westwhere | a little dream of her

a little dream of her | part i

A LITTLE DREAM OF HER

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This is the first of two logs covering the Dream county travel Arc — it stretches until 23 April OOCly and covers roughly one IC week. There is an entirely optional wedding mystery plot, which will depend heavily on information gathering, sharing and deduction, rather than on supernatural powers.

Boarding scenarios for existing and new characters are covered under the Old Timers and New Arrivals header, respectively. Click on the tabs for details!

OLD TIMERS

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Absorbing Wrath, Licyn and Yelena’s feedback, King Deimar of Alem decides against joining his brother Haiva in ‘noble sacrifice’ to hell. Good news for the party, who depends on royal savvy to reach Alem’s otherworld transport beacon, buried in the labyrinthine tunnels beneath crumbling Alem.

■ Deimar and his paladins guide small groups back to the beacon — but the keypoint’s war-drained energies only let a handful of party members out. Characters who have dropped or been swept by AC during Arc VI go home. You can also canon update your character now.

The party must heads onwards east, boarding a dreamy train at a station near Hassir. Here, find exotic stalls with wares once intended for Alem — from the latest travel fashions, to unlucky artefacts, heavy alcohol and narcotics. You can even purchase a domestic ghost.

Whether the Merchant supplies a ticket or false staff uniforms for you to proactively sneak aboard, don’t dally — this train runs like clockwork.

NEW ARRIVALS

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You wake up to claustrophobia, ash and gravel in your mouth — and a sense of urgency: run. Midway through a slovenly, rattling underground corridor, you meet an irritable woman, who leads you out, at the foot of a serene, smoke-topped mountain.

The woman passes you a pendant that allows you to understand her and to communicate with others like you. You are one of many otherworlders brought into Akhuras by undead lords who seek to weaponise you, as they battle humans and each other for dominion. Don’t believe her? Look up. The holy citadel Alem yet burns before the dead armies of Rahakku.

The woman is Karsa, an associate of the elusive Merchant, who collects and leads otherworlders east, where ancient beacons can transport them home.

Regrettably, you’re late — you arrived with the unexpected last gasps of Alem’s dying beacon and must now catch up with the others, who’ve departed on the Sandman train express.

WHY THE LONG FACE?

Karsa barters for a carriage led by two nightmare horses, along with several such steeds for confident riders. These are mercurial mounts and dizzyingly fast — your only shot to reach a train travelling through Dream county.

■ Karsa warns you must not fall asleep during travel. The horses will invade your nightmares, consuming your vital energy while you suffer asleep.

■ Talk at all times or sound the shrill silver bells Karsa provides to wake up any sleepers.

You reach the seaside village of Kyari, where you must board the incoming Sandman express. Regrettably, the horses have left Karsa with just enough coin for one ticket for the wounded Dean Winchester. Everyone else: make do.

You must also help Karsa sneak in fist-sized, forbidden dream boxes. Try to avoid the Sandman’s guards and their canine sentries, who scent newly boarding passengers for such contraband. Return the boxes to Karsa once on the train.

You’ve got 45 minutes to board, once the Sandman reaches its rustic station. Some options?

■ Play stowaway and break the rustier locks of the economy class cars.

■ Sweet talk the depressed Conductor. You bought, but just… forgot your ticket.

■ Distract the guards while your group boards, so they can sneak you on after.

■ Plant dream contraband on another would-be passenger, when the dogs draw close.

■ Ride one of those god-forsaken horses and jump on top of the train once it starts moving, then make your way in through ceiling hatches. God help.

A fully veiled young woman might lend you a hand.

THE SANDMAN

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All aboard… the Sandman, a majestic 100-car train that gallops on an emaciated railway across Dream county. Ghosts and dream residents wave as it passes by.

The Sandman stops once after leaving Alem, at seaside village Kyari, before crossing the abyss of the Cradle — the turbulent, storm-prone birthplace of dreams, where it is constantly night-time.

Some say the Cradle is only a cauldron for those who steal dreams or make them into living things. Others say the Cradle has its own mind.

To avoid igniting dream storms, passengers are strictly prohibited from carrying dream tokens and performing dream magic. Characters find their powers are significantly reduced while travelling on the Sandman.

New arrivals join the Sandman at Kyari with group caretaker Karsa, who introduces them to the old party.

■ The Sandman offers exquisite single-person compartments with en-suite bathrooms for First Class passengers, while Second Class travellers share generous cabins in pairs, and up to four voyagers can bunk up in… cozy Third Class cabins. Shared bathrooms and a small sauna cabin are also available.

