ArchivedLogs:DreamySweetHoneyLove

DreamySweetHoneyLove
Dream Sequence
Dramatis Personae DreamIvan, NotRasa, WaspWomen	2013-06-07 Ivan dreams of what he doesn't have, while others look on. (Part of Them! TP)
Location Ivan's Head
Soft lapping noises echo distant and hollow, as if heard underwater instead of above it, everything moving much slower than normal, as if to allow each moment to be savored. The room is blue, hazy blue, quiet blue, distant blue, but brilliant and vibrant in places. White, like clouds or pillars registers on the senses, but it is difficult to focus on. Perhaps a countertop in the background, maybe a kitchen sink. There very much is not a toilet. Those things do not exist here. Instead, most dominant and perhaps oversized in comparison with the rest of the room, there is a bed that welcomes, holds, and protects. It is the best place to be, the most important place to be, a place one is drawn to, if one is not already there. The bed linens underhand are soft, causing only enough friction to remind a person that they are lightweight, gentle, and caring. There is no smell here, just the knowledge that it smells damp, pleasant, and cool. The room, however, is inconsequential. It exists just to hold one thing, like an oyster to the pearl within. It blossoms on the mattress, the bluest of the blues in the room, vibrant, deep and eye catching, like a sapphire in the sun, a deep cool wet, very hard and very real in the strange and insubstantial room. From this warmth spills out like limbs, curled around a body, holding it close to the core of hir. With skin the color of molten glass, soft, malleable, and responsive, the being presses fingers against the one above hir, sliding against his neck, holding his cheek, while vivid azure eyes stare up at him. He, peering downward all the same but for all intents and purposes unmoving, /observing/. Ivan does not look his normal self- a blur, a hazy double-imaged stand-in, perhaps a result of his subconscious. More clear is, perhaps, the occasional flashes of golden-yellow, /honey/ yellow, dripping from the bed onto the blue of the floor before it steadily fades and vanishes into nothing. A memory wrapped in something entirely different. Not a bad thing. But it is a /strange/ one. "The boathouse." Ivan's voice, but it comes from nowhere and everywhere all at once. "... do not have long." Class soon, after all. "There's an alarm set," a voice reminds him. It's far away, part of the memory, but also almost directly in his ear. "We've got time" The thought accompanies the ghost of a caress and the pressure of a kiss, the feel of things dragging him deeper into the dream, deeper into comfort, banishing worry. Comfort's good. It's accepted without thought, without hesitation. Movement comes all at once in here- and just like that the two are huddled against each other, the host of this dream alongside the blue /focus/ of the room. Close as he can get. Might as well be wrapped in it. As the sound of water flows back and forth in the distance, so do other things. A watchful eye, for one, but it drifts in and out without much consequence. Happiness, also. A blind sort of bliss, and the feeling that it can /afford/ to be blind, here. But something... else. Snaking its way through the slow waves where they do not belong. Something yet undetermined. It's kept at bay, pushed downward where it gathers largely unnoticed. "{... Can we stay?}" Russian, this time, and further away. Fuzzier, echoing past twice more after. "We can turn off the alarm," the kiss is deeper, pulling at him, almost blurring into him, the sensation of lips upon his, hir hips pressing upward against his, arms pulling him down and closer. "You can be here... with me." Legs entwine with his, with the added tug of hir tail around his waist, keeping him close, not letting him go. "I like being with you" Something, unspoken but understood floats between the words, carried not on the breeze, but in the vibration of the mattress springs beneath them, through to the beating of their hearts. Hirs. Mine. It's a little while before more words present themselves, but when they do, they send a ripple through the scenery. Warped, orange yellow against the calming, cool blue, leaving hairline cracks in their wake, impossibly linked across surfaces. "... {I won't--}" Russian, first, then... much more hesitantly /sweeping/ through the memory of the room- "I will not... lose you?" It belongs, but it does not. A sentence that's been in Ivan's head before, but now starkly refuses to be accepted for truth. "... 'You'..." It repeats again, as though a word from a language Ivan does not quite understand. He withdraws, his indistinct form moving /away/ from the bed as though in an attempt to look at himself upon it. On those springs, hearts beating and all. Startled suddenly as the cracks around him widen with the pour of black and gold alike, tar and honey coiling together as it oozes, surely a waste of both. Specks of black inch across the ceiling and walls from the openings of windows and doors, eating up yet more blue as they scuttle. Rasa remains where ze is, holding and kissing the Ivan on top of hir, wrapped up in him, holding him close and not letting him go. Very quiet, in the distance, fading away under the rush of panic, ze tells him, "Can't lose me. I'm right here." But the words are harder to make out, lost as he moves further away. Again, his voice comes from everywhere at once, panicked, pushing all of the other sound down into the waves as fear replaces them. "Rashka?" The bed may be far away, but it is suddenly empty and gray. Rasa is there anyway, sitting beside him, looking over at that bed, leaning his head against Ivan's shoulder, both of them resting once more on another bed, his skin the color of golden honey but somehow more real and more human than ever before. "Are you having trouble?" Worry wraps like a tube around his arm, an IV attached, keeping him chained to a lifeless chrome tree on wheels, a golden