Smoke & Mirrors: Freya's Dream
04/28/2006
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
[GMNote: Stacey GMed this dream sequence.]
Brownstone -- Apartment B(#3427RAJh)
The lift opens out into the bottom right corner of the hallways and facing a wooden-doored closet that is painted with several geometric shapes of varying degrees of blue. From that point the hall goes two ways: left follows the bottom hallway where two bedroom doors are located as well as a two-part bathroom at the end (the sink and cabinets in one room, the toilet and shower/tub in the other), and straight ahead leads to the living room where a simple couch coverd in a cobalt blue cover, recliner that is covered similar to the couch, and a small entertainment center dominate. The top of the D-like halls is actually the dining room, small but functional, with a room at the top left of the apartment for a washer and dryer. The central hallway leads right through the kitchen at the heart of the apartment and can be reached from both the top and bottom hallways. There is even a portion of the kitchen wall missing where a countertop allows visual access to the living room.
The apartment is vibrant with color, all in shades of blues and in the same geometric patterns as the closet. There is a beige carpet in the main room and hardwood in the bathroom as well as tile in the kitchen. The cabinets in the kitchen now are painted in all primary colors of a light hue: yellow, blue, and red. There are some decorations on the walls, mostly drawings of Dillen's hand of Freya and what he views as their child, which has not yet been born. In the corner of the living room, is an old fashioned crib that was rescued from a Goodwill and painted with little animals and the like. Around the crib are drawings and mobiles of fanciful creatures, all hand done and mounted about the wall around the crib.
The apartment best resembles a D in the main structure of its hallways {+view floorplan}.
Contents:
Rose Box
Obvious exits:
Lift
[look Freya]
A strapping young woman, not beautiful -- she's two inches too big in every direction to ever hope for life as a model -- but striking. Long straight blond hair is parted down the middle and falls to each side of a smooth face; if the face has a fault, it is perhaps the slightly vacant air that seems to be its default expression. Her arms are muscular for a woman's and her body is athletic. She favors spaghetti-strap tops which are prone to come adrift over her midriff and reveal a pierced navel, and when weather or formality demands, a light jacket over that. On her feet there's an even chance of finding smart heels, or not-quite-designer training shoes, again depending on circumstances.
Around her neck on a waxed black cord there hangs a small, green jade figurine of a wolf.
Small babies are no respecters of the clock. When they want something, they want it now. And although it's the middle of the day, Gretchen has decided, after a solid half-hour alternating yelling and breast-feeding, that she's tired out and is going to sleep now. Freya, truth to tell, is rather glad; after spending what seemed like half the night up looking after her child, she herself is weary enough. Once Gretchen's in her crib, Freya sinks onto the recliner, and within a couple of minutes her eyes close.
From the deep, restful darkness of sleep, Freya's mind slips into the more confusing haze of dreams. Random blurred images flash by as her unconscious sorts through her experiences, worries, and joys. Little Gretchen smiling, tiny hand clinging to her mother's finger. Dillen leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, lovingly brushing back a strand of her hair. The frustration of searching for that ever lost grocery list. Eventually the dream settles on a typical day at the Brownstone, although surprisingly, Brom and Rillie are there as well. The large Get seems to be sharing one of his boastful stories.
Freya watches Rillie's pretty face as she laughs with Brom, the big philodox opening another bottle of beer for himself. Dillen doesn't seem to be here. She wonders in the idly detached way of dreams where he is as Brom tosses his empty can across the room to land in the recycling, a perfect shot as always. She looks around to see if her husband is anywhere else in the apartment, and her eyes light, not on Dillen, but on the bloody corpse of a young teenage boy, blond head askew on his snapped neck, a look of fatalistic horror frozen on his face.
The wide, horrified eyes of the corpse stare up at Freya, almost pleading, warning. So young, so dead. A boy murdered because of a mistake. Brom is standing beside the kin now, and he puts a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the red stain spreading onto her clothes. "Don't mind the new cub. He wasn't walking right, but we straightened him out."
"It's Lyle, isn't it," whispers Freya. Dillen told her all about the hapless boy, the Garou who wasn't. "You shouldn't have... left him there. Not respectful, Brom." She twists away from his hand, but the bloodstain remains on her shoulder. If anything, it's growing larger.
Brom lets his hand drop, but shakes his head, grinning broadly. "Now, now. He'll learn what he needs to do soon enough. We'll make sure he does." The large Get's gaze travels from the corpse to Freya. "All you have to do is shift. What the hell are you waiting for? We won't be happy until you do." The bloody hand reaches back out to try to grab her arm.
"You're drunk," Freya frowns and pulls back again, only to find herself flanked by Rillie on the other side of her. "He's not," Brom's wife insists. "He's just doing his duty, like you ought. There was a kinfetch. It didn't come from Lyle. Must have been yours. Just get angry and you'll shift." Rillie smiles a hideous smile as Brom's hand clamps down on his sister's shoulder again.
"It wasn't Gretchen either," says Dillen, appearing between the other two and holding up the mangled corpse of their child. "I just checked. Must be you, dear. Hurry up and shift." Brom lets out a bit of a growl and shakes her arm hard. "We don't have time for this! You're already behind in school!"
Freya screams as she sees the mangled body of her baby. With a jerk she rips herself away from Brom and Rillie and turns to run, except when she turns, she collides smack with the big, impassive body of Gunnar. The Godi's hands close on her wrists like handcuffs and start to squeeze. "By the powers granted me by Fenris Himself," he intones, "I declare you Garou." He shifts up into a crinos form, towering over her, hands still squeezing bone-crunchingly down on her helpless wrists.
The others crowd around her as she is trapped by Gunnar, nudging her, pushing her, grabbing onto her with their clawed hands. Voices chanting for her to shift echo throughout the room, growing louder as the pain in her wrists increases. Blood drips from their fangs as they glare at her and snarl, waiting for to do what is expected. I can't! The mind screams. I'm not! I can't! But if she says it out loud... If she proves useless... The Crinosed figure that was Brom once more reaches toward her, this time for her neck.
In the dream, everyday logic falls away. Freya knows that she is not Garou, and so cannot shift, and will end up dead as Lyle and Gretchen are dead. But she also knows that with her friends and family between her and the door, the only chance of escape is to dive through the mirror on the wall behind Gunnar. Because if she is Garou as they say, she will be in the umbra, and safe. She twists frantically as a dozen clawed hands seem to reach at her, and the action brings her in front of the mirror, revealing her reflection. Instead of her own long hair and smoothly perfect face, the despondent face of Lyle Sebastian, blue-eyed and topped with its close-cropped ash-blond hair, stares back out at her, raising one hand to scratch at the inside of the mirror like a caged animal claws at the bars that hold it a prisoner.
And behind Lyle she can see the reflection of several monstrous, black werewolves, with glowing red eyes and long fangs that are bared in anticipation as they look down at the fragile human before them. Freya can see them in the mirror and feel their hot breath upon her neck as they loom over her. "Feast upon the flesh of humans," a voice calls out, "for what cannot shift and runs is food." And then the beasts leap toward her, claws raised to strike her down.
No escape within the mirror. No escape without it. Huge, furred bodies loom over her, poised to strike, bite, rend. Freya screams her last scream, but what comes out of her mouth isn't the strong cry of an adult but the thin yet pervasive shriek of an infant. Freya jerks awake from the vision, and the shriek continues. She's been asleep for an hour, and Gretchen has awoken and is demanding her mother again. Wiping a little cold sweat from her brow, Freya hurries to pick up and cuddle the squalling girl. Never has a mother been so very glad to hear her own baby scream.
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