Paul
Sleeping was never common for Mimir. They didn't ever feel tired, and when the feeling finally *Did* Kick in, it hit all at once. This was one of those times. The room gets a little fuzzy, and the fatigue punches her in the gut. They blink, and their head loses half its weight. They were thankful, in this moment, for the beanbag catching their weight, and they sigh, staring at the wall in front of her, posters covering it like wallpaper. This room was comfortable, much more comfortable than when she still lived with her mother. It relaxes into the beanbag chair, a long sigh exiting their lungs as their eyes close on their own, and before they know it, they're asleep, their thoughts fading to black and something else taking over.

Less common than sleep is dreams. Mimir rarely dreams, the less she uses her powers the less her sleep is plagued. But this place has kept her on her toes, and she had been enjoying dreamless sleep for much too long.

She's sitting on a train, next to her brother. He's singing a song. It was familiar to her, but before she could recall it, he turns to her, eyes leaking tears. It was the same face he made when their mother threw Mimir out of the house. The train is silent as the sun sets, and they sit, staring at each other for much too long before the sun disappears in an instant and the moon takes its place, and she's standing on a hill. 

Her brother is gone.

Mimir stares out at a city skyline, and her phone rings. She picks it up, putting it her ear.

"Mim," Damien speaks to her, but the voice is distorted. Not just by the phone, but by the dream itself, his voice wavering. "I talked to mom today about you coming back, but she got mad at me again. This is fucked up, you know?" 

Her face is blank as she stares out at the city, lights starting to turn off. The furthest ones are out in a blink. 

"It's not like you *Chose* This," Damien continues, "It's just who you are, it's been part of you since you were born. Everyone is so mad at you, but that's pointless!" She can hear him sniffle over the phone as more lights turn off, the darkness approaching her. "This is all mom's fault."

The last light in the city turns off, and the phone is hung up. Everything is black.

And then she's on the train again, bare hands grabbing the wrist and face of a man. She recognizes him. She recognizes everyone. She knows what she made him see. Her grip on his throat tightens, and the song starts playing over the intercom. Her eyes are blank as she watches him struggle.

She does not notice another presence on the train.
Linda
It was a lovely night spent inside. It was picturesque and sweet; the air felt like a crackling hearth as the two teenagers shielded themselves from the Swedish cold. It was Uriel and Owen in their own little bubble, and they quite liked the world the two of them shared behind closed doors. 

Owen was playing Animal Crossing on his switch, muttering something about turnip stocks as Uriel hummed a French lullaby under their breath and went to refill their piping hot mug of tea. 

Perfect, the night could seem— until a familiar wire snapped taught and *Yanked* The light out of their eyes, the soul from their body, and the dream-weaver collapsed on the ground before they could even put their mug down. 
 
*...* 

*Where am I?* 

A train. A man. A familiar face, grabbing a man they did not recognize by the throat, ungloved hands leaving fresh red marks in the flesh of his neck. 

There was no sound besides the gasping of the man, the song over the intercom, and the ambivalent, apathetic noises of a train continuing on its unending churn... Until that sound was replaced by that of brakes squealing. 

"*This stop is . The next stop is .*"

The voice of an uncanny yet cheerful automated announcer spouted garbled, unintelligible nonsense for locations as the train slowed to a halt. 

None of the faceless shadows who populated the rest of the train filtered in or out as the doors remained open. In fact, the only figure that seemed to move during this time was a new arrival, stepping through the open doors and taking a seat as the train began moving once again.

Unlike the specters who solemnly populated the train seats, the new arrival was instantly recognizable. Their white, curly hair only seemed more milky and wispy when untethered by the burden of reality; loose white strands that escaped from their braid seemed to float as if a cloud in the sky. Their deep, grey eyes looked like sinkholes— the definition of those unflinching eyes cementing this creature as not only something real, even in the context of this dream, but something foreign as well. An invader in this world, a chess piece that should not have been where it was. 

Even worse, said chess piece was staring *Directly at Mimir*, stone silent. They made no objection to Mimir's violence toward the man, nor did they offer any judgment. 

They were simply there. Silent.
Paul
The throat in her hands was warm. It is squishy, and it is so, so fragile. Mimir knows her strength, she knows what she's capable of, and yet. 

Her eyes stare right into the man's, his vivid memory fueling her dreamscape as she tightens her grip again, waiting for something to give. Waiting for something to snap. Waiting for something to end this stalemate she's put herself in. She could easily let go of this man, or she could just as easily end his sad, meaningless life on this train. 

Another second of staring and she sighs, hands dropping to her side as she looks away from the man, the glow of her eyes fading as she clenches her hands in and out of fists over and over.

"What is wrong with you? You're seriously *Fucked up,* You know that? I was just giving you a compliment, you bitch!" 

She closes her eyes, continuing the cycle of balling her fingers up and letting them go, the tattoos on her palms barely visible for moments before being covered up again. This is not real. She knows this is not real.

The train intercom starts up again. "The next stop is. The next stop is."

