[ Delivered to Dom’s suite on Christmas Eve: a plastic-wrapped plate of assorted cookies (including a gingerbread man with pink icing hair, and an attempt at a snow leopard-spotted cat) plus cold mini-jug of milk, and a dream journal with snow leopards on the cover. ]
I thought this might come in handy, since you said you were learning dream magic. 🩵✨
Dee’s took me a little while. Mostly because my first pass looked more like a cheetah
[ Gwen can tell that what looks like a non-sequitur probably isn’t a non-sequitur; thinks for a minute about what she’s read about the commune and the games. ]
I’ve talked to a few people, but not in a lot of detail. And I backread some of the network, but it’s hard to piece together a full picture of what happened from disjointed posts.
There was a group of us that were mind-controlled into killing people
[ His fingers feel like they're stuck, his heart racing. It's hard to believe it was only a couple of months ago. Harder to believe Dom manages to have normal days after what he did. ]
I was in that group And I used dreams to hurt people
But I never wanted to
[ Fuck. Why did he say all that? So Gwen knows that dream magic can be dangerous and that he's even worse? ]
[ Gwen just stares at her phone in her hands, for a long moment. She knew there were murders; it stands to reason that she’d know some of the dead and the killers, of those remaining in the house. She’s been meaning to ask Koby or Silco for a more detailed briefing, on all of it, in the interest of the information they’re putting together from the Library, but the interpersonal chaos of the holidays took precedent. Which feels sort of stupid and insignificant, now.
She feels terrible for the gift and terrible that Dom’s apologizing. Realizes she’s leaving such a gap, without even typing, that he might think that she’s not going to respond at all, and Gwen doesn’t want that. So she manages, finally: ]
[ She doesn't respond and he concludes that he's fucked up, nervously running his hair through short hair with silent and sharp self-criticism. Then she asks to call, so now he thinks he's definitely fucked up, bracing for the worst case scenario with the girl he really wanted to impress some day. Still, ]
[ In some ways, typing might be easier—or leaving a voicemail, like she had for Peter before steeling herself to leave without seeing him at all. But this feels important, and Gwen doesn’t want tone to get lost over text, so she cradles her phone to her ear, staring at her lap and thinking about Dom’s face. Kind, every time she’s seen him. ]
I’m so sorry about—the gift. You can use it for something else, or you don’t have to use it at all.
But I’m also sorry that happened to you. That you went through that. I can’t imagine.
[ It feels insufficient, the way every I’m sorry felt insufficient after her father died. And it still helped to hear it, all the same. ]
You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. I just wanted to say that you can talk to me. You don’t have to apologize.
[ He's terribly familiar with that feeling - hearing I'm sorry every time someone new learns that his father is dead, more so when they learn how he died and the consequences it had on Stanley Choi's only son, now a monster from many books, stories, films. A different kind of monster than people were expecting during the October games, using magic to lure one girl out of her home and trap a woman in her own skull. Distant memories, like he lived them through someone else's thoughts, but it's always his own hands he sees when he looks down, it's always his voice he hears. He did it. The other wolves know it, and now so does the rest of Saltburnt.
And he's still allowed to have normal days. To walk around freely. To talk to Gwen, to have her sympathies. It's almost easy to forget that his punishment was being burned alive for all to see what the twisted threads of justice looked like. ]
Thanks. I'm - I'm gonna use it. I just didn't want you to think that I'm some... Innocent guy doing it for fun all the time. Not that I'm using it to hurt people, I never wanted to do that, I don't wanna ever do that—
[ Rambling, nervous, audibly so. He stops and resets, softer. ]
It didn't feel right not telling you. It'd only be worse if someone else did, I think.
[ Soft, serious. There’s something in Dom’s confession that makes the reality—or unreality, maybe—of their circumstances sink in a little deeper, sharper. Makes her realize it was only a stroke of luck that brought her here after the killing games, and based on what she’s pieced together from the Library, they’re not free of whatever exerted its influence on the commune. ]
I know this place— takes our choices away from us. That scares me.
[ The first, unkind instinct, is to say she only believes that because she hasn't seen how scary he can be, a sentence that makes him feel anxious, guilty, sometimes disgusted. Kind people have spent months telling Dom he's not a monster because the terrible things he's capable of — and the ones already done — were never his choice. Yet they still happened; yet people still got hurt.
—yet hearing Gwen say that allows him a firefly of comfort, glowing gently in the darkness of that past. Dom stays quiet, fidgeting. ]
I'm — I'm glad. That I don't scare you. Because I really like you.
[ Words that warm his cheeks. ]
If you want— I could show you how I do it. You don't need to have magic to share dreams with me or anything.
[ Just listening to his breath on the line, for a moment, drawing her knees to her chest. ]
And I think— I’d like that. Sharing a dream with you.
