It's that one where you have to give a speech to a crowd of bears and wasps again

[stockingfeats]

You're having a nightmare, and you aren't alone. Someone is here with you in tonight's strange, dark dreamscape--for better or for worse.

1. Chased: Bears, tentacly monsters, giant vengeful wasps. You need to escape from it but you can't find a way.
   
2. Trapped: Elevator, sinking ship, cave. You're in and you can't get out.
   
3. Performance: It's often quoted that people fear public speaking more than they fear death. You don't know the script, you've never seen this Powerpoint, the teleprompter is blurry as hell... forget falling, you're about to die on stage.
   
4. Hated: You know those dreams where everyone you know accuses you of something terrible and they all hate you now? Yeah. It's that one tonight.
   
5. Disaster! You're on an island and a volcano erupts! You're next to a river and it floods! Never mind how geologically, climatologically, or physically likely it would be in this location in real life, it's happening now.
   
6. Haunting past: Your bad memories are just waiting for you to let your guard down, and what's more unguarded than sleep?
   
7. Wildcard: There are infinite nightmares in infinite combinations... why not put together your own?
   

Comments

Coin flipping gave me Nel's Death. Take it away, husband of nightmares.

[roseofmay]

[It was hardly the first time that Beatrix had ever had a dream about him. Or one with him in it. Early on in their back and forth complicated courting sessions, she'd actually dreamt about him a fair amount, usually as she was trying to figure out and understand her feelings on the matter. Why she cared about him as much as she did. Why she had any interest in the man to begin with. Why she bothered to go so out of her way to protect him or give him the kind of life she thought he was both worthy and deserving of.

Of course, that all led elsewhere, and by 'elsewhere,' that really meant the present course of events. Sort of.

She could certainly say that she didn't have too many nightmares involving him. If anything, Dante was the one capable of retrieving her from said things. Sleeping with him at her side, she'd never slept so soundly, and even on nights where she was troubled by such dark and dreary exchanges, he'd been there enough to comfort her in his own way, though she was disinclined to share too much about anything she might have dreamt of.

Giving voice to such things, after all, was more likely to bring them to truth rather than fiction developed by a mind addled with the stressors of day-to-day life.

Beatrix didn't know what to make of the current happenstance. Another place she didn't recognise. A sense of ill foreboding and tension that lingered in the air, settling a proverbial weight atop her shoulders. Something that simply didn't feel right. Something she didn't want and something she didn't understand, even though she couldn't possibly be fully in the know.]

...Dante?

[Because little did he know that when she found herself without a direction, she relied on him to guide her. She never would have admitted that easily or openly, but in darkness, Dante was, ironically, her light.]

His favorite!!!!!

[pepperedoni]

[The novelty of sleeping in a bed and making it through the night without a need to slip a few drinks of having a fight hadn't worn off on Dante. Not yet. As of late, his dreams had been uneventful. Damnably quiet. Something he could appreciate, even with those occasion interruptions. When Beatrix stirred from something that left her pale, her heart racing her nails tight on his arm, he was content to let her draw on him to settle her nerves. Though tight-lipped on the cause, she'd always seem a little more ready for the day after nights like those, as if the confrontation with herself was more daunting than what she had to face in the morning. He thought it was a pretty crappy silver-lining.

Dante said his goodnight to Beatrix, irritated her with some promise for breakfast in bed, played with her hair as she read, and stepped past her, boots making wet, heavy thuds on the pavement when he stepped out into the empty street. The smell of motor oil, rain in the summer, tobacco and, distantly, blood. He'd been close to Bobby's cellar, the derelict establishment housing that distant smell. That one. He wrinkled his nose even as she would smell it as well. In that space of his mind, Beatrix would feel the acrid scent of blood and the way it made his heart race, too strong and too rapid to be human. Distant screams, likely only a few blocks away in the city. He ignored them. When he spoke, his voice lacked the same depth and timber that she would have felt just by her ear when she found him asleep. She heard it once before.]

Gotta convince Bobby to let me raise my tab. Then, I'll start workin' on...

[The empty street grew quiet for a moment before a wall of noise assailed his senses.

When the deafening sound of the explosion rocked his ears, he whirled around to face Beatrix. Seeing through her, his face stricken with a moment of puzzlement that descended into the realm of fear. Heart-pounding fear. The sort of fear that everyone knew intimately--that death was coming. He tore through the streets, that something gripping his chest. The young man in red leapt, clearing parked cars and finding a rapidly growing crowd in the street beside an office. Unkindly, he pushed people out of the way. Made them move even though he heard cries of pain when they were tossed aside. The suffocating flames that engulfed the building he found dried his throat. He stepped over the broken sign to Goldstein's shop, grabbing a fire hose someone had let loose, unable to regain control of it. With a firm grip, he doused himself.]