When she turns around again, the man is gone, faded into the crowd and buried in her memory again. Almost like reflex, she glances around the train, her eyes widening as she spots the white hair, and without thinking, she storms over, and just like that, they're face to face again, and her fist is raised, ready to meet their face.

But right before it can move, her hand drops, and she's standing there, staring at Uriel. Her eyes are full of anger, full of rage, sadness, and something else.

Her voice is quiet when she speaks.

"What the *Fuck* Do you want from me?"
Linda
Uriel could only stare at the man; his pitch black, soulless eyes, indignancy plastered on the mockery of a cold face. It took until Mimir's hand nearly impacted their ethereal, milky skin for their grey eyes to finally meander their way and meet her own. 

*What do you want from me?* It's a question Uriel has heard dozens of times, when people finally realized the dreadful, intruding feeling crawling up their spine wasn't a trick of the mind, that *Yes*, there was something *Watching you*, and there was nothing you could do to run away from it. White strands of hair functioned equally as well as a snare of a net, or the string of a web— they were here, and there was no escape.

Uriel paused. 

"I got lost, Mimir." They sigh, and they almost seem disappointed that they have to state that fact. "My mind is not strong enough to withstand all of this pulling. Someone is bound to tug harder than I can resist." There's a twinkle in their eye, and Uriel sits back down in the train seat, jaw tilted up as if pulled by a string when they stare at her once again. 

"Monstrous, no?" It's not a laughing matter— and yet, talking about this with Mimir... The barely lucid part of their soul still slumbering within their body couldn't help but laugh. "You touch people to go into their mind. I don't have to do anything. They dream, and I follow."

A smooth humming noise rung clearly from Uriel's mouth as they began to idly toy with the scenery of the dream; posters on the wall changed designs, mimicking scenery from both Mimir and Uriel's mind. The ambient noises of train tracks and people muttering to themselves seemed to fade, giving the only two real beings some sense of privacy.

"It's a fact of life. My life. Monstrous, indeed." 

Uriel pats the empty spot next to them. An invitation delivered silently to neon pink eyes, from one monster to another.

"What did the man do to you?"
Paul
The noise of the train on its tracks and the sound of the music playing drowned out Mimir's thoughts as Uriel spoke. It tries to calm down. Tries to pry their attention away from how *Intrusive* This is and how *Angry* It is, try to pull itself together. Be normal. Nothing is ever that easy. Even in a dream, they can't get a grip, and it almost keeps them from hearing Uriel's words, the explanation for their presence.

Got lost. No one ever gets lost, but of course Uriel is an exception to the rule. Getting lost is an intention, it's purposeful. 'I just got lost.' She scoffs, but doesn't comment on it. Their eye contact is mutual, and she knows now what that means for the intruder. Nothing about Uriel is monstrous. Ominous? Offputting? Sure. They would never see eye to eye, and it still found their little speech more than disturbing, but the albino in front of it wasn't a monster. Mimir, on the other hand...

The scenery changes in slight ways in its periphery, but it doesn't break eye contact. This was a play at something. Pushing the boundaries on how far this dream would stretch.

"Dreams aren't concrete. They're not memories." It breaks the contact now to gesture to the changing scenery, eyes narrowing as they flick back to Uriel. "How much will you *Really* Glean from this?" She still sounds angry. Her body language said as much as her tone. "It's not monstrous. You've only been told that." A glare is shot in their direction. The words ooze with a kind of distain, not entirely directed at the dreamweaver. 

The sun was setting again when the sound of their hand patting the seat met her ears. A short but audible exhale leaves her nose, and she opts to sit in the seat across from them, the rest of the guests on the train exiting in a polite manner. The train was still as the song started over.

"Why do you care?"
Linda
"No, dreams aren't concrete. They're not bound by the logic of the real world; only by the emotions felt." "I suppose that makes them more embarrassing to intrude upon. It's one thing to see a situation, and its another to see how the scene *Feels* In someone's eyes."

*How much will you really gleam from this?* 

It's an uncomfortable question to answer, and it brings Uriel some pause. Their eyes travel up and down at Mimir's body language. It's feeling many things— that much is easy to discern. It's visible from the way emotion rolls off of their body in waves, tainting the dream around them sour.

"I don't really know how to answer this," Uriel admits. "I don't *Want* To gleam anything from this. I suppose the best case scenario is the dream not changing." 

*Oh, but you could,* A voice in Uriel's head whispers. It's the voice of generations of familiar blood running through their veins, pulsating at the chance to finally awaken its purpose. It speaks with a soft, sultry tone, and whispers *What-ifs* Into their mind. 

What *If* They followed family tradition, sticking their hand in Mimir's mind and rummaging about. They could dig further, deeper, unearthing every skeleton in its closet and revealing every scrap of dirty laundry, forcing it to bear witness to a kaleidoscope of memories and feelings. 

Uriel feels a pit drop in their stomach, and their dream self fades at the sudden doubt. 

*Not monsterous.* Mimir says, and Uriel wonders if that would change had Mimir known about their moment of doubt.

