Re: Dream: Janus/Atticus
Even dreaming, Atticus was constricted by constructs. Couldn't just be something eternal on the couch. His fevered, sleeping brain had to connect dots. Make the man on the couch familiar. Was Janus. Maybe it wasn't, but it was. For this moment, and for this conversation, it was. Younger, different, definitely the boy from Halloween. Definitely Janus. But that was all on Atticus.
"Isn't the generally accepted, romantic memory of soldiers marrying their gals before going to war." Wrong war? Maybe. Didn't matter in a dream. In the dream, and in Atticus' mind, war was browns and boats and those famous photographs taken on docks of men in uniform kissing impeccably clad girls.
He sighed. "Vampire." Didn't even try to lie. Was a dream. No one lied in dreams. He shifted on the couch-turned-dream-bed. "Seems pointless, demon friends, vampire friends, time traveler friends, dead-witch friends. Still got nabbed by a vampire. Anne Rice would love me. Always hated Anne Rice."