Oct. 4th, 2013


[info]lady_diviner

Study (Morpheus/Annabelle)

There was still the little matter of having been kidnapped, ostensibly by aliens. Once she'd climbed back out of the languor Morpheus spun on her behalf, her mind returned back to that issue. With a more positive perspective, this time, she decided that perhaps Morpheus was right. Perhaps they really should see what these creatures were all about before charging in and demanding to be returned again.

This was certainly nothing that happened every day. Even to a deity.

Especially to deities.

In the common room, Nanshe had been watching the aliens for at least a good hour. There were some that grouped together, some that were gray, some that seemed like they might actually be walking metal, some that she caught mimicking other people in the room with them -- there were quite a few different types. None of them approached her. It was fair; she hadn't approached any of them, either.

Sep. 27th, 2013


[info]he_never_dreams

but he talks like a gentleman, like you imagined (nanshe)

Morpheus did not turn in, so to speak, the way other people, or even other gods, did for the evening. He'd be up all night, either pacing or motionless in a red arm chair, the French doors of his apartment in New Orleans thrown open. He'd only half-occupy the Waking World, if half. Most of him was thrown into weaving dreams for and about the sleeping portion of the planet.

He did not wake up in a spaceship, therefore. Dream rarely slept, and tonight was no such occasion. No. Rather, when he realized his body was arranged differently in the red arm chair, that there was no breeze from the open doors... he came back to Waking Life entirely, leaving dreams in the hands of the myriad Oneiroi.

As someone who routinely altered reality based on very specific parameters, Dream was not an easy being to fool. That he had, apparently, been taken from his home and placed somewhere else--somewhere he'd never seen before, though it had a familiar red chair and some poppies in vases--simply flabbergasted him.

He got to his feet, putting on his shoes, which he found next to the chair, and explored the room. Down to the last detail, every item was his. Loki perhaps was involved in this, or...

Well, who hadn't Morpheus annoyed in the last century?

He sighed, very deeply.

Running his tongue over his teeth, annoyed, Morpheus opened the door to his room and ventured out into the hallway.

"Okay," he called down it, voice very melodic, almost sing-song, "Good trick. Now, let's be a nice asshole and put me back in my flat, hmm, before I allow Phoebetor access to your head forever and sit and watch with popcorn."

The last word was drawn out, almost comically. Popcooooooorrrrnnnnnn.