2025-01-26 - The In-Between Time

It isn't exactly early in the evening and the residents of 105 aren't noisy people but at this hour none of them are really doing anything that makes noise either from cooking to painting with the radio on. The same might not be said for the neighbours, but people have lives to live and this is just part of sharing space.

That Robin wakes up from a dead sleep drawing a sharp his of breath, sweating through his shirt and fighting the sheets off is unfortunately not new. A burned-now-healed hand rubs at his face coming to rest on the side of his neck letting it rest there warm to the touch. Eyes close and around the room the colour shifts to a blue, aquatic landscape letting the illusion of thinking he's in water and appreciating the world being cool and fluid again. This is too many nights in a row.

Sliding out of bed he wanders into the kitchen letting the water of the illusion crash and face behind him. Actual water first. Finally he decides Mac might be right. Does everything have to be so difficult? Maybe not. Setting the used glass on the counter he wanders to Mac's door and finally knocks with one knuckle; waiting, and standing in the hall in house pants and a tank that shows how much of that old scar there is on his right side and how much of him there isn't.

If Mac might have slept through that gentle knock, it's hard to tell, because Spork doesn't. He woofs, and that is gentle too, perhaps too light of a sound to rouse Mac from her own slumber. But what isn't light is his trotting across her body from where he wedged himself between her and the wall. To get to the door, he has to get across her, and his meaty nugget of a paw lodges right in her ribs as he bounces off her onto the bed with a thud.

Probably good they're on the first floor, because he's a solid English bulldog, and that would have waken anyone below them.

Mac rubs her face, and sees the dog at the door, paws up and snuffling in a way he only does if there's someone outside of it.

"Come in," she calls.

Robin turns the knob carefully and nudges the door open slowly as to not bap Spork with the door and keeping eyes down looking for him in case. Yup, he's right there. There's a small tongue clicking sound to the dog in an amicable sense offing a hand out for him. he signs <No treat. Sorry. Really.>>

Looking to Mac he looks apologetic like he's going to open with an apology for disturbing her. <<No treats for you either.>> His lips press in a line <<Again, it's happening. Sleep bad. Exhausted. Said to ask you?>> She did but it's still phrased as a question for the politeness of it.

Slowly he crouches on the balls of his feet to give Spork a scritch behind the ears there.

Spork is a polite monster, snuffling and grunting in eagerness for the pets. Treats are nice. People are better. There's enough light from various small sources in the room even without the light on to see Robin's signing hands, and Mac sighs softly, in sympathy.

"You're the treat," she says playfully, first, to lighten the mood and his probably guilty feelings for waking her. "You want to sleep in here with me, or go to your room?" She's not shy about letting him crawl in her bed, but she swings her feet out of bed anyway, toes searching for the black fuzzy slippers she's left on the ground nearby.

Robin looks around and signs back <<Hre fine. I can fall asleep on anything. Spork comes too yeah?>> There's a small smile where while having a shit evening the dog is a bit of a bright spot here Spork has no idea how to judge, but Robin's pretty certain if he did it'd be based on possession of snacks.

There's a faint grin and confusion as he signs to Spork <<She just call me a snack? Don't bite my toes.>> His fingers comb through his hair signing back to Mac as everyone's eyes continue to adjust to night vision <<They texted me again. Family. Now I'm responsible for my cousin going to hair-face school or not.>> His lips press together and he walks over to have a seat <<Not leaving me alone. Now hard to sleep/focus>> She didn't ask or pry for what started this, but she is trusted the tea.

Mac scooches over in the bed to let Robin in, pulling the guest pillow from where it was on the other side of hers and swapping them, so he has the clean pillowcase, and so her satin pillowcase is over closer to the wall. Her bedding is all varying shades of gray and lavender and purple, and smells of something sweet and fruity, like blackberries -- scented laundry soap is the best.

"I'm sorry," she says, when he explains, sitting up now with her back against the headboard and watching his hands. "My family's needy like that too, sometimes, but mostly it's just nagging me like 'you don't love us, mija, you would move back if you did,' sort of bullshit." But with that quick commiseration, she returns to his problems. "I don't know how it's your fault if they go to hair-face school or not. You're not the hair-face school or your cousin."

Spork hops up, finding a spot between the two humans to wedge himself -- he's not that big, but he definitely makes his presence known.