Old lady... You can't die until you pay to replace this jacket!

[Effortlessly, he smashed through the door. The pain of splintered wood tearing into his leg and chest faded quickly, the injuries closing so quickly he wouldn't have noticed. The flames licked at him and that pain left him as well but he was already moving down the hall. Finding an old woman, patiently working amidst the heat of fire just outside of her workshop. That old woman was working on something under a cloth.]

What're you doing!? There's a fire!

[She didn't look up from her work, adjusting a monocle resting on her nose. Friendly and somehow exasperated with him, the old woman continued her work only after sparing him a weary glance. Sharp-eyed and scowling despite the soft way she regarded him, Goldstein went about her work.] You young folks are so skittish. It's just a fire. Fortunately, you're here in time so you can help.

Old lady, what part of 'fire' don't you get!? [His panic deepened. That feeling grew more debilitating. Something about her was off and his instincts screaming at him. Sternly, she continued.]

Did you hear me? Come here, Tony. Help me finish. [Stiffly, he went to her and he felt that smell of blood thicken in his nostrils. Numbly, he ignored it. Then, fondly, she lowered her voice. That tone, sweet and affectionate as a mother would take with her child, was just soothing enough to keep him from grabbing her and running. He looked to the cloth and began uncovering it. The heat would have been strangling her but she persisted. She kept working, regardless. Some drive to complete her work and do something for him that kept her rooted to the room.] There. You're a good boy, aren't you?

I BET IT IS.

[roseofmay]

[It wasn't meant for her. That was all she could think when she was faced with... whatever it was. As if it was a reflection of something she witnessed. Something she could feel? Beatrix didn't know how to explain it. A sensation that wasn't really hers, but felt as if it could be. A dull little ache that settled in her, a place that she couldn't see and only barely registered.

Dante dashed past her and she only caught his expression for a moment, but it was a moment enough that she needed to see. She watched him move and it didn't take her long to follow after. Well, to the best of her ability. One of them had some incredible extra abilities that the other didn't. Whilst Dante could jump his way to success and utilise the other bizarre skills, she was still very much human. Which meant having to chase after him.

Which was precisely what she intended to do. Never mind all of the other strange occurrences that were falling into place.

Beatrix was more than a little breathless when she managed to catch up. She heard the collision between door and Dante before she even saw the remnants of it. Well, whatever was inclined to remain of the door when Dante practically threw himself through it. Only way she could track him down was to see whatever trail of nonsense was left in his wake.

She was stopped at the doorway, the fire a relatively decent deterrent. Certainly felt real enough to her. At least real enough that she didn't have the same courage to immediately go barrelling in the way her other half only had moments before. It was a terrible idea. It really was. She wasn't sure what compelled her to do otherwise, but drawing in a sharp breath, she followed in after. She heard the conversation before she saw it, feeling a certain similar disbelief.

"It's just a fire."

No. A fire was never just a fire. Unless it was magic, she supposed, and even then magic was something that... was dangerous in the wrong hands. The name 'Tony' went in one ear and stuck around for a few moments. Right. Because he was 'Tony Redgrave' at some point. That was the name he'd used with her, too. Settling in against the door frame, as she buried her face into her arm, she gathered herself.

...If she spoke, would he even hear her? Was she just meant to witness? She wasn't sure what was worse.]

Perhaps we should go?

[Less on the 'perhaps.' More on the they needed to go. Although one never would have thought that with the way Dante's... grandmother (?) spoke to him. He'd never spoken to her of any older women. She just knew it wasn't his mother. She'd certainly seen enough of Eva to make that conclusion rather confidently.]

[pepperedoni]

I can't.

[The young man spared Beatrix a moment's glance. Dimly aware of her, even if he couldn't fully acknowledge her, Dante was stuck in that sequence. Revisiting that memory so many times, even if it was incomplete and wrong in places, he still knew it by heart. Nell Goldstein wasn't going to leave that room.]

Finish it. You need to reassemble it, just like when you clean your other guns.

[Beneath the cloth, the pieces of two pistols in shades of silver and obsidian. He read the engraving on the barrels of his guns, his shoulders slumping. 'By .45 Art Warks - For Tony Redgrave'. At first, he said nothing as he put the pieces together. Nell watched him, admiring him affectionately. For years, he'd disassembled and reassembled those guns. At least once a week. Always after use. The first time he did it, his hands were shaking.]

