And every time you go to sleep...

[recognize_an_opportunity]

Who: Meyer Lansky and all y'all
Where: ~Only in dreams
When: Day 83-88
What: Meyer is having some dreams. Perhaps you'd like to stumble into them.
Warnings: There is definitely disturbing imagery in here. There's copious amounts of murder and blood, kidnapping, drug dealing, and traumatic childhood memories that most definitely include murder and gore. There is also swearing, of course. More warnings will be added if more come up during the dreams.

[[This is an open dream log, to keep things tidy! I set up a couple specific threads for people, but other people can jump in as well, or they can make their own thread, or they can jump into the collective dream thread!

Please just note what day the dream is occurring on if you tag!]]

Comments

Run run baby I don't feel alive (Shootout dream)

[recognize_an_opportunity]

He doesn't know how he got there, but there he is, package of heroin wrapped in brown paper in one hand and a hand on the gun in his jacket, looking over his shoulder to the man standing behind him. It's not his usual partner, and somehow that seems out of place, too, but he brushes the thought aside.

There are four men in front of them. Four men demanding something from them, something not previously agreed to. The four men have guns, too, guns they don't bother to conceal. By the time the first shot rings out -- he doesn't know where it comes from, but it echoes around him, somehow louder than any gunshot should be -- he's already running for cover, hoping his partner's following him, reaching for his own gun with his free hand.

[magnets]

It takes him a while to even figure out where he is, to get himself situated. He's dreaming, he's pretty sure he's dreaming, but it doesn't stop him from taking a minute to soak in his surroundings. Shit's old, and he paws at the suit he's wearing, looks up a bit surprised at the pistol he's got jammed into the waistline of his pants.

But there's not really time to stop and marvel. The gunshot's loud, omnipresent, and Jesse flinches outright. "What the fuck is-" he starts to say distantly to someone running past him, but when the second shot whizzes past his head, instinct automatically kicks in. Yeah. Cover. Cover sounds good right now. He's immediately behind the car across the street, back up against the door and the gun suddenly out and in his hand. "What the fuck is going on?"

[recognize_an_opportunity]

"What the fuck do you think's going on?" Meyer asks, voice tight with concentration and no small amount of irritation as he peers around the side of the car to get an idea of where those four guys are. They've spread out now, all of their guns raised, pointed at the car that Jesse and Meyer have taken cover behind.

"Those guys," he says, nodding his head in their general direction as he finally sets down the package of heroin and takes the safety off his gun, "don't like us guys. That obvious enough?"

Truth be told, he's not sure what happened. One minute, they were making a deal. The next minute, they were getting shot at.

[magnets]

He just- stares at Meyer, for a solid beat. "Uh, wow, thanks, Captain Obvious, you know, that's really startin' to clear this up!" But he's turning in his spot, starting to duck his head tentatively out past his own side of the car, pistol raised in his hand. "What's the matter, this shit not good enough for the princesses?"

It's like a slow bleed, how he comes to realize what's going on here and now - the deal, the men, the heroin and all. His being out of place turns into his belonging right where he is, and that feels simultaneously wrong and understandable.

A bullet ricochets off the front bumper of the car and Jesse slams back against the thing, head hitting back hard against the door with a solid thud. "If you've got any other brilliant plans, ya know, now would be an awful good time to hear 'em!"

[recognize_an_opportunity]

"It'd be a good time to stop talking and start shooting," he retorts, shaking his head slightly. He's outwardly calm as ever, although a little less than pleased with the way the situation's turned out. It was supposed to have been arranged, this deal, was supposed to be in the bag, although he can't quite remember who said that or why he feels that so strongly.

He hasn't quite realized that this is a dream, and he's taking it all very seriously. Turning his gaze to Jesse, he looks at him intently. "You better be a good shot."

If Jesse's not a good shot, he has no idea what he's doing with him as his partner. He takes a cautious glance over the hood of the car, only enough to see where the men are located, to take stock of what kind of guns they have, to estimate just how soon it'll be before they need to reload and he can get a shot off.

[magnets]

With a bit of an insulted huff, Jesse's fingers flex around the gun. "'You better be a good shot,' he says. 'You better be a good,'" and he stands suddenly, peers around the side of the car and fires off his first shot, clips one guy in the arm, "'shot!'" And he's back behind the car, breathing heavily.

Okay, so he's not that good. He recalls that one time way back, shooting with Mike. But beyond that all he's got under his belt are video games, and they're good in theory and all but they're not exactly A-grade for teaching someone how to shoot properly, particularly when his adrenaline's going and there's people shooting back at him.

"There's four guys over there, man, I don't know what kinda odds you think we're lookin' at here but I ain't exactly got myself high fuckin' hopes for us!"

[recognize_an_opportunity]

"I'm well aware of how to count," he remarks, checking his gun once more, and preparing to stand and fire a shot just as soon as Jesse's ducked back behind the car, "And four against two isn't bad odds in this situation, statistically speaking."