"What was the dream?" she asks quietly, reaching out to scritch Spork's ears. "Just so I can think about how we can make it better."

Robin stand up and holds up a finger '1 sec'. He heads across to put on a different t-shirt at least so he feels considerably less gross in it; a Motionless in White one that is also faded from many a concert in time. He sits, not really that awake but working on a sense of stillness listening as she signs.

<<But that's what family doooes. Family looks out for each other>> Shaking his head he lifts his eyes from her hands to her, <<Except when it's us>> When Mac asks shy he's involved he rubs his thumb to his fingers. Money. His hand lowers giving Spork a lazy pets there- something calming in that. It's hard to look but she's using words and after a while he answers her <<Everything empty. Torched and dark. Not burning just ruined. Everyone left. I tried to look but touching things made them dissolve into a cloud of ash like sand in a popped balloon.>>

Spork's short ears perk up when Robin gets up again, watching for his return, as if this is an every night occurrence -- which it isn't. In that short blip of time, Mac reaches for her phone, to check the time, then swipes to get some music on, soft and soothing, something melodic on the piano -- a Dark Academia playlist.

When he returns, she listens, frowning at the mention of money. "They know you work at a theme park, right? We're not rolling in the cash. I don't understand why you'd be expected..." she stops though, and shakes her head, signing sorry. It's not her business what his family expects.

"That sounds terrible. Do you want the house to be there, or maybe something else, a meadow with wildflowers, an ocean, a party with everyone you know happy and healthy? Something else?"

Robin shrugs watching her and he looks more confused, but not at her for having the thought. The confusion comes when he answers he; fingers hesitating but answering with a short yawn <<Some of my work sells for over two-grand. That's not what I get from it. That's not what they see. Not what they think.>> His jaw tightens.

Feet tuck in under the blankets and there is a dedicated effort to not getting pissed, getting too worked up to sleep again his head hists the pillow and he works to just let it sink in and leave the rest aside for now. Spork readjusting to throw his weigh against Robin's leg with his butt is distraction that helps somehow.

Shaking his head he signs back <<I don't know. Easy money to them.>> There's a small consideration reaching out and giving her fingers a squeeze- maybe getting the vibe she's kind of like to shake them like a squirrel right now. <<Green would be nice. I like the trees. They were all ruined in mine. Rabbits having a picnic?>>

Mac's eyes widen a little as he mentions how much money he makes -- they don't talk about such things, most of the time. "Look at you, fancy pants," she says lightly. It doesn't change, really, how she sees him. He's still Robin, her friend and roommate.

"I'm sorry," she repeats again. There's not that much to say -- she can't change his family's expectations for him, or how they treat him. "You don't owe them anything. I know it's hard though. Family makes us feel obligated. Luckily mine don't think of me as someone that can do much for them, so I don't know how this feels." She has her own issues with hers.

She snuggles down into the bed, though, pulling the blankets up. "Rabbits, picnic, trees. That I think I can do. We can talk a little so you relax, but don't worry if you knock out in the middle of chatting. You're not here to entertain me."

Petting Spork between them, Mac asks, "What's your favorite kind of tree?"

Mac calls him fancy pants and Robin's face turns red. And a hand covers it silently laughing with a wheeze of air. his hands wave no-no and signs very small as he's rolled to his side <<Hopefully enough to get the hell out of the debt they put me in. When this happens we all go eat at Port & Portal.>> It's a goal.

He doesn't have to look as she's talking and he can hear her and it's a nicer sound than wind on the window. <<You seen Japanese Maple?>> he spells all that out with a hand wiggle for 'tree'. <<Leaves bright red and plum purple all year. Very bright in winter. I'm making a new one though. I paint it for you sometime. It's teal and looks like a willow that dances.>>

Mac grins as he laughs, then says softly, "You're on," when he says they'll go to the fancy restaurant. As he mentions the trees, she leans past him to grab her phone again, sliding her fingers across the glass then typing in the words so she can pull up an image.

"Pretty. It's like a goth tree," she says with a grin. Since her color palette seems to be black, more black, grey, deep red, and sometimes a dark purple, she definitely approves of this choice.

The phone is set down by her this time, instead of on the other side of Robin, so she doesn't have to reach past him again.

