Heartman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
20likes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-01-02 09:56 am
20likes) wrote in singillatim2024-01-02 09:56 am
See the sun set;
Character Name: Heartman + you
Who: TDM continuation + a few open prompts re: prelude
What: The prelude dream doesn't bode well for someone like Heartman
When: Night of Jan 1st
Where: Community hall, Outside
Content Warnings: TBD, will update as needed
i. The Dream;
Heartman's a very light sleeper. Doing everything in 20 minute cycles means his body's circadian rhythm is severely off, if nonexistent at this point. There's no Beach to go to, no wandering black sand and smelling the salt and decomposing fish, following familiar footsteps until he tires himself out. It's just him.
When he does sleep, his dreams are never. It's usually the same dream, one Heartman stopped dreading once he knew the scientific reason but still finds deeply unpleasant. He should be glad--is glad--that he only suffers a mild case of DOOMS. He lacks the homicidal tendencies for one, the suicidal behaviour is thankfully non existent. The dreams, though. The nightmares are relentless, sharp and vivid but never in colour.
This dream is not the same.
Heartman wakes with a gasp in the community hall, hand flying to his chest out of habit--no, his heart is fine, it's still fine here--and knocking the sleeping person next to him in his hurried attempt to rise. His brow furrows, determined, panting from the adrenaline as he scrambles up and shoots to the closest scrap of paper on a table, knocking over a chair in his haste to reach for his glasses at the same time.
"It's different--" His lips frown deeply, immediately twitch into a half smile in a temporary moment of sheer scientific excitement, and his face eventually settles on a very stern sort of look, lips parted as he scribbles madly.
"This... is... different."
ii. Outside;
He can't go back to sleep. Time seems to stretch on here, elongated and like a giraffe neck in comparison to the nice, neat, short and compartmentalized moments he's so used to. He's left rudderless, aimless without his research, and while he's already started to shift his work to solving this puzzle and trying not to focus too much on the one back home in order to retain his sanity here, it's difficult.
This dream, the wolves and the voice, even the word interloper is both a blessing and a curse. Heartman decides to go for a walk, bundling up as tightly as possible and throwing a blanket around his shoulders for good measure. The air is crisp, reminiscent of the mountain air swirling around his lab, but it has far more of a bite. Temperature, perhaps. Or the sense of foreboding that new dream has weighted him down with has clouded his judgement.
If someone else is taking a night walk, Heartman will politely raise his hand in greeting, sticking to the town itself and never straying too far from the community hall.
He does nip out a second time, this time to watch the sun rise, bundled just as tightly. For all of the unanswered questions he has, Heartman still has time to enjoy the natural beauty of it all. There's no Timefall to worry about. Just sheer, natural beauty.
Who: TDM continuation + a few open prompts re: prelude
What: The prelude dream doesn't bode well for someone like Heartman
When: Night of Jan 1st
Where: Community hall, Outside
Content Warnings: TBD, will update as needed
i. The Dream;
Heartman's a very light sleeper. Doing everything in 20 minute cycles means his body's circadian rhythm is severely off, if nonexistent at this point. There's no Beach to go to, no wandering black sand and smelling the salt and decomposing fish, following familiar footsteps until he tires himself out. It's just him.
When he does sleep, his dreams are never. It's usually the same dream, one Heartman stopped dreading once he knew the scientific reason but still finds deeply unpleasant. He should be glad--is glad--that he only suffers a mild case of DOOMS. He lacks the homicidal tendencies for one, the suicidal behaviour is thankfully non existent. The dreams, though. The nightmares are relentless, sharp and vivid but never in colour.
This dream is not the same.
Heartman wakes with a gasp in the community hall, hand flying to his chest out of habit--no, his heart is fine, it's still fine here--and knocking the sleeping person next to him in his hurried attempt to rise. His brow furrows, determined, panting from the adrenaline as he scrambles up and shoots to the closest scrap of paper on a table, knocking over a chair in his haste to reach for his glasses at the same time.
"It's different--" His lips frown deeply, immediately twitch into a half smile in a temporary moment of sheer scientific excitement, and his face eventually settles on a very stern sort of look, lips parted as he scribbles madly.
