Wai
Another *Fine* Day it was in deep space. The stars were buzzing, squid traffic was congested as hell, news of the Rat Revolution was blaring on the radio (why were they even called that? They were cockroaches, for crying out loud), and there was *No way* That Owen would be able to mop all the 𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖕 from the ceiling before the Queen of the Deep arrived.

Still, though, the proud co-owner of the *Magma Wharf Ice Creamery* Put in his best effort to clean up his establishment, despite his business partner being preoccupied with giving marriage advice to the salamander they were supposed to be scooping Raspberry Swirl into a waffle cone for.

"OI! Uriel! Head out of the clouds, mate, there's a line forming!"

Did they have no sense of urgency?
Mary
The vaguely humanoid blob, only similar to the real life counterpart by a thick head of white, wispy hair, nods before speaking something— not English, not Welsh, not really *Words*— to a dog on its hind legs waiting in line, gesturing impatiently at their watch. 

In the twilight of consciousness, Uriel—actual Uriel — perks their ears, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the smallest tug of a string. It's a familiar and *Important* String; bright red and indistinguishable from the countless others, but emblazoned with writing only they could see.

Yes, this string reads *Uriel*, and it seems someone is dreaming of them. 

*I shouldn't peek.* They think to themselves, as the string goes taut in their hands. *I... Perhaps I shouldn't be doing this.* The thought crosses their mind as they lay a hand on the rope, venturing alongside it to who-knows-where. *I should really turn back now.* It's an idea almost immediately thrown out the window once they realize where this string leads— directly into a familiar head, one belonging to a certain Owen Edris.

Uriel feels their ears grow hot in embarrassment, looking around whatever section of the tapestry they found themselves in to see if anyone could secretly see their supposed sin. 

There's no one. Obviously. Very little people found themselves wandering the collective unconscious, as it were. 

*Well... A little peek wouldn't hurt.* Bright-hot guilt for their actions are temporarily overshined by the burning desire to *Learn more*, as their curiosity leads them to step inside and take a look.
Wai
Owen paused his frantic mopping for a moment when he smelled lavender. 𝔊𝔬𝔬𝔭 didn't smell like lavender- *What did it smell like?*- and turned to see that his business partner had duplicated?!

"Huh?"
*Blink.*
"Uri! There's two of you! Ha*Haa*, good for you!!"

This new, freshly-crashed-in-through-the-window Uriel had slightly less poofy hair and wore a long violet knitted blanket tied around their shoulders as a cape. It was a strange thing to wear to an ice cream joint, but Owen wasn't much a stickler for uniforms- the ridiculous number of spikes sticking out at odd angles on his own outfit was a testament to that. Anyhow, the extra hands were very welcome. *Almost...*

The odd look that crossed his face momentarily was interrupted by his own head whipping around to face the door at the sound of a clown horn. A nervous-looking squid, skulking along the wall to the back of the line, froze as he yelled,

*"THAT SQUID OWES ME MONEY!!"*

And it did! The bastard had come in there last week and dashed without paying for its sundae. It was a matter of pride and justice to turn its pockets inside out! This was not a place for delinquents to get away with murder or worse, *Ice cream theft!*

Owen attempted to lunge at the squid, but in his careless neglect of the 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔭, it had dropped onto his shoes. **"Bah!"** He was stuck for sure, his movements sluggish and clipping unpredictability. 

"Uriel! Use the peanut butter, *Get me my money!*"

Squids hated peanut butter, surely they knew that. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The inky twat knew what it was doing, showing its face here again. 

Legs incapacitated, he resumed putting his entire upper body into attacking the ceiling with his mop. If this mess grew sentient *One more time*, he swore under his breath that he would drop a match in it and bolt from the interstellar ice cream industry for good. 

.

Over at the front of the line, Uriel 1 was growing frustrated with another dog pointing at the clock. It seemed that it was infuriatingly averse to confronting its traumatic childhood, resulting in intimacy issues in its adulthood. Its ice cream was melting in the scoop..
Mary
**What did I just walk into.**

Uriel was expecting... *Something*, yes, but not this— a chaotic mix of concepts and ideas, people and places and scenery bleeding together haphazardly. Any bashful or embarrassed part of them dies a quick death, replaced with the prevailing sentiment of: *Huh?* 

"Ah, er—" There's a loud *Thunk* As a can of peanut butter clocks them square on the head, presumably materialized by Owen's head in order to service the plot of this... Story? Uriel hesitated to call it a story— a collage might be more apt, a chaotic, nonsensical collage, but one nonetheless.

"The squid can't leave. There's a giant gorge in front of it, don't you see?" Uriel speaks, and their words come to life. The squid's dark and piercing shadow *Literally* Pierced the earth, and the ground between the shadow and the horizon fell into nothingness. The squid was trapped, the path it was once standing on now a perilous cliff.

They look over to the front of the line, where Dream Uriel stood staunchly. Upon seeing what they looked like to Owen's mind, Actual Uriel's ears grew hot with embarrassment— one of the blob's only noticeable features was its fluffy, almost sheep-like hair. They idly twirled a loose strand of white hair around their finger, a bit bashful while wondering if they *Really* Looked that... 

Oh well. Someone had to clean up this line, though... 

"A line is just a circle that's not yet bent. Simply twist it a bit, and you'll no longer have any concern about tending to a queue." There's a small, barely noticeable tremor in the ground, and the line of animals begin to march in a circle, all perpetually stuck waiting for the person in front of them to take an impossible step forward. 

Operating through dream logic might be difficult for some, but it was second nature, twisting words and concepts into whatever they so desired. It was... Well, fun. They missed playing around in places like this.

"Owen— I mean, ah—" Uriel looked at Dream Uriel's nametag, eyes squinting at the fine print. "Boss, I believe? There don't seem to be any more problems. Perhaps try to relax, no?"