71 Ashan 719
For all of Mister Magpie’s grand statements of morality and the sanctity of life, he was suspiciously quick to end conflict with death. He’d gotten involved with the couple far too soon. He’d not stopped to watch for patterns or clues as to who the dreamer was and what sort of dream they’d stumbled into. He rushed in, like the good samaritan he claimed to be, only… things had not gone quite according to expectation.
For one, he’d beheaded both the dreamer and the dream.
Mathias supposed, as he stepped out of the door, Mister Magpie in tow, he should have mentioned that killing a dreamer within a dream was not advisable either, though less so for the sake of morality and more so for not getting trapped in a crumbling mess of waking thought. He had not anticipated that the other man might even think to do so after his previous claims that murder should - and only ever would - be a last resort. That was his mistake.
“That was reckless,” Mathias murmured as the heavy, dark stone door slid shut behind them, a dully thud signifying that the portal was now closed, and the little pearl at the center of the massive structure faded to a soft grey.
Both men were still damp from the dreamscape, hair matted against their foreheads and clothes soaked. He let go of Magpie’s wrist at last, grey-green eyes studying the silverish bruises around the other man’s neck for a trill or two before he sought the other man’s eyes. “Are you otherwise unharmed?”
Magpie withdrew his wrist and he rubbed it more so than he paid attention to his bruised neck. He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes still lingered with the red and orange hues, though they had receded to irises, and flecks of black had started to arise among the warmer colors. He coughed to the side, then said in a blunt tone of voice, “I’m fine.”
Mathias nodded, running a hand through his own hair to work out some of the water. “You seem... upset.”
“Do I?” replied Magpie, with a mocking lilt to his voice. He closed his eyes, then. His jaw tensed. He grimaced, then opened his eyes to look at Mathias. He said, “Sorry. I… I don’t understand what you expected of me back there. What that- I couldn’t merely watch and then that woman…” he shrugged, walking to the side though there was nowhere to go in the Veil. “She was so… daft.”
“Is that not what love is?” Mathias questioned, flicking water to the ground. “An… irrational tie to someone?” As far as he was concerned, the sight had been a common one. The Heaps of Quacia were poor, and “love” was often a driving factor in their unions. Such beatings and arguments could be heard in the relative quiet during any given evening.
The biqaj walked a few more paces, then turned and walked back. He wrung out the hem of his tunic, the fabric still soaked through with the rain from the dream. Close to Mathias, he stopped and shook out his hair. Water droplets were sent, a few landed in flecks on the abrogator’s face. Magpie seemed fully aware of this and he glanced over the other man. The warmth of his eyes vanished in cool shadowy blue and black rings.
“I don’t know,” he said in response. “I don’t know what love is anymore. It wasn’t…” Magpie’s eyes glistened, not with inner light, but with the hint of tears. He crossed his arms and said, “What of the dream, Mister Kiwi? It doesn’t matter, does it? What… I… maybe it was for the best I did what I did?”
“Miss Humming would say that everything matters, except what does not.” Mathias offered, unsure of what Magpie wanted him to say. “If you are wondering whether your… actions affected the dreamer in the waking world?” He paused for a moment, gauging the man’s expression and finding he was, more or less, on the right path. “Physically, no. She will wake with her head fully intact.”
As for whether it was “best” or not, he didn’t know. Most of the dreams he and Fiona interfered with belonged to dreamers they never crossed over to visit. The few of whom they had, Carmella especially, were mostly unaffected and most certainly alive. Whatever else, however, he wasn’t certain. If there were lasting effects from killing a dreamer within their own dream, he wasn’t aware of them.
Magpie sighed, though it wasn’t obvious whether it was in relief or exasperation. He placed a hand over his face, rubbed at his brow with his palm, and then made a small noise between a whine and a gruff hmph. The biqaj glanced at the other man and started to ask questions in a flurry without pause, “Do you think it was true? All of that? Do you think that was an accurate reflection of her life or simply a dream? How often are dreams memories, Mister Kiwi? Is there a way to tell which is which? If I hadn’t interfered, would it have- how can- is not the whole point of being able to walk within dreams to influence them somehow?”
Mathias blinked. “Perhaps one question at a time, Mister Magpie.”
“Hm,” said Magpie. He thought for a few trills, then asked, “How might I have found out if what we just saw had been the workings of imagination or the draw from memory?”
Mathias considered the question, nodding slowly. “Though there is no sure way, but most dreams are a combination of both. The more… visceral, generally, the more founded upon reality. The more whimsical,” he shrugged, “The opposite.”