"That sounds pretty. Can't wait to see it," she says. Spork lifts his head only to rest it again on Robin's knee.

Robin watches her look up the tree and a smile warms as she discovers, or maybe rediscovers it. <<It's our people for certain.>> Officially adopted goth tree. There's a pause and tiredly he signs <<I don't know why I didn't just make you one. I like we can just talk and feel normal maybe? It's like that though. I Have ideas for a goth garden but no budget. Maybe->> HIs he doesn't finish signing but rests his hand on Spork's head and makes the loose 'you know' hand flap that is also 'over there/whatever/snakes or maybe an elevator'.

The back of his hand rests against the pillow, fingers curling, and maybe subconsciously keeping his scars facing down, or perhaps just that she was on that side and they were having a conversation. Sleep does come back for him though.

Mac gives Robin a sleepy smile when he says he's glad that they can talk and feel normal, and she signs, though he can hear, I'm glad. Her signing is getting better -- it was a little rusty when she met him.

When sleep comes, she doesn't follow the traditional route to her own sleep, but instead watches to make sure he eventually dreams. There are signs -- the flutter of eye movement beneath the thin eyelids, namely.

When he begins to dream, she touches him, and her own eyes close as she falls through that veil between awake and dreaming.

It takes a while for REM to be reached, for dreams to form and be found. It doesn't take him long at all as it turns out his claim to pass out anywhere on need is pretty true, but it's also hard not to when one has a warm puppy.

somewhere in dreams...

It is dark and night and the smell of dust and char are suggested. The landscape is a midwest suburban landscape after 3am and the trees are all dark and twisted like a torch blazed through the vegetation. The air is cold and the feeling frenetic with the harsh sounds of people calling 'look over there'. Presently Robin is tearing through yards and vaulting a fence with a stagger and windmill of arms; his lungs hurt and his limbs are sore.

There's a short hop over another 3' cyclone fence as he tries to make toward the collapsing detached garage near the ally with the bins lined up over a mostly dirt and gravel yard overgrown with dead weeds and no gate on the back. Maybe there's a spot to find and hide and catch his breath as the voices hunting case sounds from all around.

When Mac arrives, she doesn't make herself visible immediately, as she takes in the sensory details of the dream, and shift them. The scent of smoke is the first to go, and then the temperature rises, slowly, by degrees, taking the chill off the air.

In the eastern sky, the sun begins to rise, giving a tranquil glow to the far sky. And those skeletal trees suddenly bloom into life -- some green and others the deep reds and purples of the Japanese maples.

Robin's footfalls on the scorched ground suddenly no longer crunch in soot and rubble -- the house is gone, and he finds himself instead in a grassy field. It's pleasant and warm, but not overly so. A cool breeze rustles the leaves in the trees, carrying a sweet scent of fresh fruit and flowers.

The first sign she sends him of her presence is actually Spork, but as a puppy, because a tiny puppy bulldog is unthreatening, if he's not in a state to recognize that he's in a dream yet, that it's being tampered with.

Robin's running brings him skidding to the side of that shed where he sits and draws his knees up and puts his head down for a minute- nothing to see here, just a rock.

The smells dissipate and the sound of the harsh suburban city hunting for him fades to the sound of tiny, wide paws padding across packed earth. His breathing is ragged but it slowly grows into curiosity. A hand reaches out for the puppy, tiny spork, and there's a whispered quiet, "Hey." It's more of an exhale than a word and barely audible but it's there. Leaning forward under the shade of the vibrant plum leaved tree he leans forward to bonk his forehead to Spork's.

The tears of panic fade from stinging in the corners of his eyes drying them out. His hands reaching out for Spork without any of the black ink stained fingers that started earlier this month leaving nothing particularly off or supernatural of him here- it's not how he remembers himself seems. As the dog is happy to see him Robin blots his eye then the opposite with the back of the same wrist to focus on the little bulldog again. with a small "psh~"' of a laugh in an escape of air.

Spork is a small thing, and lifts his paws up to place them on Robin's huddled shoulders where he sits, tiny pink tongue licking Robin's nose. It's warm and has that puppy breath smell to it. When Spork plops back on his butt, he barks once in response to the psh of a laugh from Robin.