bag of life draining from that arm and draining the color of honey away from him. "Trouble with me being a boy underneath it all? Maybe … I should." the idea of laying down on that cold empty bed is drawing him back in, back deeper. Displaced and confused, Ivan does what he is wont to do - he lets things happen of their own accord. If he's got any control over what's going on here, he's not aware of it. Then again, control's always been a tricky subject for him. But it's not one he plans to avoid. This memory - tied into terrible days and confusing feelings - is not one he wishes to linger on. That bed suddenly looks far more comfortable again, and he finds himself gravitating back toward it, uncomfortably, like someone's pressed the rewind button in his brain a little too quickly. But then he's back. The cracks, still there, still leaking wrongness on the floor around, but he /himself/ is back within the calming blue. As Ivan leads Rasa back to (his) bed, it becomes increasingly difficult to tell whether Ivan is supporting him or of ze is supporting him as they stumble together back to Ivan's dorm bed, the familiar scenery seeping in and overtaking the medbay's gray, blotting it out with the color of his second home. While all is not right there, a vague memory of a fairy's wings and inhaled dust causing all sorts of visual hallucinations. It's not normal, but it is real, a memory, some place where strange things happened and yet Ivan and Rasa were safe. Ze helps him into bed, past the stacks of books that look very much like they are turning into tree roots, the posts of his bed turning into tree trunks, and those trees are coming into bud. They step over the stream that is the jacket ze peeled off his shoulders and the stumbling block boulder shoes that Rasa removed from his feet. Ze slides him into bed mostly clothed, covering him with a blanket and rubbing his back gently. There's no speech here, instead the very real feeling that Rasa is there, taking care of him, watching over him, being there for him. As bright pink camellias open upon his treeroot-books, ze melts against him, over him, covering him and pressing hir body against his back, forming hir expanded form against him, fitting together with him. Ze presses kisses to the back of his neck as sleepiness overcomes hir, the room dancing and growing green, full of nature and all things right in the world. All his bees and butterflies, moths and wasps play, flitting through the air, spiders crawling on the walls and around the tree trunks that surround the bed, as the top bunk turns into a dense canopy. It's a strange mix of belonging and not, torn away from its original place and time but belonging either way. There wasn't any talking, when this happened. At least not that Ivan remembers. But it comes anyway, from his blurryfuzzy shape. "{I'd almost forgotten about this.}" The fear's still in his voice, an echo of uncertainty, not understanding and just wanting to stay. Here. Then, from everywhere, in the same voice, "{Can we stay /here/?}" Fingers slide through his hair, comforting, the feeling perhaps not normal still, as Rasa's limbs are exaggeratedly long. They are cool, at the tips, but a warm palm rests gently against his neck before hir other hand smoothes down his shoulder and upper arm, moving around to rest over his heart. There are more kisses at the back of his neck, lips then moving in words against his skin, but the sound doesn't come from there. It emanates from inside him, echoing outward, in whatever language he needs to hear it. "{ Here is gone, it is past. You are what is important. Being with you is important. You are /here/ in my heart. I am with you, in yours. }" As if the words were summoning magic, the number of Ivan's pets in the room, free of their terraniums, increase, crawling all over the walls of sky, beginning to show the room's shape again, an ever decreasing rectangular box, with dark shapes beginning to line the walls. They creep across the grass and move in like a hoard, projecting nothing but love and affection and a desire to be home with Ivan. They cover the grass so heavily that it bows under their weight. The camellia flowers begin to drip golden honey from their yellow centers, pooling at the foot of the bed and drawing more insects to sup upon it. The swarms slide in ever closer, covering everything with a darkness that seems to fuzz up between them, dragging shadows ever closer, crawling across the now still form of Rasa, hir being melting away as the sensation of bugs crawling across Ivan's skin begins to take over. Soon they are in his hair, swallowing him up in darkness, leaving only that pool of glowing honey, one that draws him in, sweetly calling to him, inviting him to drink deep. There is nothing else - nothing else but the darkness that seems to be covering him and enveloping him and swallowing him whole. But out of the darkness, there is a hand, it grips him and tugs him, pulling his attention away from that, and into a dark and starry night, cool stone under their feet, millions of bright lights in the heavens around them. The hand is covered in blue once more, blue gloves this time, leading to green arms, then to a brilliant ocean wrapped around hir torso, eyes alight with the smile that tugs at hir lips. "There, it's much quieter out here." Ze states, the pool of honey turning into a glowing window, covered in glass, separated from them by the brick and mortar of the school at their backs. Hir hand shifts, changing the way it grips him and suddenly, they are dancing, careful not to step on each other's feet, thighs touching with each step, hir arm firm and gripping his back. "I'm glad you asked me to dance." Better. Much better. Ivan breathes deep, though it doesn't show so much in his occasionally flickering blur of a form as it does in a gust of wind passing through the scenery. "I watched." He finds himself saying, the words pulled from memory, before once more slipping into the much more familiar Russian, "{You. I watched you.