"This... is... different."
ii. Outside;
He can't go back to sleep. Time seems to stretch on here, elongated and like a giraffe neck in comparison to the nice, neat, short and compartmentalized moments he's so used to. He's left rudderless, aimless without his research, and while he's already started to shift his work to solving this puzzle and trying not to focus too much on the one back home in order to retain his sanity here, it's difficult.
This dream, the wolves and the voice, even the word interloper is both a blessing and a curse. Heartman decides to go for a walk, bundling up as tightly as possible and throwing a blanket around his shoulders for good measure. The air is crisp, reminiscent of the mountain air swirling around his lab, but it has far more of a bite. Temperature, perhaps. Or the sense of foreboding that new dream has weighted him down with has clouded his judgement.
If someone else is taking a night walk, Heartman will politely raise his hand in greeting, sticking to the town itself and never straying too far from the community hall.
He does nip out a second time, this time to watch the sun rise, bundled just as tightly. For all of the unanswered questions he has, Heartman still has time to enjoy the natural beauty of it all. There's no Timefall to worry about. Just sheer, natural beauty.
no subject
This time he spoke after he nodded, just a few broken, halting phrases that seemed to be missing key phrases like 'I' statements and articles that should have been at the beginning of a sentence like 'The' or 'A.' "Three-headed monster. Name being called out." Those had been the main portions which had stuck out to him.
no subject
"Fascinating, isn't it? Shared dreams. I can't say I'm thrilled about the subject matter." He is, actually, but that's not something he's ready to explain to a stranger, or admit to himself.
"I don't suppose you happen to be an Oneirologist?"
no subject
His head tilted a little to the left when he was asked if he was an oneirologist. "A what?" Rorschach wasn't stupid, far from it even with his many eccentricities, but he had no idea what kind of doctor that was supposed to be.
no subject
Helpful! Heartman smiles.
"Perhaps we could puzzle it out together, regardless of education?"
no subject
He nodded at Heartman's proposal. "Been trying to." But he'd yet to figure out anything concrete that would have given him some answers.
no subject
A small smile--not apologetic, but interested, and he holds up an index finger as he speaks. On his wrists are high-tech handcuffs, both cuffs fixed on his wrist like it's a decorative bracelet.
"For example, if you do dream: before this, was it a reccuring one featuring the end of the world?"
no subject
As for the question, he had an answer to that, speaking in his usual halting manner with words clipped off the beginning of his sentences. "Dreamed about the end before. But always saw it with explosions, nuclear Armageddon."
no subject
"A rainbow lacking blue? Upside down?"
no subject
"Mushroom cloud. Bright yellow-orange light," he explained. The nuclear terror that had been hanging over his head since the day he was born. The Cold War that threatened to turn hot any day now.
no subject
"A beach?"
no subject
Beach, desert, or the snow, it didn't matter. They'd all end up dead in the end if nothing was done to stop it. The problem was Rorschach wasn't sure how to stop it or if there was even a way to do that. Sometimes, it was troublesome feeling so helpless.
no subject
This is the fourth time something has been similar, but not quite. It would vex him--and maybe a little part of him is, if the slight wrinkle of his nose is anything to go by--if it didn't open so many questions.
"I have something similar, where I come from. I thought for a second--" he shakes his head.
"One step forward, two steps back in terms of understanding both this place and fellow interlopers. Though I must say, your mask is fascinating."
no subject
He gave a short nod. "Thanks." It was impossible to gauge what expression might have been on his face, although the black dots did cluster around his mouth for a few moments more than they were warranted to. Indeed, beneath the fabric, he was smiling. He also came just a step or two closer to Heartman. "I made it."
no subject
"What material components did you use to get a consistently moving pattern? Some tweaked form of technologically advanced camouflage? Though I suppose if it was fully reliant on technology, this place would dampen it somewhat...My colleague Mama would have a field day observing this."
He misses her, even if he has a piece of her here.
no subject
"Liquid was designed by a..." He hesitated. Rorschach had been about to say friend but that wasn't quite true. Dr. Manhattan didn't exactly have friends now, did he? "...Designed by an ally of mine. Meant to be a new fashion but didn't take off. Heat and pressure sensitive. When put between two fabrics, reacts to body heat and pressure on the body." Which explained why the black splotches continuously moved on his face, never staying in one spot for long before shifting around to create another.
no subject
"May I?"
no subject