“And what would you have done?” asked Magpie, the tone of his voice softening into a whisper.
“Nothing,” Mathias replied, smoothing his curly locks into a less disheveled state.
“At all?”
“There are times to act and times to observe,” Mathias replied. “A dream, though neither truly memory nor entirely fabrication, contains insights into the mortal condition.” He stared at the other man, bright eyes searching but for what not even he really knew. “There is no… purpose; not for us. We are not pawns of the false gods, nor are we driven by the desires of sparks. The dreams we walk through, the sights we see, the things we hear…” He shook his head, just slightly, side to side. “They are to be done with as we see fit. This is not the waking world, Mister Magpie. You will not save a life by stopping a murder here. So,” his tone softened just barely, “Learn from it.”
“I wasn’t trying to save a life,” retorted Magpie without pause.
“No?”
“No.” Magpie’s dark blue eyes flashed orange briefly before cooling again into the shadowy tones. “But I understand what you are saying… I think. If they are to be done with as we see fit, though, then why not… do what I see fit?”
“You asked me what I would have done,” Mathias politely reminded him. “There is nothing inherently wrong with your own choices, merely that it dangerous to kill a dreamer.” He nodded towards the door they’d passed through. “Their dreamscapes become… unstable, and if one lingers, one may become trapped for a time.” He raised a brow. “Reckless, yes. Wrong? ...not necessarily.”
“Trapped,” repeated Magpie. He scratched at the side of his head, then sighed. “Have you ever been trapped before?”
“Several times,” Mathias replied, recalled the dark, empty nothings of a vacant, shattered dreamscape. “Had I a less… resilient body, I most certainly would have expired.”
“Your body is… resilient?” he asked in a tone that implied curiosity.
“More so than most.” He had no need for food nor sleep. His body had been changed to suit his spark’s desire for efficiency, and he had found the shift, mostly, agreeable.
“Why is that?” inquired Magpie directly.
“An awakening.” Mathias nodded towards Magpie. “One similar to your wings or your... luminescence.”
“For your… Abrogation spark,” added Magpie with a nod in return. He smiled slightly, but the expression faded as quickly as it showed. The very act of the smile seemed to have tired him and again, he appeared as weary as he had when Mathias had first arrived to the home in Quacia.
“Correct.” For a man who didn’t like to give answers, Magpie certainly seemed to enjoy figuring them out. His weariness was noted with a frown. “Are you alright to continue, Mister Magpie?”
“Yes,” he answered, though in a quiet voice. He placed a hand over his neck, as if only just realizing the bruises on it, and he gingerly rubbed at the skin. “There is much more I wish to know. For instance… what happens when you are in a dream and the dreamer wakes up to no influence of your own? Do you become trapped as well?”
“It is possible,” Mathias replied, nodding slowly, “Death is typically the fastest, but there are times when a dreamer may abruptly be pulled back into the waking world. The sooner you can escape through the door, the better.” He paused, blinking. “Typically, the longer you wait, the more difficult it can be to escape a crumbling dreamscape.
“Can you take a door along with you?” asked Magpie, curious.
Several trills passed in thought before Mathias spoke. “I am… not certain I understand the question.”
“If the sooner you escape through a door, in a dream, why not simply place the door with you so you can use it immediately?”
“Ah,” light shimmered in his eyes as comprehension settled over him. “Doors are… not quite so literal. You do not ‘take’ them anywhere. You open a door... or you close it.”
“So it would not prove difficult to escape through a door when the need arises then?” asked Magpie.
“As long as you are prepared and the dreamscape is not somehow thwarting your escape,” Mathias added, nodding that, overall, Magpie was correct.
Magpie considered this. He rubbed at his neck, then scratched slightly at one of the bruises that had started to darken in the silver coloration. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be reckless, Mister Kiwi. I suppose there are some… matters within me I must still attend to before I might be able to fully explore dreamscapes with as much patience as you expect.”
“There is no need to apologize to me,” Mathias replied, hair now mostly dried but clothes still very much damp. “I am here to keep you from making any fatal mistakes.” He paused, eyeing Magpie. “But failure is more valuable than success when it comes to self-edification.”
“Well, then… if not apology, then I shall say thank you instead,” offered Magpie.
“You are welcome.”
Magpie glanced to the side, then said, “Do you… know what the time might be in Idalos if we were to return now?”
“I have not the slightest inkling.”
