apiece,” Drin says, and Emberley knows that tone well, the tone of the reassuring captain of the ship, peerless and perhaps immortal; the one who knows the dangerous reef is nearby. “They still have to go by the road, the long way around. We get back on the blacktop, we’ll have to wake him up for directions. Till then, straight on until morning, my lady.”
It’s hard to keep his eyes open. The musician Dance is sprawled in the back, surrounded by strange, glinting lights—an artifact, Emberley thinks, of the dream, the other dream, the first dream, Eric standing beside him in the yogurt section at Trader Joe’s, holding his hand and making him recite the sequence, slowly, his left eye just beginning to wander—it does that, Emberley knows, when Eric is pushed past endurance.
“Remember this,” Eric said in the dream, and Simon smiled a thin smile beside him.
“He’s got the numerical sequence now. That’ll bring up the locks. Give him the key.”
Eric, grey in the fluorescent lights; and his hands, touching Emberley’s, cold.
“Eric, give him the key,” Simon said softly.
Empty carts, piloted by no one, coursing the aisles around them. Emberley hearing their rattling wheels as they pass. For a long time no other sound; then Eric, sobbing.
Emberley, slowly surfacing, remembers: this terrible sound from the other dream, the first dream. He remembers the bracingly cold air from the dairy cooler, and Eric’s baritone voice, and Simon’s light touch on the back of his neck, at the precise point the spirit guys say that gods like to enter the human body.
Of course, he heard that voice in his dreams for years. Certain pieces of music he had to stop playing, stop performing, because he would shudder to a halt in mid-stride, in tears.
The Jeep shies right, the gal—Emma, jesus, that’s her name—curses impressively, brings the vehicle to heel, and Emberley flinches, blinks phantom numbers away. A sound remains, it’s right in his ear, lover’s voice in lag time, crooning a wordless song.
“Oh god, I promise, I’ll remember,” he cries, and Emma, her face fierce, quickly turns her head to look at him, struggling in the passenger seat.
“Emberley? Remember what, love?”
Drin reaches across from the back seat, touches him then.
“Em? Wake up, son. Wake up. We’ve got terrorists.”
Current Location: just ahead of the storm
Yeah, do! I'm figuring not long after Emma gets them back on the main road, they're going to come acropper on Wren and Jian and the dead bugs.
Pen's funny gifts are going to come into play here with the unlocking of this viola case. Let's hope whatever's in there can help keep Dance from killing Drin, and Emma, and maybe everyone else.
Hope he does remember!
Drin is the shadow king... Emberley has a tendency towards hero worship, huh? And a very tactile subconscious. Can I back-seat drive at you, the way I've been doing with nagasvoice?
Sure, rock n roll.
I don't know if Emberley is actually that comfortable with Drin. But he knows a little about the power that's here. And a little about what's back of it.
If anyone out there's hero-worshipping Drin, I'm afraid it's me XD
Likewise--I love what you've been doing on the Naga side, and I look forward to anything you want to get up to here!
I think he's been a guest lecturer many, many times.
Emberley: I speak academic AND NPR, too. ^___^
Mmm, now THIS is just the thing to wake up to. ^___^ Lovely. Poor Eric. Ben's dreams are almost as disturbing as the ones I just dragged myself out of. I didn't have a sobbing boyfriend, thank god.
"We've got terrorists." I want to know if that's part of the dream or not. I'm guessing not. Whooo boy.
Yeah, no kidding - they probably look like trouble, but not terrorists. Though they've pulled that appearance off many times in the past, undercover-like.