Not Until We Are Lost

The room was simply appointed. The clothing was familiar. The leather armor. The weaponry. All of it was achingly familiar, but although he consider these possessions his own, they seemed out of place. He'd not had a home for some time. But now, he felt disassociated from everything that had ever made him what he had been before.

Ilyien paused with a hand against the hilt of his sword, then dropped his hand to his side again. At length, he pulled on a plain jacket - one of the ones he'd worn in New Dietrich - and stepped beyond the door of his room.

Sabev's consciousness was close. He knew he should find her. Even wanted to. But there was a greater part of him that was simply weary. Weary of all of this. He'd lost his people and his position in his society long ago. Now, it felt he was losing his very identity. Without knowing it, he'd set his shoulder against the smooth, cool wall beside his door. It hardly seemed to matter what he was. Even his god had gone silent.

The sound of footsteps pulled him back to himself. He drew himself up slowly from the wall and straightened.

The not sleeping was more difficult now that he was in a confined space.

Whether it was New Orleans or London, or even the Underworld, Morpheus was used to a whopping amount of freedom while the world slept. He'd either go out on the town and weave dreams by remote control or he'd sit in one of his apartments and throw himself into his work for hours. But either way, he wasn't the kind to be very still.

In New Orleans, he could often be found wandering the Garden District and the French Quarter, if he wasn't in his apartment. In London, it was a walk along the Thames that he preferred. Back and forth until he decided to let go of the details himself and either entrust them to his brothers or put it all on autopilot.

The ship made him keenly aware of how not-human he was, when his humanity was something Morpheus was usually most proud of.

So tonight, when the rest of the captives on the ship slept, Dream was awake. He was in their dreams if they were interesting or he felt he wouldn't anger them (he didn't know them well enough yet to ignore protests and just have fun at their expense), but it was just so goddamn quiet.

And he paced the halls.