■ You can hide in the staff, luggage or coal stock rooms.

■ You can decide your character’s First/Second/Third Class, staff or stowaway status. (Pick a job for staff!)

■ The LOST & FOUND booth contains an assortment of clothes and items forgotten by passengers, which you can raid (within reason). Latest findings: cigarettes, medical-grade opiate powders, a a beautiful green dress and pink striped men’s suit, all brought in after the Sandman leaves Kyari.

■ Amenities range from dining & bar carts to game, exercise and cinema halls where the (PG-13!) pleasant dreams you’ve gambled away can be viewed freely, or passengers can hold recitals or seminars.

■ You can gamble in regular currency or pleasant dreams (not memories).

■ Travellers are polite and social. You learn early on that you share a voyage with renown heroine and First Class passenger Firo, who, alongside her friends and sister party, picks up her bride Prassenze from Kyari.

■ Within two hours of leaving Kyari, the sky begins to darken, becoming pitch black and occasionally loudly stormed. It stays a starless night time throughout your journey over the Cradle.

■ For communal safety, windows and doors are locked and magically enforced shut after the train departs Kyari. The nightmare storms within the Cradle region crackle with highly chaotic energy that can (re)shape reality, endangering passengers. Deputy conductor Michel Bauc holds the window and door keys. An irritating, tinny, train-wide alarm sounds if anyone tries to force a window open.

■ You might sometimes find fellow passengers trying to exit the train or open the windows to join the storms, while they nap. Do wake up them up.

■ Whether you’re an insomniac or don’t typically need sleep, you find you fall instantly asleep at midnight and awaken refreshed by 8 a.m.

■ A skeletal crew serves the Sandman at night. The most authoritative figure is gloomy Conductor Rossakoff, who slinks silently across the train.

THE MENU

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Trot down to the dining carts for an unforgettable meal included with your ticket. Formal evening attire is expected during dinner. Some courses are lightly sparkled with stimulants that deepen certain aspects of diner’s emotions during the meal — this is not disclosed ICly, but visible to you OOCly in the menu. (ex: the Ham and Laughter Eggs triggers roaring laughter and a good disposition ).

BREAKFAST

SUPPER & DINNER

SNACKS & BEVERAGES

DREAM SMUGGLERS

The new arrivals helped Karsa bring contraband aboard, but they’ve steps to go to their final destination. The sorceress doles out fist-sized boxes containing precious dream fragments of happiness, sadness, fear, surprise, anger, guilt or disgust — explicitly prohibited cargo that regains its magical properties once aboard the Sandman.

Each box comes with instructions for drop off under a dining hall table at midday, under a roulette table by 6 p.m. or in the coal room by 8 p.m. Karsa says the deliveries are an explicit favour from the Merchant to an old (dream thief) friend aboard the Sandman.

■ Pair up for your run! Those who hold dream boxes feel their emotions to a player-chosen degree of intensity, throughout their adventure.

■ Beware the vigilant guards of the Sandman, who run frequent searches for illicit dream artefacts. Some bring dream-catching dogs who catch the scent of the dreamed things.

■ You may feel unusually sleepy while holding dream boxes. Doze, and you wake up to find your dreams have summoned a wo/man, child or animal whose temperament embodies the box’s emotion. They can’t help drawing attention, but slowly disappear within 30-60 minutes — wait, are those the guards?

■ Caught smugglers are locked into ‘jail’ cabins, while their contraband is placed in the office of Conductor Rossakoff. First-time captives can be bailed out at ludicrous expense or in exchange for maid service, but repeat offenders are jailed
for the rest of the voyage. Liberate your dream box back from the Conductor’s strangely barren, otherwise untouched compartment.

■ Successfully delivered boxes feed into the mystery of the missing bride. You mysteriously fall asleep to a sweet dream if you wait to meet the collector — and wake up to a feeling of wrongness, as if reality is mute and diffuse around you, before your hearing and vision resettle.

THE GROUNDHOG WEDDING: A MYSTERY

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Firo’s bride Prassenze boards the Sandman from Kyari. She comes alone, veiled head to toe, and only brings a modest case. She is short, thin, pale and shy, prone to silence and retiring to her cabin at the earliest opportunity — a far cry from boisterous Firo.

…so much so that Firo’s sister Lita and friends Dulcinea, Maiza and Attru tell anyone who’ll listen that Firo is marrying this girl after courting her for six months through correspondence. Even bashful Hugo admits the pair is… perhaps a little mismatched. This is their first in-person encounter.

