rubi inbox

[pharmacy]

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Quentin Smith, 23

letters ◇ thoughts ◇ dreams

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[pharmacy]

[ While it's only Quentin's second rodeo here in Rubilykskoye, dying is old, unsavory hat at this point. His death was easy this time around, his struggle with reviving more disorientation and nausea than the pain. He's reaching out for others--maybe Jin Guangyao, maybe Felipe--and Harlan comes to him easy. 

[ Like an exhale, something to follow down: ] Take it easy. It might be a while. 

[ghostlocked]

[Quentin's voice comes through like a distant radio channel, cut with static. But it's a fixed point in the chaos.]

Are you dead too?

[Or is he dreaming up someone to talk to?]

[pharmacy]

I'm not dead. Neither are you. [ Deep breaths, because he needs them, and maybe the pulse of his energy is something Harlan can follow. Follow along. ] What happened to you?

[ghostlocked]

The fuck—?

[The answer sends him reeling, but just for a moment. There's an undercurrent he can feel, a rhythmic beating that makes the nothingness feel a little steadier.]

I'm... Peony killed me. [A flash of hot pain across his throat.] I died. I'm dead.

[Isn't he?]

I'm supposed to be.

[pharmacy]

[ Sorry: in this thin space, surprise and amusement sparkle across the connection to hear the name. Peony...he knows so little of her except for her effervescent attitude, the way her seams blend together with her horse's, the adventuring--ah. ]

How'd she do it? Quick?

[ghostlocked]

[Quentin's bleeding reaction is soothing. Harlan is surprised too, truthfully. He was sure she'd chicken out, but there's a swell of unbridled pride as he remembers the moment she broke skin.]

Cut my throat.

[There's a flourish of affection, like a contented sigh. He doesn't mean to share it.]

I asked her to.

[pharmacy]

Damn--did this place tire you out that quick?

[ghostlocked]

It's not like that.

[He doesn't think, anyway. Maybe it is. Existing like this has his mind too fragmented.]

I... wanted to know how it felt.

I don't like it.

[pharmacy]

[ If he had control of his body, he'd be setting his head back right now. Relief, maybe more than he should feel for someone he hardly knows. But still. ]

It's bullshit, right? The slit throat is a bitch, that was my first time. I just got knocked out of my head this time, and it's still a fucking wringer.

[ghostlocked]

[He didn't mind the method, actually. Dying the same way that he kills felt... fair. It's a good death. But he hasn't exactly had time to unravel all of his feelings over that yet.]

Knocked out of your head...? How?

[pharmacy]

...I don't really know. I don't know about the...the mechanics. But Mavis--have you met Mavis?

[ghostlocked]

Mavis.

[He tests the name out. It doesn't feel familiar.]

No. Void-touched?

[pharmacy]

Yeah. Telepath, even before all of this, and she'd be a force of nature even without it. She was in there with me. She--shut me off. Or. I dunno. I'd have to ask Ianthe. I've been kicked out of dreams before, but this...

[ This killed the shit out of him. ]

[ghostlocked]

Shut you off?

[Oh, he hates the sound of that.]

Can she... wait, what do you mean kicked out of dreams?

[pharmacy]

[ The general feeling of ugh comes across the line. ]

I mean--fuck. [ He strains to think of an organized, concise way to say it, but fuck it, they have time. ] I mean...there's a little...psychic hole in the back of my brain that lets me out sometimes. In my dreams. Into other people's dreams. I've kinda been...working on it lately.

[ghostlocked]

[It's the feeling of a windstorm slowly dying down, thinking about this. An easy thought to get caught up in.]

Okay. [The rush of static comes back as he fights to materialize his curiosity into an actual question.] How are... How are you working on it? Why?

[Wait.]

Are you doing it now?

[pharmacy]

Right now, I'm just trying to avoid thinking about--the fuckin--pain. [ Haha, heehee. ] I'm trying to get control of it. Stephen Strange is a sorcerer, he's got--experience with this kind of thing. He's helping me master it.

Do you dream?

[ghostlocked]

[It's a lot to wrap his head around, but most importantly:]

That's a dumb name.

[A name he keeps hearing, though. Probably worth looking into.]

Um. Sometimes. Nothing good. Why? Do you want to... come in?

[pharmacy]

[ Sorry, Stephen, but it's funny. Almost as funny as the question. Does he want to come in? The pain dims a little bit. That's something odd, isn't it? ]

Just--wondering. Some people don't dream. I don't know if they're lucky or...they're probably lucky.

What, if I wanna come in, are you gonna clean up your headspace?

[ghostlocked]

Lucky.

[What he would give to have sleep just be a safe space sometimes.]

...Is that something I can do? Clean up?

[pharmacy]

...I mean. Depends. On the person. On the dreams...how hard you're willing to work at it. You ever do lucid dreaming? 

[ghostlocked]

No. Do I seem like a guy with that much control over my brain?

[ There's a small laugh. Self-deprecating, but it's a start. ]

Lucid dreaming about cleaning sounds nice.

[pharmacy]

Okay, well--that's a good image to start with. Maybe...maybe every time you see mess, ask yourself if you're dreaming. Eventually, you'll see mess in a dream, you'll ask yourself, and you'll realize whoa, yeah I am. 

Then, start cleaning. Once you can clean and stay in the dream--stay aware that you're dreaming? Hit me up. We can do--we can do next steps. 

[ghostlocked]

[ Huh. Quentin makes it sound easy. ]

Okay... Hit you up, what, like this?

[ The thought of trying to communicate telepathically from a dream feels impossible. But the, he's doing it now, isn't he? Sort of. ]

Why are you going into people's dreams?

[pharmacy]

Like this, when you wake up. [ Or when he's sleeping? Would that be possible? One step at a time. ] I'm not...going into people's dreams. Relax.