"Why do I care...?" Uriel pauses. They wrap a red string around their finger idly, and entertain the possibility of pulling it.

"I don't know. Just making conversation, I suppose."
Paul
Of course dreams aren't bound by the logic of the real world, and while this information wasn't new, it kept Mimir on edge. It doesn't know the extent of Uriel's powers, of course, and it wasn't keen on letting them dig around. Part of it wishes they would just *Wake up already,* But you know what they say about curiosity and the cat.

"Sure," It taps their foot on the ground, subconsciously to the beat of the song, eyes glaring daggers into Uriel. Anything could change at any second here, and it wouldn't be up to her anymore. It wouldn't be the ebb and flow of things as they are supposed to be. It would be the weaving of the albino, the tapestry made to their liking.

"The dream has already changed because you're here. You started with the posters. Your best case is already down the drain." Strategy. That's what this is. They're easing into this, seeing what she'll notice, and going from there. Mimir sighs quietly, glancing out the window before focusing back on Uriel, just in time to see the brief fade. 

What's happening here?

"That's the worst way to make conversation. Are you seriously asking me why I almost killed someone who might not even exist?" It scoffs, running a hand through its hair, pink eyes closing just briefly as she does so. "Is that how you always open conversations?" If she wasn't so tense, she would laugh. If this wasn't Uriel in front of her, she'd laugh.

So instead, she opts to silently wish they'd disappear.
Linda
Hm. Interesting, Mimir was perceptive, even in this fantasy land. Uriel hadn't considered to be a meaningful change to the dream, but what could be meaningful to Mimir might not be to Uriel. They were different people, after all, and as much as Uriel wanted to have the train arrive at its destination and open the sick doors to the twisted architechture of Mimir's mindscape... 

They were better than that.

"I am not good with conversations. Surely you've noticed that." Uriel clicks their tongue, uncrossing their leg to quell its idle bouncing. "And, if you'll allow me this one error, I might have to do something bad. It's for both of our sakes, I assure you; assuming you don't want to be here as little as I do." A small *Tut-tut* Escapes from their lips, and they hum the same tune they sing while doing chores to manipulate the dreams of a maybe-stranger. 

They don't want for a response.

Their tone goes quiet. The ambiance of the train, already faded into the background from their prior weaving, comes back in with a roar. The cacophony of noises sounds like blood pulsating through one's skull— echoing, throbbing, pulsating, noises of idle chatter and feet walking and hearts beating and earbuds playing too-loud music crash towards Mimir, the grand orchestra almost enough to bring someone to their knees. 

And then, before Mimir has enough time to catch its breath... 

It all falls silent. 

Whiplash is the best description. Uriel was sitting politely in front of Mimir only seconds ago, and yet Uriel is now standing and *Looming* Over it, leaning over like a predator about to eat its prey. What expression is on their face is gone, wiped away in a blur of blotchy watercolor and emotionless shadow. 

Their gloved hands, long and pointed and larger than normal reach out like the crack of a whip and grab Mimir's face, squishing her cheeks together in a fascmile of an expression as they— no, the *Thing* Cloaked in their skin— whispers into her ear. 

"**Wake up.**"
Paul
Not good at conversations, huh? Mimir thought it would be pretty obvious to not ask about the man she was choking out, especially when she was clearly pissed. Acts of violence don't usually need to be talked about, unless you're a cop. Even then, she wouldn't talk to cop about anything anyway. 

"I've noticed, but I didn't think it was *That* Bad," An attempt at a jab that comes off more as a joke, and Mimir shifts in her seat moreso out of frustration than anything else. They watch Uriel speak, face shifting from anger to concern. Not for the dreamweaver, but for herself. They start humming and Mimir stands, about to protest, and then everything goes quiet.

But only for a moment.

All of a sudden, noise crashes into the train like a wave to a shore, and her hands curl into fists as it tries to stop their brain from trying to keep track of everything once. *Just focus on Uriel,* But it can't, and a frustrated noise leaves their throat, hardly audible to even itself. Before it can even try to hone in on them again, everything is silent.

Since when did Uriel get so tall? 

They tense, fists clenching even tighter as they get ready to fall back on its last resort, pink eyes glaring with anger, but the twinge of fear making itself known as well. Uriel's hands grabbed its face and Mimir squirms, hands lifting to grab their wrists and yell for them to *Get away,* But before its hands can make any contact, the words whispered into her ear make it all stop.

Mimir sits up in her beanbag, chest heaving, hands outstretched, eyes wide. She forces herself to slow down, hands slowly falling to her sides as she blinks. She's awake. She's... Awake. 

"Motherfucker," It mutters, face falling into their hands as they sit forward, silently counting the time between breaths so they calm down. That wasn't supposed to happen. They weren't supposed to see that. No one was. 

Mimir sighs.
Linda
Uriel wakes. They brush their teeth. 

They idly wonder if they should pick up some more toothpaste next time they're out, and leave to attend class with little a spare thought about the moment the two had shared.

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