df || Dream A Little Dream of Me...Angel ||

[Damon Fauci]

[Open to Epiphany only. Yeap, I'm torturing her. Wanna fight about it?]

Dreams. They are such terribly fickle creatures, aren't they? The way that once they've infiltrated your sleeping mind they can haunt your thoughts for hours after waking, sometimes days, sometimes years. . . And sometimes there are those dreams that one never forgets, no matter how long their lifetime. Forever tickling at the mind, the small insect that can never be swatted away. The dreams that seem so real that one spends the rest of her days wondering. . .was it real? Was there some chance, no matter how small, that the past night of sleep opened up a doorway to a place where minds can meet and construct their own world, for a short time? Was there truly a world where if one's deepest level of consciousness could find entry, even the most impossible was possible?

One should dread such dreams. For all the time one spends mulling over those very questions, so rare is it that they ever receive an answer or come to a satisfactory conclusion. So much time stolen away, in wonder of a mystery that happened during the dark hours. But even if dreaded, such dreams cannot be avoided.

This is such a dream. One that came to Epiphany with the first sleep after she shed tears on a certain letter.

For the dreamer, it began in sound. A cacophony of whispers, wrapped in an unending hollowness that made it sound like they were riding a distant wave rolling towards a shore they would never reach. As a whole the whispers made up a symphony of sound, notes fluttering in between each other and outward towards the ear, but if one strained to try to listen to the voices individually there would be nothing discernible to them. Just sound, in its purest form. Broken only by the creak of wood, grunting with the motion of being rocked rhythmically back and forth at a languid pace. Back . . . . . . .and Forth. Back . . . . . . . . .and Forth. The creak stretched not only over the boards of the floor, but the planks of the walls as well. Wind, water, wood. All familiar sounds when one is in the inner chamber of a ship.

When the dreamer realized this, that the current location was within the body of a ship, that is when sight would begin. But even when the visual sense activated, there was not much to be seen. Only that in this particular chamber, there were three portholes, the circular windows faintly illuminated by the light of an unseen moon perhaps. The glass frame of the second had been pushed open by an unseen hand or force, and the bitter blast of cold winter's wind pushed its way inside the cabin. The stinging chill upset a stack of papers tucked in some corner or another, and these now were visible as well as they flew around the room in a whirlwind before the momentum no longer carried them, and they fell to the floor like large snowflakes. There was just enough light to see that papers were each identical - all worn, all beginning to yellow with age, and all written upon in the same blurred hand, with the exact same placement of words. While there were so many words on the pages, only two were decipherable on each paper: "It's Coming." That was the only part of the story these papers would tell. "It's Coming."

Wait. The thought would come so suddenly, as if the papers were whispering a second part of the story. The shape they had fallen in. . .was it possible? Or was it sheer coincidence they seemed to fall in the crude shape of an arrow, pointing towards that very porthole which was open to the elements. "Look," the picture seemed to say. "Look."

If one were to look, to cross to the porthole and gaze outside into the chill of the night, they would see many things. Sight would open up like a blossom now, displaying more than a thousand words worth of story. This ship was anchored only a short lifeboat's ride away from a dock, a dock which lead to a land whose distant landscape was rolling hills too shadowed to tell of their details, though the beach was well enough lit by the still unseen moon. For even through the fog - and yes, there was fog, the damp grey batted about by the blustery wind - one could tell there two things on this particular beach. The first was a man. Tall, well-formed, dark-haired and dressed, that is all the eyes could tell. Nothing else of him was seen, as the back was turned currently to the ship, his attention captured by the unknown. But now a third sense opened up to the dreamer - that of sensation, touch. To feel a more particular cold. The cold of fingers circling under her chin, cupping it with a grip that seemed so nonchalant, yet somehow urgent. The grip seemed to echo the words on the page. "It's Coming."

The second object shed some light on things, quite literally so. For this object would tell the story of the light which was lighting the three portholes of the ship. No, it was not a moon after all. In fact in this particular dream it had yet to be proven that there was a sky - for if one looked above, there was only darkness, a darkness far beyond that of simple nightfall. There was only one source of illumination in this dream thus far, strewn on the beach looking beaten and windblown, and yet somehow determined to glow:

A pair of wings. As beaten as they were, as discarded and half buried in sand as was their current plight, it seemed no matter how harsh the elements treated them these wings refused to lose the glory of their color. White as a virgin, purer than snow.

