Macbain.
Ugh, I hope I never see that dreadful woman again. To think that she can manipulate me so? She will see who truly has power in this town.
Ever since she was able to push me out of her dreams — that charm of Underby’s, plus whatever Footman did inside her brain — she has been smug and smarmy and snide.
To me! I am the one who should be smug and smarmy and snide!
I encountered her speaking with Malus in Harvey’s cafe, so naturally I approached. He left quickly. Coward. He knows it’s been me, and he simply cannot face me anymore, lest he allow a crack in his facade through which I will have him again.
I thought I spoke congenially to her. As much as I could muster it. I even told her I had no intention of draining her soul. I thought she would appreciate that.
Then she touched my nose. She’s recently acquired a mare herself, and oh she learns quickly, that Macbain. You know that spot on the nose, where if you touch it, the horse becomes docile?
She had the nerve. And I must tell you, I thought I was over any thought of a feeling for her, but at that moment, there might have been a flicker…
She had the gall to lay guilt upon me! “Just one of your nightmares hurt me more than Underby or Pip ever did.”
Remorse? Bah. I will have the upper hand here, I tell you.
Those who dare sleep tonight in the City of New Babbage, you will be haunted in a swath of night terrors unlike any that has ever been seen.
And you all can blame her.
Macbain!
…. Tepic awakes from his dream… blimey! that was the biggest vole in the universe, an it had almost caught him!….. hmmmmm…… enormouse vole…. airship regatta…. ah!…. Tepic settles down to sleep again, thoughts of the biggest vole trap in the world uppermost in his thoughts…
Bookworm crawls out of bed, bleary-eyed and shaking a little. She hadn’t dreamed about last March for several months, but tonight, it had come back with full force. She lights a lamp, grabs a book from one of the shelves, and sits down in the chair in the turret.
‘No sense in trying to get back to sleep,’ she thinks.
((Heh–typist actually had a bout of insomnia last night. Power of suggestion?))
NO COFFEE!!!!!!!!! oh, haven’t woken up yet….whew!
::sleeps in the day, but then he seldom dreams of pleasant things anyway!::
Waking in a cold sweat and a start, Scottie sat straight up while frantically taking stock of his surroundings. Seeing that beside him lay his wife Sky, alive as ever, he let out a heavy sigh of relief. Looking at her, he noticed that she was restlessly tearing at the sheets and panting. Leaning down to give a comforting hug, he whispered, “Sssssssh, it’s only a dream…”
Sky’s eyes flew open as she released the covers that were held tightly in her grasp. Returning his hug, she muttered, “It was terrible, I was being chased by a killer oven, unable to get away as I was wearing a huge pink hoop skirt and a fifty pound bustle.” She shuddered slightly at the recollection.
Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Scottie said soothingly, “My, that is an awful nightmare. Wonder why we both…” He stopped speaking suddenly as he looked down to see Sky peacefully breathing again with her eyes closed, quietly whispering to himself as he lay back down, “Why indeed…”
*wakes up the next morning and yawns*
“mmmmmmmm…bacon…”
((Goods luck trying to get into Mornington’s head Heliotrope, lots of little nooks and crannys in there due to Morningtons nature and ‘species’ :) ))
*wakes up and stumbles over to the hearth to start her coffee, pauses and tilts her head, ears twitching at the sound of several people crying-out in the dark morning, she yawns and shrugs* rough night to be asleep, I guess.
*nibbles on large chunk of coal, courtesy of a Christmas present left in the shop*
*looks up from typewriter*
*shrugs*
*returns to bleeding machine oil on the paper*
Sometimes I miss not being able to sleep anymore…
*hasn’t slept in weeks since he took drugs and interfaced with the Machine, but discovers a number of his employees cranky and confused in the morning.
*actually has a decent nights sleep for once, “oh hello Night Terror, would you mind keeping still for a scientific examination and possible dissection? all in the interest of furthering the cause of science I assure you” rolls over as the dream changes to one about toast*
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=avU5onrWfYo
((YEAH TOAST!))