■ The wedding party members plead or offer coin for you to coerce the loving pair to delay their marriage — or to sabotage the wedding, due to take place in two days.

■ An enthusiastic Firo meanwhile asks if you can help with celebratory clothing or wedding ornaments.

■ Shortly after, Lita appears lost in her thoughts and altogether not there, clutching a letter in hand, the day after the Sandman departs Kyari.

HERE COMES THE BRIDE... AGAIN

1.0

No one forgets their wedding night — least of all brave Firo, who, vows performed, makes merry with her group and timid bride over a magnificent feast in the dining halls. Everyone is invited.

The blushing bride is visibly infatuated with Firo, but overwhelmed by the loud, relentless social activity. She hardly speaks to anyone, other than Firo, whose friends complain increasingly loudly that Prassenze is aloof, a cold fish, and thinks herself above them.

Prassenze excuses herself to freshen up in her cabin. Nearly an hour’s absence later, a worried Firo checks up on her — finding the bride’s compartment locked from the inside. Once the door is forced open, the partygoers — and you? — discover the inside stormed, bridal veils discarded on the floors, and windows widely open as the Cradle’s nightmare tempests rage.

The bride has vanished.

Terrified, Firo questions everyone in earnest, accepting your assistance to find Prassenze.

2.0.

You wake up next morning to find everyone reliving the same wedding day, which only fellow otherworlders recall. Squinting outside, you see new landscape — suggesting the Sandman has covered a day’s journey.

The bride Prassenze is present again, but sharply different in appearance and manner. Now, she is closer to Firo in size, her build athletic. Her manner is brusque, assertive, commanding. Some in Firo’s group are put off, others frightened. Firo appears a little taken aback by her bride’s domineering nature.

During the second wedding, a drunk Maiza and Dulcinea quarrel with Prassenze, who doesn’t back down. A frustrated Firo tries to break the fight, verbally lashing out at her friends for drinking and at Prassenze for stooping to their intoxicated level.

Prassenze storms to her cabin. She is once more found missing, when searched. As before, her compartment was locked from the inside, the window is wide open, and her veils have been abandoned.

3.0.

You wake up to a third wedding day, with only party otherworlders recalling the past two days. Prassenze looks and acts differently from the first and second wedding day — now she is of average build and height, with an especially jovial, overly friendly manner, prone to laughter and pranks. This time, she drinks with Firo’s friends, plays (and wins!) at many of their card and dice games, humours their stories and even flirts — but is so devoted to Firo’s group that she accidentally neglects Firo herself throughout the day. Firo repeatedly tries to coax her to spend time together, but fails, and abandons her during the wedding feast — perhaps meeting you for a drink instead?

Realising she has driven Fire away, a distressed Prassenze once more withdraws into her compartment at the end of the (third) wedding night — and disappears, leaving the same clues behind as on the first and second wedding day.

There are no further repetitions and time passes regularly after the third wedding day. The morning after, apothecary passenger Rigolante mentions asks Conductor Rossakoff to conduct a search, as some of his herbs and measuring tools have gone missing.

■ Player characters can change events and investigate during the second and third ~~groundhog~~ wedding days. Regrettably, Prassenze still disappears.

■ Non-PC characters and the Sandman’s crew only recall the third wedding day.

■ Conductor Rossakoff says the number of dreamers whose dreams help propel the Sandman during the obligatory midnight-8 a.m. nap — what do you know, you were helping all along! — has stayed the same since leaving Kyari, meaning the bride is alive on board. No one seems able to find her… help a distraught Firo find her missing wife!

