songerein | open 🔸 missing

Entry tags:

open 🔸 missing

Who: Ferran & dreamwalkers
Which: Interactive dream
What: A space that could not feel emptier. A family lived here once.
Warnings: discussion of injury and death?? idk

[The smell of ash, scorched metal and melted plastic lingers in the cool air, even though the fire that decimated the once two-story home has long since ceased. The light that filters past the overcast sky sets the blackened wreck in a dreary but clear light, making obvious the fact that the rest of the well-to-do neighborhood was left untouched.

A 17 year old with short brown hair stands at the end of the driveway, his right arm in a sling and his face the picture of grief. Behind him, leaning against the sedan that brought them both there, stands a tall, older man with striking eyes, his arms folded and expression tinted with mild concern.]

You're certain you want to be here?

[The teen pulls his eyes away from the house, finding a familiar crack to stare at on the sidewalk as he sniffs, then wipes his nose with the back of his uninjured hand and tries to steady his voice.]

I had to see it. If there's anything... [His gaze returns to the building.]

Don't strain yourself.

[With a faint nod, Ferran steps towards the ruins of his home, a determination in his posture despite his clear lack of energy. The man by the car doesn't seem intent on helping or approaching, but maybe another soul who might have found themselves in the dream would find it odd that an injured boy is digging in the collapsed mess of material left from an apparent arson.]

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[Well, at least he doesn't have to count "seeing things" among his new and distressing problems—as far as he can tell, at the moment. And if she is real, that means she's technically trespassing in what's left of his home, and he can't say he's fond of it. Why tell him to be silent, as if announcing her presence would be out of line somehow?

His frown only deepens, though he's too tired to display any real, true anger, even if he could muster feeling it. There's no recognition in his gaze, at least for now.

He's got questions, but to go into detail would take far too much of his energy when that wouldn't be in service of his goal here. ... unless it is, which isn't a thought he wants to entertain. So he supposes he has to start somewhere—it's not like he can afford to lose any leads he might get, however unlikely.]

What?

[ A no, then, she gathers from his expression; either he doesn't recognize her or isn't of a mind to acknowledge as much. The former seems more likely, so Naminé schools her own features into something more placid. It's probably better not to worry too obviously, especially when he doesn't see her as a friend. ]

I didn't mean to intrude, [ she offers by way of an olive branch, hands clasped together near her middle and voice contrite, ] ... but... it seemed like you could use some help.

[ True though that is, when her weight shifts forward again, she never quite makes good on taking another step, eyes darting briefly in the direction of the street before she elects to keep to her cover. That doesn't deter her from turning her gaze back to him, though, mouth in a reserved, thoughtful purse.

A beat, and then - gently, ]

Couldn't you?

[ Use some help, that is. ]

Edited 2023-11-09 04:59 (UTC)

[A random passerby? It's possible, he supposes. He'd think he would have been familiar with the other kids in the neighborhood, but... her answer still hasn't narrowed anything down, as it turns out. There's a twitch of his eyelids as he narrows his eyes, but it only lasts a moment.

Ferran turns his gaze to the side and lets out a noise from the back of his throat—a disgruntled and reluctant acknowledgement. Even so, he'd deliberately told his guardian to let him do this himself. He knew it would be hard work, and for everything the man has offered him, he couldn't stand the thought of asking more. This girl, meanwhile... he doesn't know if he can trust her, even if it were guaranteed to help.]

I don't know if you'd be able to do much when even I don't know what I'm looking for.

[Her glance towards the street goes unnoticed. He's far from used to looking for subtle cues like that at this point in his life, and too fatigued besides.]

[ Naminé holds her position patiently, carefully, waiting for some sign of his acquiesence or lack thereof. He's got plenty of reason to be suspicious, considering the circumstances; it might be easier if she had a better excuse than her own meddlesome kindness, but the truth is the truth, regardless of its wrapping.

It's not an outright rejection, at least, when he speaks. The lass decides she'll take it, and straightens accordingly as she prepares her defense, her small hands still holding to each other. ]

Then that means we're even, doesn't it? [ If neither of them know what they're looking for, they're both equally useful - equally useless. But he's here for a reason, so-- ] Another set of hands couldn't hurt.

[ Especially since both of hers work at the moment, which is more than can be said for his. ]

[She's got an awfully optimistic spin to the situation he notes, a dull look in his eye.]

That's one way of looking at it...