When he pops up from behind the car, he moves quickly, gun at the ready, aim steady and true. He fires two shots, the first one into the chest of the closest man, the second one into his head. There's a chance he could get off another shot, hit one of the other guys, maybe the guy that Jesse wounded, but he's not willing to take the chance, not when two of the guys are shooting back in earnest and the guy Jesse had shot seems to be getting angrier by the second.

"Three against two," he says, leaning back against the car for a moment, well aware that the three guys are getting closer, that they've decided to abandon their previous strategy and are now walking towards the car, firing off shots every so often in the hopes that either Jesse or Meyer will pop up again.

let's say day 84?

[voliere]

It isn't as if she's never been in a shootout before. What she has not been involved with is a drug deal. She has no idea how they work, but apparently Meyer does. Never mind that it's illogical that she's here, or that she has a gun that she promptly drops in disgust, even as she's running. Gun fights are not out of the ordinary for her, but they're still frightening, and when she drops down behind the cover, she looks a little frantic. Calm! She's cool headed - but frantic.

"Why are they shooting at us? Did we do something wrong?" She asks, even as she's looking out from behind the cover.

Re: Day 84 sounds excellent!

[recognize_an_opportunity]

He's already getting himself to cover, and when he turns to look behind him, he sees someone there he doesn't expect: Elizabeth. For a moment, he's baffled. How had she gotten there, when he'd thought he'd been with a male partner all along? Had she been there for the whole deal, as the whole thing had gone bad? Soon, though, dream logic takes over, and he assures himself that she'd been there along, fitting her seamlessly into the previous events.

When he notices that she dropped the gun, though, the look he gives her is less confused and more irritated, and her question makes him shake his head. "We didn't do anything wrong. They just think we did, and now they want we should pay for it. But since I'd like to avoid getting shot today, maybe you shoulda held onto the gun."

[voliere]

Dream logic, it makes everything make sense. From her own perspective, she had been there the entire time, though since she has a not very clear idea of how these sort of things work, her own memories of the event are fuzzy and probably wildly unrealistic. Much more like a cowboy standoff than a drug deal.

In any case, that's not the important part. She gives Meyer an irritated look of her own, folding her arms over her chest. "Guns are very much not my style, Mr. Meyer, and you won't find me using one." She scans the room, however. "I can be of use otherwise. If you see a tear that could be useful, tell me."

You remember tears, Meyer - there are several throughout the room, varying from guns to medical kits to, in the corner, a very large mechanical president with a very large gun. Her own memories seem to have not have much problem sneaking into Meyer's dream, anyway.

[recognize_an_opportunity]

Guns aren't her style? That's singularly unhelpful, he thinks, but he doesn't have time to get into a debate with her about the usefulness of guns. Oddly, he finds that he does remember tears, although it's not something he should know about if he's really back home in New York.

"Get us another weapon," he says, voice tight, anxiety clearly mounting as the not particularly pleased group of gangsters approach them, yelling at them, taunting them, telling them that there's no way four against two can turn out well. He ignores them, not allowing himself to be drawn out by their juvenile manner. If they both remain calm, they can get through this.

"I can't take out four guys on my own," he says, amending his previous statement slightly. While he hopes it doesn't come down to a standoff like that, he's not optimistic. They'd tried to talk it out, tried to come to an agreement, but those four guys had been stubborn, and they'd seemed bent on violence of some kind or another.

[voliere]

Another weapon. She can do that just fine, she knows exactly what to do. Making sure that the men aren't going to shoot her down the second she moves, Elizabeth leaps up, throws the tear open that holds the motorized patriot - and then drops back down behind the cover.

Of course, in the time span that it takes to do that, the other gangsters take a few shots at her, but she isn't too concerned about that, since she doesn't hurt anywhere or anything. She's fine, and besides, she's more focused on peeking around the corner to watch said gangsters shriek and try to shoot the giant Washington robot that's coming at them with a gatling gun.

"There," Elizabeth says, pleased, turning to look at Meyer. She hasn't noticed her ripped sleeve or the bullet graze that's got her arm bleeding, either because of adrenaline or the dream or - the fact that she has no idea what that should feel like at all.

We look younger than we feel / And older than we are (Childhood dream)

[recognize_an_opportunity]

He steps out of his apartment and finds himself somewhere else entirely; a time long past, a time best forgotten, and he's small. There's snow coating the ground, and the barren trees all have icicles dangling from them. His hands are cold, and he shoves them into his pockets to warm them, but it does no good. His hands are always cold.

From somewhere in the distance, he thinks he hears the sound of gunshots, of shouting, the sound of a child crying, and he sets off towards the noises, but no matter which direction he walks in, they just seem to get further away. Soon he finds himself lost amongst the trees, and though he keeps trying to turn back, to retrace his steps, he can't find his way back to his apartment. It might not even be here -- because here isn't the place he last remembered being.

[thezerothlaw]

How he came to be here, well, Daneel isn't certain, but he hears crying -- a child, something he has little experience with, but someone is nevertheless in distress.

And then he comes through the trees and finds Meyer -- a stranger anyways, but small today. Not the child that he hears crying.

"Are you lost?" Daneel offers, though he himself has no notion of where he is.