"It's Coming," said an unmistakably familiar voice into her mind. The silken syllables paused as the figure on the beach stirred, turning only enough so that he could spy the ship without betraying any further details of his identity. When the figure stopped moving, there was only silence. For one second. Two. More. Finally, the smooth syllables eased on, pressing firmly into her mind as if to press upon the dreamer the same urgency that the brush to the chin had. "and I don't know if you've lost your flight."

The voice in this dream, yes. That was Damon. The figure on the beach. . .
that remained unknown.

[Epiphany]

How far does the rabbit hole go? In stories Alice fell asleep and tumbled down the rabbit hole to a world where everything was nonsense. Cards painted roses red, mice took naps in teacups, and walruses ate like cabbages and kings. And while this Dreamer had fallen asleep, she had not fallen into a world of nonsense. No. This strange world of symbolism made perfect sense.

The sounds of the ocean, the feeling that it gave to those who understood its call, was welcoming to the young dreamer. It called to her in such a way that begged not to be ignored. But wait, what was this? This was not the ship of her dreams and this was not her cabin. Yet, herein this unfamiliar place was a comforting feeling.

This feeling was born after she had seen the papers and followed the arrows. What would happen if she had reached down to touch one of those papers? Would they have disappeared, or maybe their message changed.

This Dreamer did not touch anything.

It was then that she saw the figure on the beach and felt the urgency of words pressed into her mind and driven home by the touch of cool hands. Her mouth opened and her lips moved in silent utterance of his name, "Damon." He was the nightmare in her otherwise peaceful dream, bringing with him the memories of her past failings and also glimmers of hope.

The touch was him, the voice was him but the figure, was that him too she wondered. It had to be him and she started out in his direction until she saw the wings. They cause her to stop and caused her to reflect. Wings. Her wings, even if they were simply a symbolic presentation. She felt her face turn down in a frown and hearing his pressing words in her head again she sighed softly and looked towards the figure on the beach. “If I had wings . . . I would soar far above the earth just to see all of the sights.” Epiphany spoke slowly, her voice having an almost rhythmic pattern, like reciting poetry. “The only sight I want to see, is you.”

“What is coming? Let me be there for you. As I never have been before.”

[Damon Fauci]

Yes. This particular setting - on this ship, in its wooden belly, there was certainly a sense of security which was a contrast to the world outside the porthole and water craft. A bitterly cold, thanklessly harsh world that was nearly barren save that dock, that beach, those half-buried wings and that figure whose identity was as yet unknown. All of this, this particular rabbit hole so to speak, had been chosen rather carefully by the party that one could consider the puppeteer of this particular dream.

One had to be cautious when one dipped in dreams, after all. The slightest misstep. . .what terrible consequences there could be. To meddle in the subconscious of another was certainly a task not to be taken lightly. But then again, there were few things that Damon Fauci took lightly. To him everything was a consideration, each small detail part of the ever changing game of chess. When one saw the world as a chessboard, a game with such a depth of strategy where patience, discretion, ease and elegance were an absolute necessity? Well. If one had a mind such as that, to control the dream world was not an arduous labor.

To him, it was as simple as playing the piano. One merely had to meld with the keys.

That, and one had to remember that the dreamer also had a certain degree of control over their own dream. Which meant that as a puppeteer one had to ensure that there were no missteps made by the mind of that party either, for the consequences could be just as dire. The line between a dream and a nightmare could at times be so very thin. Especially in a dream such a this one, where there was a message to be delivered. A rather urgent one, at that.

Which is why his silken tenor was firm when he spoke next, and why he said these words even though she had already made the choice not to move any farther. "Epiphany, there's no need to leave the ship." He could have said more, yes. That it was more than unnecessary, that leaving was potentially dangerous, and so on. . .but at the moment he had little wish to make this dream so dire. Even urgent messages can be delivered with a sense of grace, and grace was his choice anytime he had a choice to make.

