[Dom's shoulders become his anchor. he is unwilling to let go, lest the hall stretch back out in front of him and send him forty feet back. there's a thin bead of sweat on Jules' brow, which he knows is real exertion, because he never sweats in dreams. dreams are never like this, usually. ]
This dream is fucked, [he says, same tone. he feels a little winded. ] I don't think it's gonna let me stay - but this is the only way to talk, without the cameras.
[this is also the only way to implant an idea, or a desire, or anything at all. he thought about doing it that; slip the desire into Dom's subconscious and wait for him to come, to ask, to let himself be changed. it would have been wrong, the way this whole thing will be wrong, start to finish. the way it heats him up from the inside out is wrong, wrong, wrong. he wants to blame the proximity to Romy, but Romy would just take the corruption and place it inside Jules instead. he doesn't think about how that makes him feel, either.
wanting and shame are the same animal, sometimes.
he blinks, breathes out through his nose. ] I got a quest. It's - I'm not gonna lie to you, man, it's a little fucked up. But you're - you've already got the hair length, you're the same height. I think maybe you're the only one I'd trust with it.
[this is a lie. there is no one in this house he would trust, except one. but it sounds true; Jules has always been very good at making himself sincere. his tongue wets his lips, he sags a little, like the desperation is a heavy weight to carry. maybe it is.] Please.
[ Dom's confusion is almost antagonistic, staring-then-glaring at Jules, really here in this dream, rather than someone he dreamed up. Jules talks and talks, exhausted by a world that Dom's created while hoping the house will let him in one day, and before he tries to make sense of a single sentence this man strung together, Dom sighs and waves away the dream. They're in a neutral place now, a street with a wooden bench on Portuguese pavement, placed somewhere in the Macau he remembers. Dom crosses his arms and sits down, tone flat. ]
[The change is dizzying; a little more than the effort extended previously. Sometimes lucid dreamers can change a dream; rare instances of someone changing a rainy day to a nicer one, an old apartment to the one they live in currently. Usually, Jules is the one guiding it.
He looks at Dom - really looks at him - like he's seeing him for the first time. A new appreciation; a new curiosity.
He blinks, remembers why he's here. ] I need a favour. It's a big one.
[ Dom's stuck with Witch Imposter Syndrome, always told by his mothers that boy-witches were never meant to harness magic, while Dom always seemed to mess up every spell he did on his own or with others — first the pink hair, then the wrath sigil, then the portal they tried to open here — it's all led to him accepting he'll never be truly good, even at the sphere he's accidentally chosen as his specialty: dream manipulation, and more beyond that. There are so many things that come to him easily that he forgets to wonder if that's proof of his competence, for once. It's why he doesn't know what to make of the look on Jules' face at first. ]
… You're not gonna ask me to hurt someone, are you?
[Suitably ominous, while he rehearses the exact phrasing over and over. How do you sugar coat something like this? You can't, he thinks. There's no real way to say I need to make you into my little doll.
He never was a doll kid, is the thing. ]
I - I got this request in, with the chance to promote someone if I do it. Thing is I need to make someone into my brother. Train 'em on how to act, how to dress, and have them let me treat them how I treat him.
[ There's a pause, and seconds don't really tick one at a time in a dream, but he can kinda feel them on an unseen clock right now. The biggest challenge is making sure he heard that right. Maybe he did dream this guy up?
(Definitely a real projection of him, though. He can tell by now.) ]
[ Dom opens his mouth, closes his mouth, which doesn't really make a difference in a dream, but. It's the thought that counts. ]
... I guess they are.
[ Cue the awkward silence. ]
That's a really fucking weird quest, dude. [ But he gets it. His quest was fucked up too. More than dressing someone up and giving them stage directions, he guesses. ] What're you using it for?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
This dream is fucked, [he says, same tone. he feels a little winded. ] I don't think it's gonna let me stay - but this is the only way to talk, without the cameras.
[this is also the only way to implant an idea, or a desire, or anything at all. he thought about doing it that; slip the desire into Dom's subconscious and wait for him to come, to ask, to let himself be changed. it would have been wrong, the way this whole thing will be wrong, start to finish. the way it heats him up from the inside out is wrong, wrong, wrong. he wants to blame the proximity to Romy, but Romy would just take the corruption and place it inside Jules instead. he doesn't think about how that makes him feel, either.
wanting and shame are the same animal, sometimes.
he blinks, breathes out through his nose. ] I got a quest. It's - I'm not gonna lie to you, man, it's a little fucked up. But you're - you've already got the hair length, you're the same height. I think maybe you're the only one I'd trust with it.
[this is a lie. there is no one in this house he would trust, except one. but it sounds true; Jules has always been very good at making himself sincere. his tongue wets his lips, he sags a little, like the desperation is a heavy weight to carry. maybe it is.] Please.
no subject
What the hell are you talking about, dude.
no subject
He looks at Dom - really looks at him - like he's seeing him for the first time. A new appreciation; a new curiosity.
He blinks, remembers why he's here. ] I need a favour. It's a big one.
no subject
… You're not gonna ask me to hurt someone, are you?
no subject
[Suitably ominous, while he rehearses the exact phrasing over and over. How do you sugar coat something like this? You can't, he thinks. There's no real way to say I need to make you into my little doll.
He never was a doll kid, is the thing. ]
I - I got this request in, with the chance to promote someone if I do it. Thing is I need to make someone into my brother. Train 'em on how to act, how to dress, and have them let me treat them how I treat him.
no subject
(Definitely a real projection of him, though. He can tell by now.) ]
... Me?
[ As if that's the belated realization. ]
no subject
[Lightly sardonic, a little urgent. ] There's no one else that'd really - I don't know. Everyone else in this place is so white.
[This is punctuated with a shrug. The implication being that he wouldn't do Romy the disservice of white-washing him, wouldn't insult him that way. ]
no subject
... I guess they are.
[ Cue the awkward silence. ]
That's a really fucking weird quest, dude. [ But he gets it. His quest was fucked up too. More than dressing someone up and giving them stage directions, he guesses. ] What're you using it for?