milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Dream is in the bar.

On some level he always is.

Right now, however, it is the "with entrance post, player at keyboard, willing to speak to people" way.

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There is a young man at a table, doing what is probably homework. More likely, he's using it as an excuse to people-watch. This is an interesting place, always filled with interesting people.

Dream looks like one of the most interesting he's watched so far.

Does it count as people watching when you watch Dream? This is a conundrum. (But then, Dream himself is a conundrum.) He dips his head in a nod.

Perhaps. Peoples'-Dreams-watching, perhaps. It would not occur to West to think that anyone in the bar was not a person. Except maybe animals and random pieces of furniture. He already knows about Bar.

At the nod, he gives a faint smile, utterly unashamed at being caught staring. Can you blame him for being fascinated?

"Evening."

"Good evening, Westerly."

He says mildly enough.

"Are you enjoying Milliways?"

The smile drops when he hears his name. Dark eyes narrow slightly. This person doesn't look like he's work for the Army, but still.

"Well enough. Where did you learn my name?"

"I am Dream."

He says with a faint smile,

"Of the Endless. I have always known you."

Ah, that inflection. Better than parents, lovers, friends, siblings, soul mates. Better than gods, spirits, angels, or self.

Westerly finds he doesn't like that inflection. He doesn't like it at all. But he doubts he can do anything about it, so all there is to do is to deal with it.

Warily, he says, "You have always known me? Should I say I am sorry for you, then?"

It's not been a good life at all.

"You need not be sorry for me. I have always known you, and I have always known everyone you know. I am not named Dream, I am Dream."

He pauses. He does not say 'oh, so you're not human, then.' West could tell that, easily enough.

"Dreams and hopes and wishes and thoughts." Westerly gives an uneasy smile, almost confused, for it felt like he was quoting something he had heard. "Wait."

Then he tilts his head. "Mother mentioned something one time... about seven..." He stops. It was nearly ten years ago, and he cannot remember more than the fragment.

"That would be my family, yes."

He says quietly,

"Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, and Del."

Which is not, perhaps, quite what his mother told him. It is, however, correct.

He thinks for a moment. "That fits."

"I thought she was just telling me a story at the time."

Stories were calming to the young Westerly, when the night was filled with the crying of children. Five families sharing a two-room apartment. The sheets hung up for 'privacy' didn't cut out any of the sounds of the night.

"She was that, as well."

He says with a faint smile,

"We are a bit larger than mere beings."

He smiles back. "I've definitely noticed."

Westerly catches sight of his watch. "It was nice meeting you, Dream - meeting you in return, I guess, since you already know me - but I have to write for my political history, tonight. I had better hurry and get started on that."

"Perhaps you should."

He murmurs, with a quiet amusement that he doesn't bother to hide. Inspiring is another of the things which he does.

Westerly smiles slightly, politely, and goes to find a table.

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