[But... with the careful way she holds herself, she doesn't seem the sort to make a mess by accident, anyway. He supposes he won't try to wave her away for the moment, but he decides to now split his limited attention evenly between observing her and returning to his task of sorting through the debris. He lifts an ashy piece of what used to be a wooden bedpost with a sigh.]

I'm guessing you don't know much about investigating arson.

[ Someone's got to bring a little optimism somewhere to all this dreary mess. Or rather, Naminé can't help but try to balance out the gloom in his demeanor, futile though the effort might be when she's far more used to playing the pragmatist. It's hard to see him unhappy, so what else can she do?

Other than to help, that is. When he hasn't sent her away, the lass finally takes that as a cue to pick her way tentatively closer, careful not to step on anything that looks like it might once have been important. ]

I'm... afraid not. [ A beat. ] But if you're sure it was one, there must be evidence somewhere.

[With a tone of almost reluctant agreement:]

That's the thought that brought me here.

[Miserable as his demeanor is, there's still a grim determination in his brow and the set of his mouth. He'll drag his battered body where he needs it to go in order to find what really happened here, even if exhaustion slumps his shoulders while he does it.]

They said it started above my room. [He glances up, though he knows it won't help him see anything other than the sky.] It's convenient that the window would break on top of me and force us into the hall before we could notice...

[And how quickly it spread... it doesn't make any sense. He lowers his gaze and shakes his head at the thought, dismissing the sad excuse of an explanation he was given.]

[ With delicate steps, the lass finally reaches a more companionable distance - or at least the perpendicular side of the debris he was looking through before. She doesn't give much consideration to the state of her otherwise crisp, pale, and easily-sullied clothing when she kneels down in the dirt and ash along with him, her mouth pressed into a contemplative line. ]

That is a bit strange, isn't it...?

[ A kitchen fire would have made more sense to her, but - surely there must be other kinds, along with the deliberate type. (She really doesn't have any experience investigating arson, and yet her determination to try and to reason things out one way or another is strong just the same.) ]

What was up there before it burned down?

[ Above his room, that is. It's a little hard to determine the layout of the house from what's left over, at least to the untrained eye. ]

[Ferran presses his lips together in thought as he moves his gaze up again, though he hardly needs it to remember the layout of the house. What kind of aspiring architect would he be if he hadn't at least looked at the blueprints of his own home?]

A corner of the attic. But all that was up there were some old pictures and antique furniture.

[He pauses briefly, a dejected look crossing his face and eyes tightening.]

Which... could make good kindling... I guess. [Would that support the theory the authorities gave him, that it was nothing more than an unlucky strike of lightning? He shakes his head—that can't be the entire truth.

His voice goes quiet, hardly a whisper. If it sounds like a desperate denial, he won't admit to it.]

It wasn't just a storm.

[ There's a hint of realization on Naminé's own face as she watches his change, as she recognizes the thought that's surely just crossed his mind. Chin tucking, the blonde doesn't interject while he works through it, despite how her weight naturally shifts forward slightly when his voice quiets. ]

....

[ As she studies him, her face is hard to read - although the sympathy, at least, is clear. Yet when she does speak, her voice isn't simpering or pitying or even doubtful; instead, there's only the honest question of, ]

What is it that makes you so certain it wasn't?

[ She asks as if she wants to know, to understand, not to judge. ]

[He almost snaps back his reply; as generous as her tone is, Ferran is too wound up, too sensitive not to hear it as an accusation.]

It can't be.

[The hand at his side is clenched in a tight fist, the one in the sling twitching as if he'd like to do the same with it, and his jaw clenches; all of that fades somewhat after a moment, however. He can't sustain that kind of passion right now.

A shallow, shaky breath passes through him—in, out.]

I saw something... outside the window. I know I did.

[ Although she's half expecting his reaction, Naminé still shrinks from it before she can stop herself. The motion is subtle, at least, and she urges her shoulders away from her neck with a determined frown before her anxiety over upsetting him can properly spike.

She doesn't mean to, but she holds her breath until he exhales, too. ]

Okay, [ she tells him, tone encouraging. ]

Then, can you describe it to me?

[ This is no more a challenge than anything else; rather, he seems to want to be sure. Even if it turns out she can't help him find evidence, she can at least help him solidify his thoughts. ]

[Ferran forces his eyes shut and places his hand over face. He has to pull the details back into his mind, blocking out the ruins that remain here now—even if it may seem to cause him pain from the way he grits his teeth for a moment.]