CAST & CREW

	FIRO Good-humoured, sincere and just heroine, renown for her many feats of bravery — from rescuing villages to outwitting sphinxes and challenging immortals. Loud and prone to laughter. Quick to tell everyone about her beloved Prassenze.
	CONTESSA LITA Doting older sister of Firo, married to a Count who prefers a quiet life at his countryside estate. Preposterously wealthy and fashionable. Life of every party.
	MAIZA Once a gifted mathematician, Maiza quickly realized there is more money for the modern man to make from his brawns than his brains. After retraining as a barbarian, he served as muscle (and accountant) during many of Firo’s adventures..
	ATTRU The prince of a distant land, some say descended from wolves. Walks among men to learn their ways. Looks young, but will mention at least three wives and five children in the first five minutes of conversation. Smooth.
	DULCINEA Redeemed mercenary, who once used to sell her sword to anyone with the coin to spare — some say, even the dead! Turned an honest leaf after meeting Firo, of whom she is very protective. At times still sinister at her edges.
	HUGO A pilot turned priest, or a priest turned pilot. Met Firo during his many travels. Soft-spoken, mild-mannered, but jittery, with the kind of thin nerves that suggest he has survived numerous fraught circumstances.
	RIGOLANTE An apothecary of exotic drugs and herbs. He had hoped to make his fortune in Alem, but arrived just as the fortress crumbled, before he could sell enough of his wares. Prays he will find better fortune east.
	CONDUCTOR ROSSAKOFF The gloom and doom of the Sandman, eerily tall, slinking and silent. Passengers prefer to deal with deputy conductor Michael Bauc because of Rossakoff’s intimidating and discouraging presence. Takes a hard stand on smuggling or passenger misbehaviour and all but worships the Sandman.
	PRASSENZE The all-veiled bride of Firo, boarding at Kyari. Not once, not twice, but thrice disappeared.

IC TIMELINE

Day 01: Boarding at Hassir/Alem (morning)

Day 03: Boarding at Kyari (midday); within two hours of departing, the Sandman starts journeying on the railway above the abyssal Cradle — the sky is pitch black at all hours, nightmare storms rattle the train.

Day 04: Lita begins to behave airily, as if she’s not quite present.

Day 05: First wedding (16:00) and wedding feast (19:00)

Day 06: Second wedding (16:00) and wedding feast (19:00)

Day 07: Third wedding (16:00) and wedding feast (19:00).

Day 08: Rigolante asks Conductor Rossakoff to enforce a search for his missing herbs and recipients.

QUESTIONS

NPC THREADS

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How thick are these walls? And then the man has fled, and the test is run, Lan Wangji's ear drifting to the wall, to hear — nothing, he supposes. Barely a thump, more vibration, then at long last, sound. A muted experience, a merit to the car's luxurious construction.

That was a pretty trial. Now, for the ugly exercise.

Bichen's a flickered thing, moon-silver, cold. The cut of her, exiting her sheath, is a long, wet hiss. He releases the blade, walks a few steps ' distance from where the tap had come, to avoid the possibility of stabbing the man through — and politely plunges his sword through the wall, until a telling creak erupts, then the release of tension announces he has penetrated the infrastructure.

Strain on his shoulder, the last finger's knuckle in. He rotates her once, each way. Again. Then, finally, pulls her out, only to speak blandly to Buck on the other end:

"Wood. Some iron. Cloth, dressing." The make-up of the wall is solid, but not impenetrable. "Insufficient to hide all sound."

It strikes him, moments after, "Perhaps best we inquire with the cabin's occupants."

No doubt evacuated for hard drink, after the turbulence of the evening.

So, Buck has no idea what Lan Wangji is doing when he sticks his sword through the wall, but he's put enough hammers through enough walls to just watch and observe what he does.

"It's insulated with cloth?" he asks, coming forward to take a look. That seems very expensive, but it is a luxury train. The walls for the staff quarters are definitely not as well thought out.

But, Lan Wangji is right. It probably makes more sense to ask the occupants than to make guesses pending the makeup of the wall. "Know anyone else in first class?" he asks, having taken stock of a lot of his bar patrons but having not very well distinguished them by what class they might be in.

"The decoration, cloth."

The dressing of the walls, so that the delicate silhouettes of first-class passengers need not be bruised or troubled by turbulences on the railway, and strike against unmitigated wood. No: velvets, thread of gold. Only the finest frills and nonsense for their transport sundries.

No matter. If there was murder, or violence, or a scuffle, the nearby compartment would have heard.

"A handful. We may ask our contingent." A nod, tentative, towards the communication pendants they bear — never his preferred recourse, but fast, efficient. "...discreetly. Some are — agitated. In wake of hell. Alem took toll."

"Right," he says, because that makes more sense. Though these fabrics seem kind of delicate, he's not sure how much soundproofing they'd do.

Still, he believes that their first instinct is right, that this was all staged and that someone must've come by with a key and let her out. Without her veils, she could be hiding as anyone. And that's just assuming she didn't get someone to stop the alarms so she could go out of the window.

Yeah, hiding out as someone else on the train seems more likely, particularly since it was so easy for Buck to do himself. "Okay, come on. I might have a better bedside manner but you're a lot more subtle, so, let's do this."

