MarinaNova Asylum

[Shallan panicked as she started falling asleep] Pattern, no, I don't want to sleep... [despite everything she tries to do, the girl falls asleep... and dreams..]
[Dream One]

White carpet. A picture, hanging on the wall in the back. Furniture, walls painted light blue. You can be sitting on one of the chairs, or the floor, though you seem to have regressed in age to being a child of about eleven or twelve. Two adults burst into the room, one shouting. The woman wore a dress of blue and gold, her red hair falling around her shoulders. Mother. The man you don't recognize. Mother shouts at you, calling you "one of them" as her friend pulls a weapon on you.

Father rushes into the room and attacks the man while Mother advanced on you.

(ooc - This dream can quickly go darker, depending on how you want to go with this.)

[Dream Two]

The walls surround you, endlessly twisting back and forth on each other as you walk them, marking your way at every turn with some colored chalk. You can travel either up or down. Up leads to a room open to the sky. Down leads you deeper into the mountain.

[ i. the shipping container ]

[ The space is small, enclosed, and dark, but what might be the most prominent characteristic of all is the smell. It's overpowering, heavy with that telltale hint of copper that leaves it unmistakable to those familiar with it. Should you be one of those familiar, your suspicions would find themselves confirmed when you move. The resistance pulling at your steps is thanks to the viscous fluid thickly coating the floor - blood, congealing after being left undisturbed for days on the metallic surface.

There is no other trace remaining of the crime, not the killer nor the victim. It's simply an enclosed metal room coated in blood. Though nobody else is immediately visible, you may sense that you aren't entirely on your own. Someone is watching you, but whoever it may be is not apparent - not yet decided for your particular case. It could be a traumatized child, or it could be a predator waiting to strike. ]

[ ii. the sunshine state ]

[ This setting is certainly quite different. It's one of Miami's sunny beaches, teeming with tourists and locals alike, children playing in the water or on the beachfront playground as their families watch from their lounge chairs.

Dexter is here, and perhaps you find yourself near him, standing at the edge of the beach where sand meets grass, removed from the crowds and watching, more observer than participant himself. ]

[ First Dream ]

[ Ten Forward, the crew lounge of the USS Enterprise-D, is where you will find yourself. It is duplicated down to the smallest detail. The table placement, the impressive view, the lighting... The only difference is the patrons, and the complete silence. The normal, usually cheerful, din is completely absent.

Lal is waiting tables, just as she did when she was actually living on the ship. At one table sits Data, flanked by Counselor Troi and Guinan, the woman who runs Ten Forward. Oddly, none of them are chatting, though they are all smiling serenely, and making the same exaggerated head movements. Identical to the ones Lal so often employs.

Scattered among the rest of the tables, are the entirety of the Enterprise's senior officers (and Wesley), the core group she'd witnessed the most interactions with. And they're all silent and still, save for those disjointed head tilts. ]

[ Second Dream ]

[ It's unlikely that most would recognize this setting, even those familiar with the actual location. It's a rather sophisticated laboratory that's been constructed from images of the ones in the Daystrom Annex on Galor IV. It is lit only by the ambient glow of the few computer panels that are still working, intermittently placed along the walls.

The room is circular, and next to each panel in the wall, is a large glass cylinder. At first, it might be a little difficult to see exactly what's inside of them, thanks to the lighting. But a sudden flash of light through the windows, thanks to the raging storm outside, provides a glimpse, even if only for a few seconds. Inside each is the form of Lal's father, Data, though very much younger than the one in Marina. Younger, even, than he was when he created her. They all appear deactivated though.

The room is completely deserted otherwise, aside from a lone figure on a metal table directly in the middle of the lab. It is Lal, and she might appear to be deactivated along with all the other androids. But, upon closer inspection, her eyes are moving. Darting back and forth wildy while the rest of her remains motionless. ]

dream option one: mystic falls cemetery.

[ there's a crow. it's the first thing you notice, how it's perched on top of stone and screaming before flapping away, leading your eyes into an old cemetery. the sign reads: "mystic falls cemetery, estd, 1792."

there's something different about this place, whether you've been here or not. a girl you might know with straight dark hair is leaning against one of the tombstones, her diary in her lap. she's writing. what's odd is this cemetery? it's in somebody's backyard. elena's backyard. her house is not three yards behind her. if you walk inside the cemetery grounds, you might catch some names on the headstones.

most of them are gilberts: "john, miranda, grayson." one says "jenna sommers" and another "alaric saltzman." maybe you recognize "stefan salvatore" and "caroline forbes," too. one of them, the one elena's sitting at? it has her name. ]

dream option two: hunting.

[ the bar and grill you're in is small and packed. she's a girl with a warm smile, drinking without a care in the world. she's even throwing her hands up in celebration at the game of pool she's winning. but something's not quite right about this place - there are too many shadows. you might notice the girl's smile isn't quite as warm as it seems. she pulls a man into those shadows. you watch as the veins around her eyes darken and her eyes redden. she doesn't hesitate to lunge for his neck and viciously pierce his skin with her teeth. ]

dream option three: home/potential smutty option.