These were made for you, Tony. They're your guns and no one else in the world has anything like them. My masterpieces, just for you. See the old logo?

[He swallowed hard, inspecting the engraving. Trying to finish his work as the orange flames began drifting into the room with them. Once the pieces found the right shape in his hands...]

These boys are yours, now. I put everything into this last work and... I feel faint. Old.

[The weakness in her had come along just as the ceiling began burning up. The smoke funneling out grew thicker and Nell slumped. Dante dropped the guns where they were and went to catch her, her weight resting on him and that smell of blood growing overpowering. His chest was wet with it, the wine-red tint of his vest growing deeper as he felt her quiver. Given the height of her workbench, the fatal slashes in her back and side could only be seen once she was leaning against him, looking up to him with dull, deteriorating awareness. She shut them, breathing one of her last, shallow breaths.]

Rock? Is that you? You came back...

[From within her breast pocket, she produced a photo of a young boy, smiling. Her fingers, tinted red with her own blood, touched his cheek fondly. She was no longer making sense. Speaking to him as if she were speaking to her son, no longer making sense. Every word hurt her and still, she wanted to make certain he heard every last one of them until she had that last pure moment of clarity and understanding, opening her eyes to meet his. Just to see the tears streaming down his face.]

Rock was... a lot like you, Tony. A good kid. Please... look after him.

[She stopped moving. Breathing. Dante spoke to Nell's lifeless body, to himself, and to Beatrix. She would want to get them both out of there before more of the ceiling came down but he was already standing and going to pick up his guns. He would be using them soon, after all.

Gripping both pistols firmly, he turned to face the open door leading into the hall. Smoke was billowing out into the night and the crowd had retreated from the growing inferno.]

I forget much of what I said to her. Said I was sorry I teased her. That I'm a crybaby and that she was too soft on me. That I lied to her and never told her my real name. That I forgot who I was.

But... [Stalking past Beatrix, he knew she wouldn't be burned even if she were in pain. His mind wouldn't allow a single mote of flame to scar her. Not one of the fiery demons outside, stalking and readying themselves for an ambush would lay a single claw on her.]

What I hate most is how clearly I remember what I'm going to do next.

[roseofmay]

[She hadn't needed confirmation that it wasn't hers. That she found herself experiencing, in some way, something else that was Dante's. It was different from the Evil Forest, however. Back then, it had only been memories that they had witnessed. This was similar to it, but more like being placed right inside. Living through something she had never seen. Something she'd never heard of. Filled with a similar fear and concern that those who had survived it would have felt.

Beatrix never had considered herself much an empathetic person either. She didn't seem inclined to start changing that up now.

Frozen in place where she stood, feeling that she very much didn't need to be there. A little uncomfortable with such a display because she knew she didn't know how to offer solace or comfort in such situations. The limits to what she could provide as a person and her own discomfort with emotional situations or displays kept her from growing as an individual. It would have been better, wiser to let him have those final moments without her listening in stupidly.

Why she remained, she could only guess it was because if one was to be lost, maybe she just had to see Dante leave unscathed. Never mind that regardless of reality versus fiction, the growing heat that surrounded them not only made it hard to breathe, but certainly felt prominent enough that she might go in a way that seemed less than dignified. Lacking in glory. Lacking in prestige. Lacking in everything she'd wanted out of a soldier's death.

Selfish thoughts, really. Not wanting to focus too intensely on either of them, Beatrix impatiently waited for things to play out, more nervous and anxiety-ridden than she tended to be in such situations. A part of her filed away what she learned for later. Not that she intended to ask. Dante had made it somewhat clear that he wasn't exactly keen on discussing matters like that. It would only ever come up if enough time passed.

As Dante moved from where he held Nell, Beatrix gave him as much berth as she thought he needed.]

You can't— [She began, fighting against the air that sought to kill her words before she could use them. Instead, against the ache and the disadvantage, she forced them out.] —just leave her here.

[She could get Nell, she suspected. Although perhaps that wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Dante didn't seem the type to leave anyone behind. Not if he didn't have to. But could she say that with certainty? How well did she know him? Certainly, she knew a fragment of him, but there remained a great deal to the man that she could only speculate on. As much as she hadn't been forward with him, she doubted he had ever shared all he could with her in turn.

But maybe that was what he meant by the words he followed up with.]