So instead of elaborating, he would continue on to her question. "What is better asked as who, and the who that you ask after is on that beach." Had it been that she had even an inkling of doubt as to who was speaking to her, to then hear such a flawless turn of phrase, and so smoothly spoken, who else could it possibly be but him? The slight curl of his lip in such calm aristocratic languor, it could nearly be heard in his voice. "And even as you see 'him' there, it is merely a representation, not the reality."

"As for myself. . ." There was a slight pause here, a rare pause. Despite how their relationship was left, she was still she and he was still he, and for that reason only he allowed the fact that he was taking this moment of silent consideration to show. In the presence of anyone else, he would have disguised such a vulnerability. After a few seconds passed, he continued on, ". . .Well, against my better judgment, for that you simply need to turn around."

As beastly a man as Damon could be, he was a creature of absolutely no lies. Were Epiphany to turn around, this would be confirmed once again. Just behind her, perhaps a foot's distance away, there he stood. Looking just as she remembered him.

[Epiphany]

She knew it was him. That the person on the beach was him, it couldn't have been anyone else and he had confirmed it. Just knowing that she was within sight of him caused elevated anticipation. With the confirmation set how could she remain on the ship? He was right there, he didn't look very far away and she bet that she could reach him in a matter of moments. But then what would she do? Figure that out later. What did keep her on the ship, even after knowing that it was him, was what was said.

He wasn't real. Like a mirage given to a person when they were over heated and dehydrated in the desert, the vision of hope would vanish as soon as it was approached. Just like that, Damon would dissapear too. Epiphany would rather look at him from afar, than to approach and have him vanish.

She pushed back her hair, which was surprisingly down and gracing her shoulders, and eased back a slight step with her left foot.

Something else came into her awareness then, thought at the moment she didn't know what it was. All she knew was that it made her stop and listen. What was that? Did she hear what she thought she had heard? Just turn around?

It was so simple, to turn around, and nothing in the world could stop her from doing so, even if it was done with a slow turn. Her dusky eyes brushed the floor as she turned, almost afraid to look up incase this was all a cruel trick. Holding on to the bit of hope she had, once she was fully around, her eyes lifted and there he was.

A bit of small laughter spilled out and her fingers came up to her lips. Epiphany stood there, even forgetting to breath for the next few moments. Damon was there, right in front of her. Eventhough this was, in many ways a dream, he appeared as real and as vividly to her as he did in the waking world.

"I've missed you so much." The first words she was able to get out. Her intial reaction then being to hold him, and that's when Sean's words came to her: if you really want to help, you have to send him back. This didn't count, did it? Surely she didn't have to send him away in this world.

The words came forth on their own. "You have to go back Damon." Words that were so hard to say as she was seeing him for the first time in over a year. "He said, that you have to go back, but I don't want you to go." She walked forward a step eventhough there was not much distance between them. "I'm only now seeing you and I can't bare to loose you again. Take me with you." How impossible that sounded.

"Take me with you and let me help with whatever trouble you're in," Whereas his tone had held urgency, hers held sadness, and joy, a desire to be with him and for him not to leave. Voice bearing on the edge of tears. Epiphany's hands rose up to reach for his face.

"I miss you so much." Was he only just an image that was going to vanish?

[Damon Fauci]

Against his better judgment. Truer words were never spoken. It was ironic, however, that when he spoke them he had been thinking of her - of the reasons he had written the letter, of the ongoing cycles that prompted said letter, of his concern for her well-being, her future, her growth. That those words would apply to his own state had not occurred to him by any stretch of the imagination.

Until the moment in this dream that she turned and they were face to face. To conjure a dream and be its puppeteer from a disembodied distance, that was one thing. To put himself at the center of the dream, with her. . .

Needless to say, it took all the reservoirs of willpower and control he had to not leak even the slightest bit of what struck within him into his body language, expression or demeanor: I shouldn't have. Those wells of sang froid were not only to conceal that truth when she first faced him, but twice more. When she said she missed him, the same thought struck in his mind like a clock: I shouldn't have. And when she took the step toward him, that 'clock' struck a final time: I shouldn't have.

To ensure that this thought would not betray him and show itself, he took the simplest road - speaking of the practical matter at hand, rather than the litany of emotion. "He can say what he likes," The silken words were wrapped in a nonchalance that matched the simple, fluid shrug of his shoulders as he crossed his arms over his chest. "As usual he hasn't given any logical thought as to why I've chosen to keep such a distance away."