((YEAH TOAST!!!))
*wakes up in a cold sweat* Was that the Clockwinder kissing me??? *reaches for the sake bottle and drains it*
Jed snapped awake suddenly, senses already screaming with adrenaline. The house was silent, save for the muted ticking of the hall clock and the quiet breathing from the still form under the blankets. She slipped quietly out of bed, and walked the perimeter of the room, silently checking the latches on the windows and the bolt on the door.
She felt moisture on her palms. Crossing the floor to the bathroom, she carefully adjusted the lamp to provide a bit more light. Her palms were bloody. It looked as if she had clenched her fists so tightly that the nails had dug into the skin. She carefully washed her hands, dressed the cuts and returned to bed.
Curious.
Gaby rises from a deep mediation. Hissing.. “K’aha sinh ael varei!” she grabs the nearest object, a dagger on the shelf next to her bed, and slings it with sufficient force to embed it firmly in the wall across the room.
She stands and pulls a dimly glowing pendant from under her night-shirt . . .
((Brilliant, everyone!))
Underby grimly watches the sun peek over the horizon, having not slept in four days.
*Cadmus wakes up and chuckles* “That was different.” *Rolls over, in his hammock, and goes back to sleep.*
Orpheus is back in “the Old Country.” The cities are in ruins, war is evident everywhere. To the east a cloud of smoke rises from the destruction of the capital city. To the west the steampowered tiktoks built by Cybus march toward the city, bringing further devastation in their wake. Two enemy armies, both set on conquering the Old Country, and Orpheus is trapped in the middle with nowhere to run….
Orpheus wakes up screaming, sheets covered in sweat. “What a terrible dream,” he thinks to himself. He gets up, pours himself a glass of cold water and sits down with a snack, hoping that it will calm him back to sleep…..
Naveen bolts upright in her bed, the sheets balled up tightly in her clenched fists. Tears slowly well in her eyes as she tries to shake off the horrific scenes replaying in her head. “No no no, she can’t do that, she simply can’t know…” she mutters to herself as lays back down, unwilling to close her eyes for fear of the visions returning.
Skyler wakes up with a huge smile on his face, having dreamt of the biggest Rum bottle in the WORLD and right there waiting for him to dive in, which he so gladly did, swimming around with a look of sheer joy on his fyoung, filthy, face. Licking his lips he gets up to grab a bottle of Rum from the bar at Brunel Hall and returns to slumber after downing the bottle, sleeping by the fire for warmth and returning to dreams…about the Giant Rum Bottle attacking him.
tosses and turns in the hotel room, dreaming he’s trapped in a land full of hairless apes, and lost his time egg, bolts awake and sits up straight, “Oh hell, that wasn’t a dream?!”
**As Eamon **
Wakes up screaming, that horrid nightmare of his entire clan getting brutally killed while he hides in an underwater cave, everything visible to him yet he is unable to help, bodies falling everywhere around him, the water red with blood, still visible in his mind. Shaking from the horrid nightmare, and the awful vision of that…that…creature seemingly able to breath underwater, laughing all the while, still fresh in his mind. Sighing, he swims toward the Hospital that’s underwater and sits atop the roof, hugging his tail as he does, the way a child would hug his knees. “Why’d I have that awful nightmare?” He quietly asks himself, fighting back tears.
He finds himself on a balcony high above an ornate city plaza of white marble. He’s oddly dressed, more ancient Rome than Babbage. He feels tall. The crowd before him is cheering wildly and chanting his name like some mad mantra they’ve pulled out of the air. He senses people surrounding him on the balcony, and they are applauding, though he knows not why. There are fireworks in the distance, and bright airships driven by both prop and rocket speed overhead in vast formations. He waves, and the crowd erupts anew …
Suddenly, there is a soft voice in his ear. “Your bacon sandwich is here, Excellency.” He salivates as if Pavlov were standing nearby, ringing.
He wakes. The pillow is quite damp. There is no bacon sandwich.