}" And so he is now. Watching, gripping back as he moves along, careful, inexperienced. And possessive. Gripping tighter and pulling hir closer. Quietly, another sentence makes it from recollection into dreamscape, neutral and matter-of-factly ringing across both Ivan and his dance partner. "You were the only one I wanted to dance with." The sentence lingers longer than it should, only to be followed up with, "... 'Were'?" "Are?" Rasa asks, departing from memory and studying his expression. "Am I the only one you want to dance with? Or am I the one you /need/ to?" Ze begins pulling off hir gloves like ze did before, like ze would later in the dream, slipping hir bare hands against his neck. There are no new sensations inside him at hir touch. Instead, the world around them begins to expand. "Dancing doesn't have to be with just one person, Vanya, but you do have to remember who you need in your life." The school is slipping away, the great patio they stand on expanding in all directions, awash in midnight blues and comfortable shadows. The stars in the sky begin to burn brighter, swirling and expanding, lighting the night with a soft glow that is reflected in the plants around them, in the flowers in their planters and the azaleas at the edge of the porch. Their greenery starts to encroach on the porch, and their petals begin to burn with colorful fire. Ivan's expression is not a clear one- as fuzzy blurry as his form is here, that's about as fuzzy blurry as his /presence/ is as well. Torn between two different points of view - if not more, the relevance of either fleeting, intermingling. Finally, conflicting emotions getting the better of him, he just... gives up. His head dipping to bury his face against hirs, then into hir neck. Tired. Confused. Caring less and less about the environment and more about just this. "{I need the good people. But they keep... getting hurt, disappearing, and I want to fix it but I don't-- fucking understand.}" The frustration is palpable, now, grip tightening hard enough to hurt, were this a situation in which it would. "There are just things we cannot change, people we cannot fix. All we can do is be brave and face each day with what we do have." Rasa's hands slide down his chest, cradling the mist and blur that makes him up, hands almost blurr join with him, hir green hands changing the color of his shirt where they meet. "I am here. I am with you. I have not disappeared. Yes, sometimes I get hurt, but I get better, because you're with me." The harder Ivan presses hir to his body, the more they start to blur together, infecting him with hir color, keeping him steady, strong and thoughtful. Hir arms wrap around him, hands turning to vines that hold him tight while hir feet root down deep into the stone at their feet. The buzzing, that is neither English or Russian, {You have everything you need right here.} A form that looks so much like what Ivan clings to, except not just one. Three indistinct forms approach, and Ivan finds himself between them, and RasaDream. {Stay with us, and you have a hive. A /whole hive/. Just like you always wanted.} They step forward and offer him the symbol of staying. A tiny cup, not much bigger than a shot glass, made out of some papery, ceramic material. Inside the cup is a luminescent golden liquid, potent with all the promises of remaining with the hive for ever. All of the happiness of surrendering to Thea, and the collective. They would all be happy together, forever. Rasa slips up behind him, wrapping hir arms around his torso, fingers splaying across his chest, watching the wasps approach over his shoulder. Color swirls across hir skin as ze slips around his form a moment later presenting hirself instead of him. Ze looks back at Ivan, studying him as hir weight leans against his front. Ze closes hir eyes as if the touch of him gives hir energy and strength, then turns to face the wasp women with more stubbornness at the core of hir being. "He's mine." Ze replies flatly to their buzzing as if understanding every bit of it. "He needs me. But, as it is the last dance of the year, I'll let you take your turn, but you can't keep him. Not without me." Ze steps forward and takes the cup out of their fingers, turning back to Ivan with a triumphant expression. "Come here, Vanya. I'll stay with you forever." The cup is then pressed to her lips and poured inside hir mouth, a small stream of the golden liquid trickling down hir chin. Ze wraps a hand behind his neck and presses in for a kiss, sharing the sweet nectar. {No.} Ivan's reply comes simply, in no language he's aware of, his form watching but having ceased to /act/. {You are ours.} {He drank it,} {for her.} {And she,} {for him…} The three wasp-women stand around the bed, finishing each others' sentences, watching while Ivan sleeps. He had tasted the poison they make, and would be safely asleep for hours. {He misses} {his tiny hive.} {It makes} {me sad.} {Me too,} they say in unison, giggling. {What would Thea do?} {She won't be back for days.} {She wants him to be happy.} {Happy enough to stay.} {He needs the Rasa.} {And some of his tiny hive.} {Our hive will grow!} All three women women smile and sway in the blissful moment of imagination. The picture in their minds is one of New York swarming with bee-people, with Thea as their queen, and the skyscrapers turned to giant nests. Bees and wasps finally living in harmony together thanks to Thea. They hum and buzz sharing the image for several minutes before opening their eyes again. {We'll have to get… dressed.} The disappointment is palpable and felt by all, but Thea wouldn't have left them unprepared, of course. She is careful and caring and loves all her creations. The three go to what looked like a pile of old cloth and lift up three, dark brown burqas. They dress carefully, helping each other to fold delicate wings oh-so-gently downward to rest beneath the robes. {He remembers her scent,} {so clearly. We} {can find her easily.}