On the tree behind Spork a little red-breasted robin alights, singing cheerfully -- at first the song is the usual robin chirps, high and cheerful, before it becomes slowly more rhythmic and before long, it's clearly the melody to "You've Got a Friend in Me" from Toy Story.

Robin still signs here in spite of the whispered word this is his voice he recognizes. As he influences the dream with some level of assumption the small dog still follows along. <<Walkies?>> The smile widens pushing himself to his feet and running a few feet ahead seeing of the tiny wrinkly bowling ball is keeping up as the bird sings there. There's a sharp part of the bird chirping that briefly gets him looking up for a cop car. It's not there; only dark leaves in their mulberry canopy remain.

Deep breath. Middle of nowhere. He looks to the tiny Spork and says in sign <<Not being found here. where you come from?>> There are faint pink fireflies and some in acid green that start to fill the clearing a bit. Robin looks to Spork, an eyebrow lifts. The pup watches. Robin's stance shifts ready to run and then tries to race Spork faking him out but then the other way around the tree again which the puppy easily catches up to him. Looking back up tot eh bird he gives a harmony whistle back to it and sits down, though taking care to not sit on the dog.

The dog seems to understand the sign, because of course it's a dream. He barks and does the playful pounces, much more energetic than his older real-life counterpart.

When Robin sits down again, he finds Mac sitting beside him, as if she was always there. She looks up at the morning sky, swirled with purple and amber clouds, and lifts a finger to trace a heart in the air. She doesn't have the ability in real life, but here, a glowing violet heart lingers in the air for a long moment, like the after-burn or sparkler fire. Then beside it, she draws a cursive, loopy hello in the scrawl he knows from her grocery list, also luminous in purple before it begins to fade.

Robin leans to the side, his shoulder nudging Mac's. looking up in the sky as the sparkler follows her finger burning her message into the sky the smile brightens. He extends one hand to fuss with Spork wobbling his head and giving his ears a scruff while not overly worried about being gnawed on.

His left hand comes up to write back to her in a trail of cyan light. hi. : ) it's a small message but there's a delight in watching the odd little fireflies in the clearing there shift formation as they write. Testing this Robin making a lazy lateral figure 8 in the sky and they follow behind the light trail in a limited way. 'like dragging fingers in water but with light' he writes in the sky using the new tools here.

The mood has shifted with the better scenery and much better company. As Mac interacts he seems to find lucidity and recognizing that this is a dream and enjoying it. <<You can see a whole city from here. I think it's small rodents.>> Gesturing to teh faint electric sky he seems fascinated <<Look what we did>> Looking at Spork now play biting he signs with his free hand <<Spork you are not beholding. Can you behold for like two minutes? Your human did something>> He looks to Mac like the dog owes her an apology and he might be the current ambassador.

Mac smiles and she pulls her knees up to wrap her arms around, looking out at the view, at the words written in cyan. When he shifts to sign, for the dog's sake, she huffs a laugh, resting her cheek on her knee to watch his hands for a moment. Spork watches but doesn't react except to lick one of Robin's hands, before turning a few times in a circle and then lie down next to Robin once more.

"He's so ungrateful," Mac says with a dramatic sigh, before looking back up at Robin's profile, considering what he might need or want in this ephemeral reality.

"Maybe," she says, "if you imagine a path..." Suddenly a path appears, heading from west to east and toward the light, lit by the fireflies along the way, "maybe the next time you get caught in there you can find this again."

It's Mac laughing that pulls an amused, maybe embarrassed look out of him. He goes to say something and hangs his head pleased by being the entertainment but also with dream-Spork's effortless affection (and search for snacks).

<<'nah, he's perfect.>> His shoulder leans to hers bumping it. Here the scars are gone and just the parts he thinks about remains. to the part of making small, quiet words because in the dream nothing hurts, but his hands still his voice; his gestures his accent, and his fingers his inflections.

He looks up as the path slowly comes together and the fireflies cluster around that. <<maybe. takes some practice. I think they're more clever than I am there.>> Turning his head to Mac he watches her expression as if reading the small details. <<What are yours like? Do you know you are in one when you dream?>>

Her brows knit together and she clearly has a question, but Mac lets it sit for a moment to answer his. "I do now," she says quietly. "Since I've gotten the ability. So now I can change them whenever I want. But I couldn't before." She reaches out to wiggle her fingertips at the grass in front of her, and a shoot suddenly pushes up through the grass, growing swiftly before it evolves into a flower -- pale, pale lavender with a black center, a cape daisy, though in the dreamscape, it seems more ethereal -- the petals almost transparent, glowing slightly.