There was... a flash. It was so dark... I said to myself it was just the lightning and hail, but—

[He shakes his head with some force. He won't humor that idea anymore. If he does, then all of this is meaningless, and he'll have nothing.]

It was off. I ignored it then—but I... felt something.

[The telltale signature of magic that he'd never once sensed before. He has no words to describe it. Such a thing had never been real before, and to the him of this dream, it still isn't.]

[ It's tough, watching Ferran in active pain - not that there wasn't already proof enough of him going through the wringer, given the nature of this dream. Naminé mouth is pinched as if she's in pain herself, though it's purely empathetic. Finally after his words she's able to expel a bit of it in the form of reassurance; ]

I believe you. Sometimes... it can be hard to explain why you know what you know. [ A little shake of her head, ] But that doesn't mean that you're wrong.

[ The next step, though... the girl hesitates. She knows already that the man who came here with him can't be trusted, but what does Ferran know? Carefully, ]

The question is, then... why? Why would someone want to burn your house down?

[Removing his hand from his face to return it to his side, Ferran looks away, eyes focused on a distant spot in the soot. Here and now, he had no other knowledge—only a singular determination to cling to.]

I don't know.

[The answer comes without much hesitation, but with an edge. He'd been wondering why since that awful day, nearly two weeks now. His brow furrows with bitterness he doesn't bother to repress.]

That's probably part... of why my friends didn't believe me.

[No motive, no evidence, a claim from the authorities that made plenty of sense. The echoes of that memory reverberate in the dream:

"Someone did this."

There's a pause—during that time his friends had exchanged looks, surprise on their faces, but here there's only silence before a young man's deep voice responds, filled with trepidation.

"Why?"

"I... don't know."

"You're talking about murder." Another boy speaks up, serious, followed by a young woman's pleading.

"Ferran, that's—that's crazy. It was an accide—!"

"I knew you'd say the same thing as everyone else...!"

The echo ends, and Ferran's scowl has darkened. He hasn't spoken to them since; he won't speak to them again for months.]

... and why would they? It's just a spoiled rich boy who never had to worry about anything, looking for someone to blame when he finally learns what real suffering is like...

[He forces his eyes shut, jaw clenched, and tries to steady his shuddering breaths.]

Edited (hey where'd my italics go) 2024-01-20 07:47 (UTC)

I--...

[ Her instinctive response might be the wrong one, Naminé thinks. Of course she wants to say that she believes him, but... here and now, she might as well be a stranger. As far as his dream self is concerned, they've only just me - so Naminé swallows the words and starts again. ]

That is, I'm sure they don't think of you that way...! If they're your friends, they must care about you, even if they don't understand all of this yet. Maybe-- they just need time.

[ And he needs facts, doesn't he? To satisfy his own mind, to prove what he's saying is true... What a mess this all is, both literally and emotionally. ]

[Her words seem to reach him, at least somewhat; his trembling gradually disappears, and the fight-or-flight tension in his shoulders resolves to merely a stiffness and a curled fist at his side.]

... it doesn't matter now.

[He opens his eyes, and rather than look at Naminé, or return to his aimless search inside the room, he focuses on a singular spot on the ground just outside and begins to step around the rubble with purpose. His voice is steady, the former uncertainty fading to the background of his memory.]

They were right. [He kneels down in the mix of plants, ash and brick, and picks up a large fragment of black crystal. As long as his palm but thin enough to hide among the soil, he holds it up to the dim light of the outcast sky.] ... but so was I.

[Behind them, the man who'd been waiting by the car takes his own strolling steps towards the two of them, stepping over the crumbled pieces of the home as carefully as his ward. His deep voice addresses Ferran, almost gentle in its suggestion.]

Haven't you made the girl pretend for long enough?

[ It's hard to know what exactly is going through Ferran's head, but what she can tell from the outside feels like something of a relief. He seems... better, at least, although Naminé remains somewhat on edge in anticipation of any further emotion on his part.

Still, the shift, when it becomes obvious, is not one that she fails to spot. Hesitantly, the blonde trails after him when he moves with purpose, her eyes on his back and her head tilted faintly in concerned curiosity. About the time realization begins to dawn, his guardian makes an appearance.