Beyond that elegant shrug, Damon was remaining so very still. As if he were rooted into the very planks that made this ship's floor, or was a man made of something immovable such as marble. It was part of his resolve, that he stay still no matter what move she made. And he managed that. . .up until she touched her hand against his cheek. The resulting reflex was subtle, but in comparison to his former stillness it was an extraordinary movement - his eyes sank shut.

Yet still as he was, Epiphany would perhaps be glad to find that he did not and would not vanish. Nor did her hand pass through him as if he was an apparition. As she felt as flesh in this dream, so would he - again, just as she remembered him. Cool, smooth immortal skin which hummed faintly against her fingertips reminding her of the power housed within. Such a strong, but inert body, void of heat or heartbeat. And of course he had not aged even a single spot or wrinkle since she saw him last, nor would he ever.

"Epiphany. . ." The aristocratic poise was gone from his tenor timbre. How quickly old realities could return - already he brushed aside the aristocrat in him, speaking to her as simply himself without the mask-like candor. A false breath sighed out of him, dropping the high-brow posturing into something slightly more reflective of his outward age, rather than the mysterious beast he most often was. "Take you with me and put you in danger? Like hell."

He opened his eyes then, those raven black eyes that seemed to have no end now piercing her own. "It's only because Sean is such a careless sciocco that I came even in this manner."

[Epiphany]

Always the Aristocrat. Even in her dreams she couldn't conjure up a likeness of him that wore that particular society level mask the way he did. So smooth and logical, yet cold and facetious, it all worked together to compose the Beast, he so often called himself. The only reason why she could perceive him wearing this guise around her is because he wished to hide something. It is always easier to tuck things away if you put on a mask. She should know.

Epiphany hadn't bothered to hide any of her own feelings. What use was doing so if her heartbeat would give her away? Besides, she had made up in her mind that if she ever got the chance to see him again she was going to be more honest. Watch that come back and bite her in the end but, in order to grow, you had to change.

It was a soft touch that she delivered to his face. At first it was hardly anything at all but a brush upon the flesh, but with it she felt the cool of his skin and he the warmth of her touch. She had grown use to his feel so long ago but yet it still caught her breath. His eyes had closed and she would have frowned if it were not for the fact that he had said her name.

Just saying it, for her, belayed snippets of what he had been concealing under his mask. Even his refusal to take her with him spoke volumes. She couldn't have imagined it, could she?

Her hands now cupped his cheeks, bottom fingers gracing the jawline, and he was looking dead at her. Quite the way Sean had done so a night ago but altogether different. Damon would see that she was smiling at him brighter than before, happy that he was still here, and captivated by his eyes. It was those dark eyes that always held her still and could say so much.

"I'm afraid I pushed more than one of Sean's buttons." Epiphany started off saying. "Made him a bit angry. Maybe he would have kept a better head otherwise." It was a possibility. "I never did get from him the reason why he thought you were here, but they need you for the mission. To...to protect Jade." He could hear the reluctance in her voice when she mentioned Jade, but she covered it - hopefully - by moving her hands down from his face and to his shoulders. He had only gotten here - even if it was in a dream - and she did not want to see him go again so soon.

"What's coming?" Questions in her eyes. "Will you tell me? Or your reason for leaving without telling them?" That one she did not think he'd answer. "Or even if this is the only way I'll get to see you?"

Full of questions. She was always full of questions.

[Damon Fauci]

So many questions. And yet to him the barrage seemed entirely normal. They had spent much time together, after all. From the moment they first met, from her he'd come to expect unceasing questions. That she asked things so fearlessly had been the primary thing that had gained his respect that first night they'd encountered each other in the graveyard on the hill. A creature such as he couldn't help but delight in a curious woman.

Perhaps that's how he knew that these questions she had just posed to him were only the beginning. The topmost tip of the iceberg, so to speak. A fact which prompted him to say this, "Understand this - I will not do or say anything, even here, that I feel may put you in even the slightest bit of danger." Intoned with his eternally silken manner, and yet - it almost wasn't fair, how he pressed the power of suggestion through each of those syllables so that the truth of those words would land deeper than the wells of her ears, and pressed instead within the very wrinkles of her mind. Clearly it was a point that he would not bend on, and he didn't want her to forget that fact come the inevitable time when some of her questions would simply be brushed aside unanswered.