"I never really remember my dreams, in the real world. Once in a while, you know? Like if I'm in bed with a fever or if I sleep somewhere unusual. Something that messes up my usual patterns. But here, they're usually not bad. I can make them un bad so quickly, it almost doesn't matter," she explains. "Weird, but not scary. The other night I dreamt that I was one of the animatronics but mad because I wanted to go on a break."

Mac smiles, lifts a shoulder. "What do you mean, they're more clever than you are here? Who's more clever?"

Robin listens to the answer looking actually relaxed and unbothered. His eyes shift to the flower as it grows with a pleased little look. His fingers reach over the grass but nothing grows from it; maybe he just likes the feel of it against his fingers.

There's a full stop pause and the smallest 'Whaaa-?' that escapes his lips before signing to her <<Hope it wasn't like Five nights at Freddy's. Were you the bunny? You'd make an adorable mecha-conejo>> Fingers brushing along the grass he pulls his hand up where there is a mechanical rabbit there now in chrome and polished brass with a little lightbulb for a tail that glows in a warm amber light.

<<Glad it wasn't scary. You get a break though?>> she asks the big question but it can wait. His fingers reach into the ground and he pulls up what looks like a buried mason jar. Inside there's something that looks like an octopus make of tar lashing out with a row of sharp teeth; each tentacle forking at the end like little hands. <<My family. Sometimes these... things that keep reminding me I'm not supposed to be here.>> A very matter of fact acceptance.

Looking back to Mac he wonders <<Do you miss it? not being in control of the remote for...this stuff?>>

Her eyes narrow as he says she'd look adorable as a mechanical rabbit, and she tosses her head. "Oh, sure. When you control the dream, no one can tell you no, really," Mac says loftily, then wrinkles her nose. "That sounded gross. Yuck. I take that back."

She laughs at the little rabbit, though, plucking the daisy and then tucking it between its two metal ears. But then she sees what he pulls out of the earth, and her smile fades. "What is that," she murmurs, brows drawing together. "Do you want me to make it something nicer?" she asks, glancing over at Robin.

As for not belonging here, Mac lifts her shoulder. "Burn the bridges that would drown you," she says solemnly, then sighs. "I know it's not so easy. But you're right. You don't belong here. You belong where you're happy."

Robin turns to Mac and that squint of a look to boop her nose coming within a quarter inch. If this is where he loses a hand so be it but he doubles down to nod and signs <<Mecha conejo>> and has the little rabbit sit up like Godzilla and hop squash a few little toadstools. Rar!

She gets to asking about the jar he holds in nervous fingers with the slathering thing inside. His eyes flinch and sharpen as she asks about it and he almost, almost shakes the shit out of it. The quiet answer is signed small like a whisper, and maybe the wind catches it to echo it too <<Guilt. Some things you can't take back and fix.>>

He leans back, his head thunking onto the tree. The jar is set in his lap and he pauses before looking to Mac signing, <<The dream that woke me up we were in the church I think? I don't know why I was the age I am now, but I was. Everyone going up to pay their last respects and everyone was looking at me and waiting and telling me it should have been me. It should have been me. And- and I know that but they were grabbing me and they opened the lid and there was nothing but a bottomless hole in it and they pushed me in to it falling forever and- then I woke myself up.>>

Robin's brow pulls tightly together as if he's going to say something else but instead hugs the jar with the terrible creature in it.

She glances at the creature, frowning, then looks back up at him. It's a dream, but her eyes fill with tears as he speaks about his other dream, and she shakes her head fiercely.

"It shouldn't have been anyone. But it shouldn't have been you, either," she says, adamantly, before turning to hug him tightly, not at all afraid of the thing in the jar as she throws her arms around his neck. She holds for a long moment, then murmurs, "I have an idea."

She stands, then, to survey the little woods, and the landscape shifts. They're still within a small clearing in a forest, safe and sunny now that that the sun has risen. The fireflies still glow, despite the morning light. But in front of her, things get a little drearier, darker and damper. A little lagoon of sorts is shielded from the light by the long draping branches of dark willow trees. The water is dark, but also beautiful, sparkling with something glittery, like it holds the night sky in its depths.

