Wallie Smith / Lord Shonsu (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reluctantsword) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kore_logs2013-06-23 08:59 am
reluctantsword) wrote in kore_logs2013-06-23 08:59 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Wallie and everyone!
What: Various dreams.
Warnings: Angst about self-identity, probably a sexy slave girl, but really Wallie's pretty well-adjusted.
Dream 1: A happier image:
It's a grassy slope of beach near the edge of a wide, slow river that curves through jungle, a shady spot to stop, to have some lunch, to relax. A boat -- peculiarly, not the river boats of the World but a very earthly aluminum canoe, because details are sometimes fuzzy in dreams -- is pulled up on the shore.
Wallie is stretched out on the grass, smiling wide enough to split his face. With him is a young woman, brown and dark-haired and beautiful, wearing blue to match him, the blue of a seventh-rank rather than the black of the casteless, though his memory has conjured her with a slave tattoo: a long, thick line from forehead to chin. A small child who can't be much more than two runs around on the grass, naked in the warm weather and full of laughter; he, too, bears the slave tattoo on his face.
The boy wanders too close to the river -- the water is dangerous, but Wallie's there to keep watch, and he rises to go swoop in and gather him up, tickling him until the boy shrieks gleefully. The woman comes to join them, and she kisses Wallie warmly; he puts his arm around her waist and pulls her close as he moves all three of them further up the shore.
Dream 2: Who am I?
The cloudless blue sky stretches endlessly over the sun-bleached grass of the Saskatchewan prairie. Wallie looks very different here: short, thirty-six but already quite bald, his hair and beard blond. He carries a sword, but it's too big for him, and he doesn't seem to know how to use it.
Across from him stands Shonsu, huge and muscular and the very picture of beautiful masculinity. The sword in his hand is a different one from the one Wallie brought with him to the Cape: a fine blade with a griffon handle, a sapphire in the hilt.
"You think you can be me?" scoffs this apparition, and he lunges forward with the blade; Wallie parries, awkwardly, hurriedly, gasping for air.
What: Various dreams.
Warnings: Angst about self-identity, probably a sexy slave girl, but really Wallie's pretty well-adjusted.
Dream 1: A happier image:
It's a grassy slope of beach near the edge of a wide, slow river that curves through jungle, a shady spot to stop, to have some lunch, to relax. A boat -- peculiarly, not the river boats of the World but a very earthly aluminum canoe, because details are sometimes fuzzy in dreams -- is pulled up on the shore.
Wallie is stretched out on the grass, smiling wide enough to split his face. With him is a young woman, brown and dark-haired and beautiful, wearing blue to match him, the blue of a seventh-rank rather than the black of the casteless, though his memory has conjured her with a slave tattoo: a long, thick line from forehead to chin. A small child who can't be much more than two runs around on the grass, naked in the warm weather and full of laughter; he, too, bears the slave tattoo on his face.
The boy wanders too close to the river -- the water is dangerous, but Wallie's there to keep watch, and he rises to go swoop in and gather him up, tickling him until the boy shrieks gleefully. The woman comes to join them, and she kisses Wallie warmly; he puts his arm around her waist and pulls her close as he moves all three of them further up the shore.
Dream 2: Who am I?
The cloudless blue sky stretches endlessly over the sun-bleached grass of the Saskatchewan prairie. Wallie looks very different here: short, thirty-six but already quite bald, his hair and beard blond. He carries a sword, but it's too big for him, and he doesn't seem to know how to use it.
Across from him stands Shonsu, huge and muscular and the very picture of beautiful masculinity. The sword in his hand is a different one from the one Wallie brought with him to the Cape: a fine blade with a griffon handle, a sapphire in the hilt.
"You think you can be me?" scoffs this apparition, and he lunges forward with the blade; Wallie parries, awkwardly, hurriedly, gasping for air.