[ It would have been one thing if they had that one, blood-soaked dream of a Herald announcing himself, full of cryptic words and imagery, dripping red and inspiring some sort of undirected, white-hot rage. It had been enough to shake Thancred (and from what he's gathered, most of the other Summoned), but since then he's been able to put it from his mind.
Or so he thought, but it seems that all good deeds must be punished. He's been to the lumber mill and the farmlands to help where he can, and sometimes that involved protecting the people under the Heralds' sway as best he could, with some successes.
But as if he took some of their strain onto him, that's when the dreams started.
Thancred is also no stranger to nightmares, but these seem to hit straight to the core. In one, he was following Minfilia's light through the Aitiascope when he suddenly lost track of it and it sputtered out, wisps of her voice only barely audible as he wandered in the dark.
In another, Ryne stared up at him with genuine horror, demanding to know what he'd become and how he could leave her.
A third, where Fandaniel (or Amon, or even Meteion) tried to pull him into the abyss, reminding him that it would be so much easier this way.
He's done his best to shake off the dreams, but tonight it hasn't worked, forcing him from his bed and into the small living area of their Nott home. He's standing near the window with a cup of tea (and at least he went for that rather than some wine or other alcohol) when he hears a stirring in the hallway behind him.
Ah. So Stephen hasn't been spared either. Thancred half-turns toward him and lets out a sigh. ]
Something like that. [ He takes a careful sip of his still hot tea. ] I could ask you the same question.
[Losing those important to them seems to be a theme. What does that say about them as people? Probably nothing they'd want to think about overlong.
Thancred's sigh says it all. Stephen wanders forward, crossing his arms as he stations himself close to where Thancred sits. Or maybe that it's more, he's hugging his own body, clearly wrung free of all energy from the long nights of perpetual nightmares.]
Oh, you know. [Is there a kettle around? He'll slowly wander off to maybe pour himself a cup of tea, too, if there's any extra. His usual sarcasm rises to the surface in the meanwhile.] Just fending off debilitating dreams of losing loved ones. Nothing special.
[ There might in fact be some water still hot enough from the kettle to pour another cup of tea. Thancred doesn't say anything either way as Stephen moves that direction, confident he can sort it out on his own.
Especially since he's soon distracted by what Stephen reports about his dreams. Thancred lets out a breath through his nose and shakes his head back and forth. ]
It's happening to all of us, then.
[ He lifts the cup and takes a small sip of tea, then turns from the window and fully toward Stephen. ]
I suppose there's some comfort in that. It's the gods doing this to us, not our own minds.
[ Either way, they're both awake now. Where does that leave them? ]
Would it help to speak of it? Or would you prefer a distraction?
[He certainly can, and if not that, then magic can do the trick. Thankfully, the water's still hot enough, and Stephen doesn't have to rely on sorcery — he simply pours himself a fresh cup, listening to Thancred, and his only reply at first is a non-commital grunt.]
Mmn.
[Like so.
After all, the death of his sister is not something he speaks of often, or to anyone. So much that recalling the experience was a litmus test recited to a far less kind variant of himself, to prove who he really was. Because all Stephen Stranges out there, surely, shared that awful nugget of trauma that instilled the desire to control life and death itself. What pushed him to become a doctor in the first place.
Thancred is one of the people he's closest to, though. He doesn't hesitate out distrust, but only because it is raw, and he is utterly used to keeping it to himself that sharing it feels... alien.
Still, he turns and approaches again. Takes a sip of his tea.]
[ The fact that Stephen is pushing the question back onto Thancred rather than answering is proof enough that the topic is one that makes him uncomfortable. That's more or less to be expected — it's not as if nightmares are ever about anything pleasant. Nor is Thancred one to push.
He takes another sip from his own teacup and lets out a low breath. ]
It's the middle of the night, which means our options for distraction are limited.
[ Given that he'd been lingering near the window, though, something comes to mind. ]
We could go for a walk, clear our heads.
[ Then decide how much they did or didn't want to share. Some might be worried about wandering around the streets of Nott in the middle of the night, but there's little for the two of them to fear, regardless of what their dreams might try to tell them. ]
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no subject
Or so he thought, but it seems that all good deeds must be punished. He's been to the lumber mill and the farmlands to help where he can, and sometimes that involved protecting the people under the Heralds' sway as best he could, with some successes.
But as if he took some of their strain onto him, that's when the dreams started.
Thancred is also no stranger to nightmares, but these seem to hit straight to the core. In one, he was following Minfilia's light through the Aitiascope when he suddenly lost track of it and it sputtered out, wisps of her voice only barely audible as he wandered in the dark.
In another, Ryne stared up at him with genuine horror, demanding to know what he'd become and how he could leave her.
A third, where Fandaniel (or Amon, or even Meteion) tried to pull him into the abyss, reminding him that it would be so much easier this way.
He's done his best to shake off the dreams, but tonight it hasn't worked, forcing him from his bed and into the small living area of their Nott home. He's standing near the window with a cup of tea (and at least he went for that rather than some wine or other alcohol) when he hears a stirring in the hallway behind him.
Ah. So Stephen hasn't been spared either. Thancred half-turns toward him and lets out a sigh. ]
Something like that. [ He takes a careful sip of his still hot tea. ] I could ask you the same question.
no subject
Thancred's sigh says it all. Stephen wanders forward, crossing his arms as he stations himself close to where Thancred sits. Or maybe that it's more, he's hugging his own body, clearly wrung free of all energy from the long nights of perpetual nightmares.]
Oh, you know. [Is there a kettle around? He'll slowly wander off to maybe pour himself a cup of tea, too, if there's any extra. His usual sarcasm rises to the surface in the meanwhile.] Just fending off debilitating dreams of losing loved ones. Nothing special.
no subject
Especially since he's soon distracted by what Stephen reports about his dreams. Thancred lets out a breath through his nose and shakes his head back and forth. ]
It's happening to all of us, then.
[ He lifts the cup and takes a small sip of tea, then turns from the window and fully toward Stephen. ]
I suppose there's some comfort in that. It's the gods doing this to us, not our own minds.
[ Either way, they're both awake now. Where does that leave them? ]
Would it help to speak of it? Or would you prefer a distraction?
no subject
Mmn.
[Like so.
After all, the death of his sister is not something he speaks of often, or to anyone. So much that recalling the experience was a litmus test recited to a far less kind variant of himself, to prove who he really was. Because all Stephen Stranges out there, surely, shared that awful nugget of trauma that instilled the desire to control life and death itself. What pushed him to become a doctor in the first place.
Thancred is one of the people he's closest to, though. He doesn't hesitate out distrust, but only because it is raw, and he is utterly used to keeping it to himself that sharing it feels... alien.
Still, he turns and approaches again. Takes a sip of his tea.]
Depends. What about you? Talk or distraction?
no subject
He takes another sip from his own teacup and lets out a low breath. ]
It's the middle of the night, which means our options for distraction are limited.
[ Given that he'd been lingering near the window, though, something comes to mind. ]
We could go for a walk, clear our heads.
[ Then decide how much they did or didn't want to share. Some might be worried about wandering around the streets of Nott in the middle of the night, but there's little for the two of them to fear, regardless of what their dreams might try to tell them. ]