Tristan Sable || Dream (demos_oneiroi) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-03-28 10:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | dream |
Who: Tristan (narrative)
What: Post-abduction back to "normal"(?)
Where: Aubade 402
When: Early Monday Morning (pre-Feelings plot)
Warnings: Memory loss
Tristan woke with a slight headache Monday morning, from a sleep that held only the briefest memories of dreams. They were faded, indistinct things that left him confused and worried. In the past few years, since he'd crossed the portal, his memories of dreams had always been sharp, every detail remembered in high definition. Even the few times that Genny had slipped him something to help him sleep, the dreams had still recorded themselves in his memory. To not have that sort of log upon waking was new. On one hand, it was a strange relief to sleep and actually rest without the pressure of others' minds, but the absence of it left him feeling hollow.
Especially since he couldn't think of any reason why it should have changed.
His memories of the past weeks never changed from the standard painting and sleeping schedule that he'd fallen into. There were several emails and phone calls from the gallery, asking if he had new work, if they should stop by to pick anything up. He didn't recall replying to them, but being distracted by painting often left him ignoring outside correspondence.
He couldn't quite place what he'd been working on, though. There were no new canvases around - nothing that caught his attention as having been worked on recently. Even his palettes were skinned over and going dry.
There were a hundred hints that something wasn't right, but his mind slipped around those thoughts and signs with a frightening ease. Feeling unsettled and tense (though not tired for the first time in years), he pulled out a blank canvas to start something new. He laid out new paint and let his hands work as his mind wandered, and after long moments filled by the sound of brush on canvas, a face began to emerge from the paint. A young woman, her hair long and light, and for a while Tristan thought it might be Genny. As he continued, though, it was obvious that she wasn't his sister, eyes different, slightly older.
After an hour, he stepped back and studied the portrait that had begun to emerge. The colors were unsettling, not quite right even though he'd attempted to make them realistic, but otherwise it was a good likeness. The young woman was familiar, regarded him from the canvas with purple eyes that should have been blue, orange hair that should have been blonde. Familiar in a recent sort of way, but he couldn't remember ever meeting her.
"Who are you?" he asked the empty apartment. "Why can't I remember you?" It only mocked him with its silence.