Naturally, Naminé's first inclination - after the jolt of surprise and sharp, subsequent turn toward the sound of his voice - is to step between him and Ferran. She almost does, in fact, though in the end her better sense wins out after only a half step in that direction. Her frown is pronounced, but in light of what the man has to say - reluctant though she is to shift her attention, the blonde belatedly looks over at Ferran along one narrow shoulder. ]

... Have you remembered, then?

[Ferran turns towards the two of them soon enough to see that hesitant half step, but neither the dreamer nor the figment of memory respond to it externally. He watches Naminé with an apologetic tilt to his head and brow, a faint breath like a sigh leaving his nose.]

I'm sorry. [He turns his eyes away with some shame, holding the fragment of evidence that spurred him on his path close to his chest.] It's easy to get caught up in all this... I didn't mean for you to have to walk on eggshells like that.

[He was so, so sensitive then. Raw. Ready to snap at every little thing.]

Some of it still feels like it was yesterday. Even when I try to be better than that... you can't help what you dream, I guess.

[He turns his gaze back to Naminé and takes another couple of steps towards her, partly to reassure her; she's understandably cautious in the presence of his guardian even if he's merely standing there observing patiently, and... well, it's never nice to be forgotten by someone you care about.]

I hope I didn't upset you.

[ Given his apparent recovery of his mind and his lack of overt negative reaction to his guardian, Naminé elects to afford Ferran her focus as he nears her. Her shoulders sink, just a little, though her frown remains even as she listens - after one last perplexed glance Rion's way, that is.

The blonde's already gotten to shaking her head at Ferran's apology right away, even before he elaborated. It's hard not to feel defensive of him at the moment in light of what he mentioned about his friends, figment of the past thought this whole scene might be. ]

Of course not, [ she tells him, although her voice is a bit hushed. ] You didn't do anything wrong. I was just... worried, that's all.

[ But he does have the right of it, that being forgotten stings - it always does, for her, no matter how brief or otherwise meaningless the experience might be. Still, he's at no fault, and she'll stand steadfast on that point. ]

[Rion's amber eyes follow her and meet her gaze without hesitation nor any apparent intent, a mere raise of his brow his response to her glance. She can say and do as she likes; in this memory, the man did little more than wait, so wait he does.]

I have that effect a lot, don't I.

[He gives her a weak smile, a little self-deprecating, a little tired, but genuine underneath.]

Your recklessness does encourage it, [remarks the memory almost casually. Ferran lets out a breath through his nose as his smile fades, but doesn't bother even looking at the dark-haired man. His focus is purely on Naminé... at least, externally.]

Thank you... for being patient. I'll make it up to you somehow after I wake up.

Edited (i NEVER get that wrong i'm so ashamed) 2024-03-01 11:17 (UTC)

[ Looking at that smile of his, Naminé hesitates, and yet... the one she gives in return is as honest as it is sympathetic. ]

I... don't want to lie, [ she says, with the gentlest hint of a tease to it, and that's probably all the confirmation that need be said. She means it fondly, that much is clear enough, and presently she adds an encouraging, ] Most of the people I like are good at getting into trouble.

[ So he's in good company, at the very least. Not that Rion counts among them, though, which Naminé's reminded of as the memory speaks. Her lips pull into the faintest of frowns, and she doesn't restrain a glance the figment's way. Still, her attention is back on Ferran quickly enough. ]

You're welcome. [ Yet she says it reluctantly, as if she feels the thanks isn't warranted; with a small effort, she draws her smile back into place. ] As for making it up to me... there's nothing to make up for. But I won't say no if you want to spend time together somewhere that isn't a bad dream.

[Something warm manages to show through his eyes, though he doesn't quite return to a smile of his own. That does sound nice—just them in the dream world he's come to think of as home, enjoying something mundane together. No nightmares, no monsters, no memories come to life.]

Then it's a date.

[The shadow of that man won't disappear from his mind like the dream will in a few short moments, but it will go back to where it belongs, unseen by anyone else... at least for a time.]

[ That gentle smile of hers shapes into an 'o' of surprise, just for a moment - but the upward curl to her mouth is quick to come back as she nods. That's not the word she would have used for it, but-- ]

See you later, Ferran.

[ Whenever and wherever it is that they get around to it. With that - she'll finally let herself follow the tug of the waking world, too. Perhaps she's only managed to be so much help with this dreaming recollection of his, but... she at least has hope they'll both rest a little easier, now. ]

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