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[Milliways: Mel's Room]
Mar. 15th, 2007 07:05 pm(You don't dream much, do you, Mel?)
Since dusting Harth, that's all changed, and Mel thinks mostly for the better. She's even stopped with the meditation - she wants to experience these things fully. But that doesn't mean she's not beginning to realise how they manage to spin her brother nuts. Every night a different dream. Vivid, all encompassing, and real.
Some of them are exhausting.
Running three hundred miles in three days, and fighting, always fighting to protect the man who carries the hope of his peopl on his shoulders, fighting to keep vampires off him, fighting to stay hidden, and finally as they reach Athens together, poison coarsing through her body, fighting to stay alive.
Some of them are exhilarating.
Flying through New York (and wherever she dreams she is, it's always these dreams she savours. Her city. No matter how old or short or backwards it looks, it's always her city) on the back of a huge bat, throwing pearls aorund its neck and driving it down to her world in the Lowers.
Some of them are downright weird.
They're tough and they're mean and they want to end the world - again - and they would have killed her if he hadn't turned up in the car. But now she needs to work out that energy...
...yeah, sex dreams about your boyfriend's ex are rutting spun. Even more so when you know it actually happened.
But then there's the other dreams. The ones Mel is pretty rutting sure aren't past lives, and they'd better the hell not be prophetic Slayer type toy. They include the Flamethrower, for one. And he's not even from her world.
Mostly, she's able to write them off to the mystery that is her brain. Even the (oh god) babies, which, if she knew a thing about any of that psych toy, she's sure she'd sign off as a weird symptom of all her friends dropping when she knows she can't have that for herself. Why it has to be with her sister's ex, she'll never know.
But that's not the worst. That's not what jerks her out of her sleep so quick it's almost violent, shaking in the bed in a cold sweat, and shivering in terror. She'd read about it in the Diaries, of course, but not until she dreamt it could she truly appreciate just how lucky she'd been in her own life.
She was at high school.
Breathing to calm down, Mel steals a fond look at the ex-turtle in the bed next to her, and slides out of the bed, to be met by Stampy, awake and eager for breakfast.
"Mornin' Bignose," she says quietly, reachign down to scritch the madam behind her ears, and reflecting, for some reason, how cool it is to have a baby elephant.
Since dusting Harth, that's all changed, and Mel thinks mostly for the better. She's even stopped with the meditation - she wants to experience these things fully. But that doesn't mean she's not beginning to realise how they manage to spin her brother nuts. Every night a different dream. Vivid, all encompassing, and real.
Some of them are exhausting.
Running three hundred miles in three days, and fighting, always fighting to protect the man who carries the hope of his peopl on his shoulders, fighting to keep vampires off him, fighting to stay hidden, and finally as they reach Athens together, poison coarsing through her body, fighting to stay alive.
Some of them are exhilarating.
Flying through New York (and wherever she dreams she is, it's always these dreams she savours. Her city. No matter how old or short or backwards it looks, it's always her city) on the back of a huge bat, throwing pearls aorund its neck and driving it down to her world in the Lowers.
Some of them are downright weird.
They're tough and they're mean and they want to end the world - again - and they would have killed her if he hadn't turned up in the car. But now she needs to work out that energy...
...yeah, sex dreams about your boyfriend's ex are rutting spun. Even more so when you know it actually happened.
But then there's the other dreams. The ones Mel is pretty rutting sure aren't past lives, and they'd better the hell not be prophetic Slayer type toy. They include the Flamethrower, for one. And he's not even from her world.
Mostly, she's able to write them off to the mystery that is her brain. Even the (oh god) babies, which, if she knew a thing about any of that psych toy, she's sure she'd sign off as a weird symptom of all her friends dropping when she knows she can't have that for herself. Why it has to be with her sister's ex, she'll never know.
But that's not the worst. That's not what jerks her out of her sleep so quick it's almost violent, shaking in the bed in a cold sweat, and shivering in terror. She'd read about it in the Diaries, of course, but not until she dreamt it could she truly appreciate just how lucky she'd been in her own life.
She was at high school.
Breathing to calm down, Mel steals a fond look at the ex-turtle in the bed next to her, and slides out of the bed, to be met by Stampy, awake and eager for breakfast.
"Mornin' Bignose," she says quietly, reachign down to scritch the madam behind her ears, and reflecting, for some reason, how cool it is to have a baby elephant.