[recognize_an_opportunity]

He doesn't know where the man came from, but he's suddenly standing before him, and Meyer has the dizzying sensation, once again, of being very small, of being somehow smaller than he had been moments before. He'd been looking for a way back to his apartment, could have sworn he'd been an adult, but the dream is starting to take hold more and more, and now he's confused. Has he always been a child? Is this a dream, or had being an adult been the dream?

He pulls his hands out of his pockets and looks down at them, considering them. They're small. Perhaps he's always been a child, and the thought that he'd been looking for his apartment in New York had been nothing more than a fantasy. He regards the stranger steadily, nodding. His eyes are large and brown, at once innocent and strangely dark.

"I'm looking for a way home," he finally says. He isn't sure what he means. Does he mean the apartment he thought he'd been trying to find, or the childhood home that suddenly pops into his mind as soon as he says the word home. "Are you lost?"

[thezerothlaw]

Daneel looks around, frowning faintly. "I am not certain where we are. I do not know this place."

A minor detail. There are ways to navigate the unfamiliar, although typically they don't work in dreams. He offers the child his hand, warm and inviting. "We will find our way out together."

But that doesn't solve the problem of someone else being in distress, and he looks up, listening. "Do you know who is crying?"

[recognize_an_opportunity]

He stares from Daneel's hand to his face, then shoves his own hands back in his pocket, indicating that he has no interest in holding hands. That's for children, he thinks dismissively, and he's not a child, except that he is.

It's perplexing, and for a moment he's quiet, trying to work out the answers to the questions posed to him. Finally, the answer comes unbidden to him, although he hasn't previously thought of it, hadn't consciously even noticed the sound of the crying child in the background. It had been expected noise, the kind of thing that one learns to tune out.

"You're in the woods near Grodno," he says, somehow knowing where they are despite feeling utterly lost. He doesn't know whether the information will mean anything to the seemingly kind stranger. "My brother's crying." He doesn't know how he knows, but he does.

[thezerothlaw]

Daneel withdraws his hand, unbothered by the dismissal. Children are a strange thing for him -- intellectually, he knows they're small humans, but he's had little reason to interact with them, and they behave differently.

"Should we find him? He sounds like he's in distress." The place Meyer names has no meaning for him, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't be able to help. And he does need to help.

Living and dying in New York / It means nothing to me (Kidnapping dream)

[recognize_an_opportunity]

He's kneeling on the concrete floor, hands behind his back, eyes cast to the ground. The rope bites into his wrists, but he keeps quiet, only speaking when he needs to. The men argue amongst themselves. Time seems to stretch itself out interminably, until he looks down and realizes that there are three bodies on the floor, three bodies whose blood is slowly pooling on the floor, trickling towards his legs, staining the knees of his trousers.

Then he's up and running, inexplicably free, the rope coiled on the floor, unhurt, adrenaline pumping through his veins, flinging open the nearest door. He expects it to be the exit of the large warehouse, an escape to the outside, but he finds himself stumbling through into another room, a larger room, which is empty except for a pool table in the middle.

[dowhatisays]

Charlie's heart is going a mile a a minute. He was there in the room, with Meyer bound on the floor, but not matter how hard he ran he couldn't get any closer to him, and each time he reached for him he was just too far away.

But then Meyer is running, and he is too, following him but just out of reach. The reach the pool table together, colliding, all that running and reaching and needing resulting in Charlie nearly bowling him over.

"Meyer."

[recognize_an_opportunity]

He tries to understand where Charlie came from, why he hasn't heard him behind him, how he could appear so quickly that he nearly knocks him over into the table. He could have sworn he was alone as he ran, could have sworn he was alone in the warehouse, except for the bodies and his captors, whose faces he somehow couldn't picture now. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe he's safe here. That doesn't mean he doesn't look around himself nervously, as though assuring himself that Charlie is the only one here, Charlie, the one person who'd never hurt him.

"Charlie," he replies, somewhat inanely, heart still hammering in his chest, blood still pumping through his veins so loudly he can practically hear it. His wrists and knees still hurt, a deeper ache than he'd have expected for the relatively short amount of time he'd spent on the floor. He wants to ask Charlie where he came from, but the words just won't come out.

[dowhatisays]

"Meyer."

He said his name already, but it bares repeating. After all that, after trying to get to him desperately and failing, the solid warmth of him under his hands feels like a lifeline. He holds onto him tight, leaning their foreheads together to feel Meyer's ragged breath over his own.

"You're hurt."

[recognize_an_opportunity]

"I'm fine," he says instantly. How many times has he said that, how many different ways? He's always fine. And he is fine, isn't he? He's in one piece, and he's in a seemingly safe room now, and the warehouse and what waited for him in it is gone, perhaps just behind the door or perhaps gone forever, he can't tell.

"How'd you get here?" That seems relevant, somehow. Where had Charlie come from?

[dowhatisays]

"I tried to gets to you, before. But I wasn't there."

And how many times has he kicked himself over that? That Meyer had been tied up and scared and fearing for his life and Charlie had been cities away. But wait, how can he remember it if it just happened?

FREEFORM MADNESS (Collective dream world)

[recognize_an_opportunity]