"Maybe you can let it go," she says quietly. "Here, at least. It's a symbol. It'll be harder, in reality, but it's a step. A metaphor."

Robin's knees draw up slightly to- what, protect the terrifying thing in the jar? It's when Mac hugs hi his outside arm lets go of the glass and slides around the back of her shoulder with fingers curling into the fabric and leaning against her with ragged breath and a shudder in his lean frame. A small strangled sound escapes catching his breath as exhaustion and fear win.

His fingers trace her sleeve as she stands giving her hand a squeeze wiping his face looking to see where she's going with that bold determination to right the world. The faceless thing with glowing eyes that lashes out in the jar pulls its tentacle like limbs sticking to the side unable to get out.

Pushing himself up Robin follows her and while he's a foot taller than Mac in the real world something about this whole situation has her perceived as taller. He looks at the water and her entirely uncertain. He points to the jar and then the water questioning this.

Lips pursing together he carefully unscrews the lid of the jar with the scrape of metal on glass familiar to anyone used to mason jars. He turns the jar as if to pour it out. The Regret is stuck to the side. The jar is given a frustrated shake to get it lose. It remains stuck like an octopod. Finally reaching into the glass jar he tries to pull it free like some gummy thing but winces recoiling his hand from the sting before coping with the fact it is going to suck. Stretching it snaps into his hand, fingers holding it out.

There's a pause unsure if he should try to say anything but as his hands are full he gives it a little unceremonious flick into the water as it lands with a sploot!.

Mac seems about to try to help him, but something keeps her from reaching for the jar -- Robin has to be the one to let it go, to free it from the jar, and in doing so, free himself from the shame and guilt he feels and has felt for so long.

It's not easy. It won't be easy.

The dream is just a metaphor, and she knows that, but she smiles through her tears as the creature lands in the water. Is it a water creature? It is now. The water shimmers where it lands, surrounding it with the sparkling and glittering fluid.

Mac reaches for Robin's hand again, and looks over at him. Her brows rise, a harbinger to the question she asks softly. "How do you feel?"

Robin stands there staring at the surface of the water watching; the lid of the jar slowly screwed on. Slowly he draws a breath in when he realizes it was being held. His arms drop to his sides with his hand dropping into Mac's hand watching the surface of the water shimmer and bubble.

He considers this and there's a thoughtful look watching it trying to figure that very thing out. The jar slips from his fingers to the grass where it lands at an angle on the ground. His fingers answer, <<Sad? I don't know. Tired. Very... I think tired?>>

His head tilts to the side giving her hand another squeeze and looking down at the lump of dog sitting at their feet. Looking back to Mac he makes himself make eye contact <<I'm sorry. You didn't sign up for all this. I know it's ugly stuff and it's easy to say well just 'don't feel bad'. I just feel like - I don't know what I feel. Not alone right now. Thank you.>>

Mac watches the water for a moment, though the dark glittery depths have shifted, and the creature fades from view. She turns back to Robin, watching him with solemn eyes.

"I bet. It's tiring holding on to that sort of thing," she says quietly, when he says he's tired.

But when he apologizes, she shakes her head. "You don't have to be sorry. I want to help, and it's also okay to feel what you feel. But if I can help a tiny bit, for you to feel better, I'll try. I'm your friend, and I love you. It's what friends do, right? At least friends who can control dreams."

Her smile tips wryly, since not that many people have that particular power -- nor would want to. "I'm going to leave you the puppy and let you sleep without me in your brain, but any requests before I go?"

Robin turns toward Mac wrapping both arms around her in a hug wobbling her from one side to the other. Hands give a brisk rub to the outsides of her shoulder. He squashes a smooch to the top of her head before letting her go.

Crouching he moves the jar and holds the other hand out for baby Spork there. Looking up Robin signs <<A ball and some snacks? I don't want him chasing Mecha-Conejo. She's on her break.>> He looks to the dog and while things are not perfect there is a sense of stillness that's settles in- no running, being hunted down, and no trying to play escape room in the dark while the floor is lava. It's a manageable sense of stillness with a puppy.

For now this is enough to rest.