Lea "Dark Rescue" Lastname (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
promises_to_keep) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
million_points_of_light2014-02-23 03:11 pm
promises_to_keep) wrote in million_points_of_light2014-02-23 03:11 pm
i need to get my bearings
Who: Lea and anybody who wanders in
When: (i'll get back to you)
Where: Casa de Bro, technically? Um. The depths of Lea's subconscious?
What: Dreamsharing isn't so fun when your dreams are like Lea's.
Warnings: Nothing too awful; Kingdom Hurts, the usual warnings apply.
Lea rarely remembered his nightmares. He always remembered having dreamt, when he was jerked awake with clammy hands and his pulse pounding in his throat, deafening in his ears, but nine times out of ten he simply didn't remember what had driven him so harshly to wakefulness.
When he did remember, it tended to be the same thing: the darkened streets of Radiant Garden, littered with the narrow red eyes of the little monsters that weren't Heartless but were something not unlike them. They moved silently, their needle-sharp limbs not making a sound as they darted across the cobbled streets, like shadows from flickering firelight.
He was always alone, which was the worst part. He'd gotten used to the nightmares being this way, honestly. The solitude was what made them frightening, somehow. His home had lost all of its color, all of its people, all of its hearts, and all that remained was an empty husk... outlines and shadows and nothing to fill them in. Just like he'd been, before he'd regained his heart: outlines, shadows...
Something felt different about this one. His feet were cold. His footsteps made noise as he walked across the abandoned stone roads, and that had never happened before. Usually his presence was as silent as that of the monsters, like he wasn't even there, like nothing he could do would change anything. That was the point, wasn't it? That was what haunted him, was the fact that he'd been unable to do anything. His home had fallen, his family had been taken away, his best friend had been lost... Lea had been useless, and it was that uselessness that still crawled up his spine and nestled at the base of his skull those dark nights when sleep refused to stay by his side. So if this wasn't a manifestation of that usual skeleton locked away in the closet of his mind, what did it mean?
A voiceless wind rushed past him and he shivered, shoving his hands into his po-- Wait, where was his coat? Why was he in a tee-shirt? Why was he wearing what he'd gone to bed in? Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of his reflection in the water in the fountain court and those cursed marks would be back on his cheeks, but whether the dream painted him as Axel or Lea, he was always in his Organization coat. It was part of it, after all--the Organization was to blame for everything, and he'd worn the coat himself. He had aided and abetted the downfall of everything he had ever cared about, and the worst part was he hadn't even realized until it was too late. He had these nightmares pegged to the last detail anymore. He might not have remembered everything when he woke up, but when he was immersed in them, he had memorized every line of the brick buildings, every shadow of the castle, every slanted rectangle of colorless light from the broken streetlamps.
This was wrong.
The wind was chilly against his bare arms, and that explained why his feet were so cold--he wasn't wearing shoes. This was officially the weirdest nightmare he'd ever had. At least from the ones he remembered. He rubbed his arms and kept walking, watching the little monsters dart out of his path and back into the shadows. He knew how this would end: the closer he got to the castle, the more of the world would lose its color, and eventually the lines would break apart and everything would collapse. He would hear Isa scream his name, he would feel claws tearing at his chest, the sound of a heartbeat would fill his ears, and then...
... then he would jerk awake with a cry stuck in the back of his throat and his fingers tangled in the sheet, and he probably wouldn't even remember why.
Might as well get it over with.
When: (i'll get back to you)
Where: Casa de Bro, technically? Um. The depths of Lea's subconscious?
What: Dreamsharing isn't so fun when your dreams are like Lea's.
Warnings: Nothing too awful; Kingdom Hurts, the usual warnings apply.
Lea rarely remembered his nightmares. He always remembered having dreamt, when he was jerked awake with clammy hands and his pulse pounding in his throat, deafening in his ears, but nine times out of ten he simply didn't remember what had driven him so harshly to wakefulness.
When he did remember, it tended to be the same thing: the darkened streets of Radiant Garden, littered with the narrow red eyes of the little monsters that weren't Heartless but were something not unlike them. They moved silently, their needle-sharp limbs not making a sound as they darted across the cobbled streets, like shadows from flickering firelight.
He was always alone, which was the worst part. He'd gotten used to the nightmares being this way, honestly. The solitude was what made them frightening, somehow. His home had lost all of its color, all of its people, all of its hearts, and all that remained was an empty husk... outlines and shadows and nothing to fill them in. Just like he'd been, before he'd regained his heart: outlines, shadows...
Something felt different about this one. His feet were cold. His footsteps made noise as he walked across the abandoned stone roads, and that had never happened before. Usually his presence was as silent as that of the monsters, like he wasn't even there, like nothing he could do would change anything. That was the point, wasn't it? That was what haunted him, was the fact that he'd been unable to do anything. His home had fallen, his family had been taken away, his best friend had been lost... Lea had been useless, and it was that uselessness that still crawled up his spine and nestled at the base of his skull those dark nights when sleep refused to stay by his side. So if this wasn't a manifestation of that usual skeleton locked away in the closet of his mind, what did it mean?
A voiceless wind rushed past him and he shivered, shoving his hands into his po-- Wait, where was his coat? Why was he in a tee-shirt? Why was he wearing what he'd gone to bed in? Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of his reflection in the water in the fountain court and those cursed marks would be back on his cheeks, but whether the dream painted him as Axel or Lea, he was always in his Organization coat. It was part of it, after all--the Organization was to blame for everything, and he'd worn the coat himself. He had aided and abetted the downfall of everything he had ever cared about, and the worst part was he hadn't even realized until it was too late. He had these nightmares pegged to the last detail anymore. He might not have remembered everything when he woke up, but when he was immersed in them, he had memorized every line of the brick buildings, every shadow of the castle, every slanted rectangle of colorless light from the broken streetlamps.
This was wrong.
The wind was chilly against his bare arms, and that explained why his feet were so cold--he wasn't wearing shoes. This was officially the weirdest nightmare he'd ever had. At least from the ones he remembered. He rubbed his arms and kept walking, watching the little monsters dart out of his path and back into the shadows. He knew how this would end: the closer he got to the castle, the more of the world would lose its color, and eventually the lines would break apart and everything would collapse. He would hear Isa scream his name, he would feel claws tearing at his chest, the sound of a heartbeat would fill his ears, and then...
... then he would jerk awake with a cry stuck in the back of his throat and his fingers tangled in the sheet, and he probably wouldn't even remember why.
Might as well get it over with.
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The weirdest thing about this was that Sheena hadn't been sleeping. She'd been consulting Corrine's bell, talking to him as she so often did, and then she was sprawled on her ass in the plaza. Talk about a terrible sense of timing.
She tiptoed along the streets, looking for an exit. It was only more of the same, at least until she spied Lea shuffling along like a zombie. Maybe he knew what was going on? He'd been in Exsilium far longer than she had. And at least... she wouldn't be alone in such a sad, creepy place.
"Lea!" She sprinted over to him, Corrine's collar dangling around her wrist for lack of anywhere else to put it. Her cards and daggers had holsters. Mementos, not so much. "Where are we? What's going on?"
And why did he look like he'd just attended a funeral?
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