...they are pair now, united in cause, if contradictory in manner. It pleases something in Lan Wangji to heed under another's instruction, deprived of the need, the urgency, the responsibility of choice. The clan bred toy-soldiers for make-believe wars, and good infantrymen abide orders. The chains of Gusu Lan rattle plaintive and long.

He is prepared to follow, hand folding to the dip of his back, posture righting from molten curves to disciplined rigidity. Then, carefully, before they extricate themselves from the savage belly of this cabin —

"Your name?"

...they might, perhaps, learn basic courtesies about each other, before agreeing their cooperation.

Buck's about to sneak out of the cabin, when - right, yeah, he hadn't done an introduction. He just categorizes everyone who's not a native to this world as under the same bucket as him. They're on the same side. And, so, he trusts Lan Wangji implicitly until he proves otherwise.

"Evan Buckley, but everyone just calls me Buck," he answers. "What's yours?" The guy looks so serious and regal, it's almost ethereal. It reminds him of one of those other guys, the strong one with the kind eyes. He wonders offhand if they're from the same earth.

"Buck."

Spoken with the empty-eyed resignation of a man who has raised a son and suffered countless immature indignities, among which Evan Buckley's woodland name is mere afterthought. A man named for deer and dubious purpose. Their latest ally, prone, as his name heralds, to impulse.

...fascinating. Were Lan Wangji's soul not expiring, it might sing praises to the heavens for their poetic touch. As it were, the body remembers first: the sketch of a half-bow, hands neatly linked at fingers' tip.

"Wangji, clan Lan, greets you." The blood, not the sect. A difference, crisp like first snow. No need here to linger on lineage, but the old ways sting. "Let us hunt a bride."

"Wangji clan Lan," he says, thinking that it's his full name. Look, he's not used to addressing people with clans, but he uh, he's trying.

He also tries to do the bow, careful to follow Lan Wangji's position exactly. Obviously, unpracticed as he is, he definitely looks more like a fawn than a buck.

"Maybe we shouldn't call it hunting," he adds, just because yes, they should find the bride, but hunting sounds a bit hard. Especially if they're going to talk to her 'friends' and 'family.'

"Lan Wangji." A tentative correction, indifferent to the offence of Buck's miscalculation. What's in a name? Only glory to fallen ancestors, the preservation of their line. No stakes here.

But then, Lan Wangji turns to flee the room, smoke-like and barely there, and Buck says —

...no. No, they cannot have that.

"This is abduction, murder, scheme or possession." The bride has been forcibly extricated or conspired to the misfortune of her wife and their tumultuous friends. This did not start well and does not end better. "Abide to hunt, or speak now."

If moral objections, weariness or caution intercede — best they do not start what Buck cannot finish. The bride deserves no less than their finest effort, the sharpest edge of their wit, the brunt of their attention whole.

"Lan Wangji," he repeats. Right, okay. This guy seems very proper so he'll remember to address him properly.

"Look," he says. "I wanna help find the bride just as much as anyone else, but I'm not hunting anyone. If we find her and it turns out she doesn't want to get married, we should let her make that decision."

Sorry Firo.

"And if there's a killer on this train, we'll arrest them and let the authorities take care of it. I'm not law enforcement. Are you?"

If they find her, sooner than when.

He bristles with the implicit vote of no confidence, but steels against the instinct to burn, feverishly, with vocal outrage. Breathe. Breathe. First, a tired inhalation, to take in Buck's reticence. Then, exhale, and, with that, release the poison of Lan Wangji's own malice, without making a weapon of his words, without turning it on the man before him.

He wishes, all taut muscle and regrettably hopeful youth, only to help. Lan Wangji must remember this: that purity and innocence are virtues.

"You speak of the law of judges, of justice, or the Heavens?" No. No matter. Wangji is no prince of rhetoric, no petulant child preying on easy technicalities, because he wishes to push his point. Buck does not intend to retaliate against Prassenze's potential abusers, only to salvage her, should she have encountered hardshp.

Fair. That part can be achieved under Buck's stewardship. He need not be present for the rest.

"We may tackle detainment together."

"I speak of the law of all three," he says. He'd had to make a decision a few times, and each of them still weighs on him. He knows in his recklessness, he's nearly made the wrong decision a few times. He can square with that. But he doesn't offer himself up for it, either.

"Sure. Detainment. Then we'll let whatever authority of this world take over." He might think differently, if he fundamentally disagrees with the courts, but that's for another time.

For now, he and Lan Wangji can start their 'hunt'.