"But all of those questions," he continued as he held her gaze in the relaxing blackness of his own eyes, "can be answered in the same fashion. What's coming comes not just for me, but for Jade as well. As I have not graced the coven house with my presence for some time, when she no doubt began receiving dreams similar to the ones I've been subjected to as of late they took it upon themselves to send out a search party for me, which has obviously proved a rather futile effort." There was a triumphant, beastly glint to those dark eyes which also pressed itself into curling corner of his mouth. Yes, he was rather pleased that he'd proven so impossible to find. He did pride himself on such things, after all.

"As for what it is? The entity which nearly killed Jade, that's the simplest answer. I thought I'd suitably taken care of it those years ago. . ." her hands if still on his shoulders would feel the smooth rise and fall of the slight shrug he gave in the pause. "But unfortunately, when one is dealing with those in the spirit realm, well." A rather bemused smile. "Death is something that escapes them, and it seems they need only the passage of time to manage to return."

"And so," he added with a rather pointed look at her, "as the spirit gains strength by the day and such entities are not trapped by the normal bounds of flesh, it is not even remotely wise for you to be anywhere near me." He would be kind and leave it at that, rather than mentioning that he had not forgotten that she had been susceptible to the influence of a malevolent spirit in the past.

And that was all he said, or did, in response to Epiphany's questioning. The situation and his opinions of it went far beyond what he'd just spoken, naturally. Damon had a myriad of problems with Sean's faulty logic, his number one issue the fact that the two of them were currently traveling alone. And Damon had a myriad of theories and concerns when it came to the spirit in question. But those irritations and theories Epiphany need not be troubled with. The less she thought about all this and the less she knew at all, he felt, the better.

For the good of her safety, of course.

[Epiphany]

Damn him. Damon knew her well enough to be sure to cover the areas of his orders to ensure there were no loopholes. Or at least, if there were any, they were not easily found. For any other person it may have been enough for him to say that he wasn’t going to ‘say’ something and the person would think that meant actions too, but not Epiphany. He had to specify that he wasn’t going to do or say anything; and that would get the message across. If he hadn’t then she would try to find hints in his actions. Possibly, she still would, even though it might be for not.

She found that her smile had become tight-jawed, it wasn’t solely do to him concealing information, but at what he said was coming. Something that had almost killed Jade was now after the pair of them. It was the thought of Damon being on the verge of death – what it is for his kind – that caused her to frown. How many times had she seen a person that she deeply cared for in grievous agony? Too many times and she did not want to add another to that number.

For Epiphany, Damon had always seemed on the verge of invincible. He was strong and ingenious, crafty and caring. He had even come to her rescue in that faraway time of long ago. Though he said nothing of the sort, perhaps he was the one now in need of rescuing?

His words washed over her as her head bowed down, eyes sinking nearly to their close. So. He was dealing with something in the spirit realm, and he was having dreams. All too well did she remember her brush with a malicious spirit, how it took hold of her and whispered things; and caused her to do things she would rather forget. She was younger then and the experience had taught her a few things.

The words came softly from her lips, “Let me help you.” Were the words that started her off and they were spoken as she lifted her head back once more to look at him. “We both know that I am capable of doing foolish things. But I am also foolish enough not to be frightened away from helping the one that I . . . I care for.” Epiphany had been on a roll. Her words were strong and confident, she knew what she was going to say and said it. Then there was the bump in the dialogue where her confidence wavered and shifted gears. It was sure to be noticed.

“I’m stronger now.” Spoken as she looked for a way to recover. “I’m not the same as I was before. I’ve grown.” She moved her hands from his shoulders and down his arms, almost letting go of him completely. “And with that growth has come a higher strength in my abilities.” True, it was a power she had yet to fully explore and did not know its full extent, but it was there, resting underneath the surface.

“You travel alone,” she continued, turning a soft smile to him once again, “but you don’t have to be alone.” Epiphany bit her bottom lip as she slowly shook her head. It wasn’t about him not wanting her around him – for safety purposes of course – but of him understanding that he had help and a place to go.

Whether he wanted her to or not, now that she knew, she couldn’t help but think on what he said.