[ there are flowers on her sheets. red. there's a window seat behind you and a breeze that comes in. a vanity to your left has a mirror. there are pictures stuck in the frame, of elena and her friends, her family. this is elena's room, at home. maybe this is where you start. maybe the shower is running in the next room and you're in there with her, her wet lips insistent against yours. you could be clothed and on the bed. player's choice~. ]

ooc: everyone is welcome to all options! if anyone wants to choose the smut option but fade-to-black, that's totally okay with me! we can discuss. :)

Tattoo Parlor.

Maaan, if this place made any sense as a prison, you'd think they'd even allow this kinda thing? Someone'd had better go run that thing though, I'm not sure how much I trust a robot executing lasting artwork on my ass.

[Damn, if he were actually an artist, he'd volunteer. Or maybe he'd best just learn? It's a trust issue over anything else.]

That aside, I'm sitting on the edge of wanting to flip some tables, and dying of boredom. Anyone up for blowing off some steam?

Tattoos, huh? That's pretty awesome. [Rebecca yawns, looking a little ragged.]

No time like the present to start working on my jailhouse sleeve... Who wants to make a gang? We can come up with matching tats.

I'm joking, I'm joking.

[Private to Spencer Reid]

[Rebecca's rubbing at her eye sleepily when the video feed starts, and she raises her brows before nodding her head.] Hey.

It's been a few days, I think he's -- Clay's settled in a bit. But he's still easily spooked, as you could probably tell during his last broadcast. I know it's kind of shitty to tell you to get more rest yourself then turn around and ask you for help, but... I'm not really all that qualified to deal with him. I usually have more resources.

Do you... Would it be cool to ask you for some advice?

[Private Action; Home Apartment]

[It's obvious that Rebecca looks a little worse for wear, tired if not exhausted. Stress and her usually mesh well enough, but dealing with Clay in Marina's taking a little toll it wouldn't ordinarily back home. She's alone in dealing with him - The Brotherhood had good results with Daniel Cross because of the therapy and drug plan, and while that didn't turn out for obvious reasons... there's still hope in her mind to getting Clay mentally sorted enough to function better without trying to kill her in a haze or threatening similar fates to Marina's voluntary medical staff.

She's picking herself off the couch from a short nap, scratching a hand through messy black tufts of hair on her way to the kitchen to start the coffee machine. She keeps an ear open for Clay, skimming her hand over the closed knife drawer absently.]

Where was the tattoo parlor when we were all in different bodies? That would have made things more exciting. [Not that she ever would have done that to M'gann.]

But seriously, who would let a robot tattoo them? Except that baseball guy with the butterfly. Does anyone even go to them to get their hair cut?

[And a pause.] I mean the enemy prison robots. Not, you know, android prisoners. [Did it get awkward?] Anyway... [Good way to end things.]

( This portion exclusively in Dexter's head )

[ video ]

[ When he activates the feed, Dexter has managed a small, tight-lipped smile. Pleasant. Friendly. He's good at this. He can do it. ]

There seem to be an awful lot of broadcasts asking what people recommend we do with ourselves here. I have to admit, it's something I've been wondering about, myself. I've never been much for picking up hobbies, but you know what they say about idle hands.

[ And mine have been idle for far too long. I can feel it getting impatient. Restless. ]

So, that brings me to my question. What's a blood spatter analyst do with himself at the bottom of the sea? Doesn't exactly seem as if there's much demand for my professional expertise.

[After having Clay... forcibly put to rest for a little while, Rebecca had him brought back to her place and forfeited her bed for his sake. And thankfully he was out for a while, giving her ample time to just - cautiously strip her bedroom down of any objects that might help him finger paint the walls with his own blood. She tossed it all in the spare bedroom with the rest of her junk, and took the couch for the nights. Not that she slept much, door to the bedroom left open and Clay within her line of sight more often than not. She stayed up too much, maybe, just mulling it over and thinking things through.

He was really there! Alive. There was a second chance for him, provided she could get him to listen long enough to hear her logic. She spent more hours curled up on the couch with her laptop than anything else, and excused her way out of work shifts so that she could be there if and when he finally woke back up. Of course it figures that when he finally did, she still wasn't at a point of having any plan for how to handle him.]

H-hello? I-Is this recording? Wh-where's the r-run time... I... My name is Cla... Clay... Sixteen. S-someone's taken me. Again-- [ Clay breaks off here, laughing and it's broken, jagged like a sore wound. ]

Always again. Always repeating. History is a constant loop! Nothing is new, everything is always recycled! And everyone would be able to see that if they just opened their eyes! But no. Th-they can't. Can't see. Don't want to.

[ Pause. ]

I ne-need help. I don't know where I am.