[ It makes her heart beat faster, the way it does when Peter takes her swinging through the city—nerves and anticipation, butterflies in her stomach. ]
[ It feels weird, sometimes, having people come to him after Dom's roommate disappeared, like Hope's coming and going amplified the loneliness around him. (Even with the snow leopard that's currently staring at him.) ]
Yeah, exactly. [ This is — exciting. There's a thrill in his chest, something to look forward to until the new year comes. ] I'll show you Macau, then you show me New York.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
🎁 delivery
I thought this might come in handy, since you said you were learning dream magic. 🩵✨
Merry Christmas!
💙,
Gwen
no subject
Hey Gwen
Thanks for the cookies
The journal is a really cool idea :)
no subject
I’m not the best baker, but hopefully they were good.
I might have asked you this already, but—do you visit other people’s dreams?
no subject
Did it take you a long time to make them? All the details and stuff
[ and then the question. ]
I mean
I can do it
Mostly with my boyfriend
[ ... ]
Did they tell u about what happened out there? The werewolf game
no subject
[ Gwen can tell that what looks like a non-sequitur probably isn’t a non-sequitur; thinks for a minute about what she’s read about the commune and the games. ]
I’ve talked to a few people, but not in a lot of detail. And I backread some of the network, but it’s hard to piece together a full picture of what happened from disjointed posts.
Why do you ask?
no subject
There was a group of us that were mind-controlled into killing people
[ His fingers feel like they're stuck, his heart racing. It's hard to believe it was only a couple of months ago. Harder to believe Dom manages to have normal days after what he did. ]
I was in that group
And I used dreams to hurt people
But I never wanted to
[ Fuck. Why did he say all that? So Gwen knows that dream magic can be dangerous and that he's even worse? ]
IDK why I'm telling u this
Sorry
no subject
She feels terrible for the gift and terrible that Dom’s apologizing. Realizes she’s leaving such a gap, without even typing, that he might think that she’s not going to respond at all, and Gwen doesn’t want that. So she manages, finally: ]
Can I call you?
no subject
Yea go ahead
➡️📞
[ In some ways, typing might be easier—or leaving a voicemail, like she had for Peter before steeling herself to leave without seeing him at all. But this feels important, and Gwen doesn’t want tone to get lost over text, so she cradles her phone to her ear, staring at her lap and thinking about Dom’s face. Kind, every time she’s seen him. ]
I’m so sorry about—the gift. You can use it for something else, or you don’t have to use it at all.
But I’m also sorry that happened to you. That you went through that. I can’t imagine.
[ It feels insufficient, the way every I’m sorry felt insufficient after her father died. And it still helped to hear it, all the same. ]
You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. I just wanted to say that you can talk to me. You don’t have to apologize.
no subject
And he's still allowed to have normal days. To walk around freely. To talk to Gwen, to have her sympathies. It's almost easy to forget that his punishment was being burned alive for all to see what the twisted threads of justice looked like. ]
Thanks. I'm - I'm gonna use it. I just didn't want you to think that I'm some... Innocent guy doing it for fun all the time. Not that I'm using it to hurt people, I never wanted to do that, I don't wanna ever do that—
[ Rambling, nervous, audibly so. He stops and resets, softer. ]
It didn't feel right not telling you. It'd only be worse if someone else did, I think.
no subject
[ Soft, serious. There’s something in Dom’s confession that makes the reality—or unreality, maybe—of their circumstances sink in a little deeper, sharper. Makes her realize it was only a stroke of luck that brought her here after the killing games, and based on what she’s pieced together from the Library, they’re not free of whatever exerted its influence on the commune. ]
I know this place— takes our choices away from us. That scares me.
But you don’t scare me. That’s important.
no subject
—yet hearing Gwen say that allows him a firefly of comfort, glowing gently in the darkness of that past. Dom stays quiet, fidgeting. ]
I'm — I'm glad. That I don't scare you. Because I really like you.
[ Words that warm his cheeks. ]
If you want— I could show you how I do it. You don't need to have magic to share dreams with me or anything.
no subject
[ Just listening to his breath on the line, for a moment, drawing her knees to her chest. ]
And I think— I’d like that. Sharing a dream with you.
[ It makes her heart beat faster, the way it does when Peter takes her swinging through the city—nerves and anticipation, butterflies in her stomach. ]
Can I come see you? Or—do you want to come here?
no subject
I can come over, if you want?
[ It feels weird, sometimes, having people come to him after Dom's roommate disappeared, like Hope's coming and going amplified the loneliness around him. (Even with the snow leopard that's currently staring at him.) ]
I can bring Dee. —but I don't have to.
no subject
[ Which—feels more intimate, somehow, than being naked with Dom within the first hour of meeting him. A huff of a laugh, realizing— ]
I mean, I guess that’s a requisite. For dreaming.
no subject
Yeah, guess you're right. Bet she'll be happy you want her to be there.
[ silence, then— ] When did you wanna do it?
no subject
[ If dream magic needs preparation, or—if it’s just tender, after what they’ve talked about. ]
Or we can wait until after New Year’s? Make it feel like a fresh start.
🎀 soon!
Oh — yeah, that sounds good. After New Year's. For a fresh start, like you said.
Is there a place you wanna visit first?
no subject
Maybe your home, if you wanted to show me? Or I could show you New York.
aaand 🎀
[ It's a deal. ]