[Damon Fauci]

Damon would not be himself if he wasn't altogether nonplused regarding the matter of his own safety. In life he had mastered an unshakable confidence in the face of any danger. . .becoming a nocturnal beast those hundreds of years ago had only amplified this poise to a nearly infinite degree, which naturally matched the infinite view of time that came with the arguably immortal life of the vampire. Indeed, for one who had all the time in the world the concepts of immediacy, danger and self-preservation were obviously skewed. This was a conversation he and Epiphany had more than once before, so she should not be surprised to see him match her looks of worry and urgency with an amused, wolfish curl of his lip.

So did he think himself in need of rescuing? Of course not. The return of the sprit was a mere bump in the road which was almost welcome to him - since he had left her, the life Damon had led he found rather lacking and unsatisfactory. The coming altercation would, at least, make things interesting if only for a short time.

The only concern he had, then, was for her. For her time was still finite, after all, life a more fragile item. Thus his reply was focused on what she had said regarding herself, beginning with a slight nod. "To hear that you are stronger, and have grown, puts a rather deep worry of mine at ease, in fact. After Sean had so foolishly drawn attention to you by in his attempts to track me. . .as I cannot be certain of the boundaries of the entity I was afraid that if I did not stand by you in a more corporeal fashion," and ironic turn of his lip as his black eyes moved to indicate this far from material dream world, "it would put you in danger just as surely as keeping my distance."

He grew solemn, his gaze turning back to hold her eyes. "But that you have grown into your own, Epiphany, fills me with relief that goes beyond the more immediate situation." A reference to the letter he'd written her, no doubt. "It also fills me with a resolve to stand strong by my choice - I will not do or say anything, even here, that I feel may put you in even the slightest bit of danger." Yes, he repeated those words already with only the faintest of smiles upon his lip. As if he knew a secret that no other knew.

If there was a secret, he did not tell it. Instead, he moved for the first time since he'd rooted himself to stillness. His long cool fingers reached up, and out, to slip and cup her chin. A match to the gesture she'd felt earlier in the dream, but this time the fingers could be just as plainly seen as they were felt. Cool, of course. Eternally cool. From him came these pointedly chosen and purposefully mimicking parting words as he regarded her with those seemingly bottomless black eyes:

"I would never put someone in danger that. . .I care for."

Do people blink in dreams? If that was so, in the time of her next blink he was gone. He did not even vanish into the slick form of fog that she was accustomed to seeing him do. No, this was truly a magician's trick - now you see him, now you don't. Such an exit surely proved one thing.

Damon Fauci was still a beast.

[Epiphany]

There was something he was saying, that by not saying, was saying a lot. Unfortunately, just as she thought she knew what that something was, she lost it. It was just beyond her reach. Perhaps if she had not been so captivated and slowly loosing herself in his eyes and tone, she would have been able to grasp those small hints.

He was proud of her – that much she gathered. Happy that she had grown since the last time they parted and hearing that from him made her feel good. It didn’t take a lot to make Epiphany happy.

It was in this state of mind that his words really sank in and made their way into her subconscious where they were sure to stay. Damon was not going to put her in danger and that right now, this was probably the only way she was going to see him. Was he saying good-bye? She preferred to think of it as ‘see you later.’ Good-byes were too concrete.

His action had almost the same impact as his words. So subtle and smooth, her eyes even flickered downward to look at his hand before returning back to his face. The initial touch made her shiver, and there was no doubt in her mind that her body in the waking world shivered as well.

And then, just like that, he was gone and she was alone on the ship, in her dreams. Epiphany seemed to be in suspended animation, not moving a muscle for a few minutes, and when she did it was to drop slowly to the ground and on her knees. Was he gone? She discovered that she was exhausted and was soon looking around the room for him even though she felt no sign of him.

Somewhere during the search Epiphany had slipped back into reality and was awake once more. The boat had faded, the papers and wings were gone, she was back in the dark room that the door had chosen for her; and she was sitting by the open window. She wasn’t as exhausted anymore and a hand came up to brush the side of her face. Although it had been a dream, she could feel the lingering effects of his touch as though it had been real.

A deep, exhaled sigh as she rested her face in the palm of her hand, turning to look back out at the night sky. “That I love,” she said with regret. “The one that I love.”

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