"whatever authority," he concurs, and need not add, like a scavenger bird — his own, if murder was perpetuated against a sickly, timid girl without defences. The early signs do not indicate torture or bloodshed. He does not assume, only calls his silks to him like a raven does his broad wings, and drifts down the corridor — indifferent to the woman Firo, who seems to spill the worst of her grief onto her friends, who hold her.

There is a sense of resignation in him, of quiet contempt for those who so readily surrender to emotion before attempting to exhaust every potential recourse of investigation. Have you fought to win back your wife at all?

The compartment near that of the bride is inhabited — worst still, somehow, the holders are untroubled. He knocks once at the mouth of the looming, locked door. Again. Prepares, after extended silence, to lend the hardness of his shoulder to the task —

Then the door screeches open, and he walks in, undeterred, to a flustered woman and her... visitor, both possessed of clothes, ruffled. He turns, gently, towards Buck. Their cheeks still ripe, hands nervous. Air cloying with —

The roll of Lan Wangji's eyes is a despairing thing, skyward. "Address this."

This sits so far outside of Lan Wangji's 'bedside manner.'

Yeah, Buck doesn't suspect that Lan Wangji will take matters into his own hands as far as justice goes, and it'll be a surprise to him when he does do exactly that.

Buck doesn't know what he expects, but certainly not two people right here, so close to the crime scene, clearly preoccupied with other ideas that have nothing to do with possible murder.

Right.

He clears his throat. "Uh, sorry to bother you, but we're pretty. Short. On time, so uh." Wow, this is so awkward. "You wanna tell us if you've heard anything?" Or if maybe they were the last thing Prazzense heard. That would be infinitely worse.

There is flustering, fumbling. An indignated, 'Just who are you, exactly? And what do you mean, 'hear'? We heard nothing, don't you see what's going on, don't you have decency?' and a 'Let it go, just, just tell them what they want, so they'll, they'll leave —' can I pray be decent, sirs?' from his companion.

...decent. First, Lan Wangji blinks away incredulity, modesty the last of his concerns amid an investigation into prospective murder. Then, when the man seems just about readied to plunge and give the 'staring ghoul' a 'hard piece of his mind,' he concedes to turn his back to the woman that, by the rustling, feverish sounds behind him, is throwing on either the world's weight in silks or a complexe sequence of layers of chain armour.

To the Buck, murmured, beside him, "If they spring to flee, strike fast."

Let it not be said Lan Wangji is not a cordial, single-minded creature.

"Yeah," he says, sheepishly. "Got that." And he does tear his eyes away from the woman companion, because he's not lecherous like that, and he shifts around slightly awkwardly.

"Anyway," he clears his throat and tries to speak authoritatively. That mostly involves dropping his voice to a lower pitch, but it's very obviously put on. "Need to know what you've heard, or seen, anything out of the ordinary," he says. "And don't be smart with me, just answer the questions."

The woman looks at him, now dressed, incredulously. Yeah, despite the two of them both being quite imposing men, she seems to be not remotely intimidated by Buck.

They have heard, Lan Wangji surmises between the waves of hiccuped excuses and outraged proclamations, nothing. They know nothing. No one. Hardly know each other. The mark of small, sharp teeth on the man's shoulder, plainly fresh? Perhaps an incident among strangers.

Lan Wangji, who has been brazenly lied to his face in the name of honour and etiquette and convenience, who has never retaliated with dishonesty, who struggled even now to sustain a steely face — withers, shoulders weighed, the line of his body curled in. Wishing himself small and excused plainly from this conversation.

"No tumult of struggle?" None. "No voices?" Perhaps a visitor, an offender, an aggressor? None.

"You were vigilant?" Here, the expected flushes, before the man mutters, It would have stained the atmosphere.

And so, they would have known, would have taken their notice. Finally, because Lan Wangji can only let matters be for so many heartbeats, "The marks on your persons are not the signs of violence?"

The incredulous silence that settles down, while the man and woman squint, see their mouths twitch or blink feverishly, might as well entomb them.

He's pretty sure they were not all that vigilant, but he doesn't want to call out this poor couple in front of Lan Wangji who seems to be cool as a cucumber. In fact, Buck is kind of wondering if he's a robot or something, since he's standing like one, and appears to always just be so placid.

He tries not to stare, to figure it out.

"Um," he tries, lifting a finger. "Pretty sure these were marks of. Something else," he tries, because he also erroneously assumes that Lan Wangji is a virgin if he doesn't see that the bite marks were quite possibly made in passion, and if not, then surely the woman would have something to say about it once denuding her partner. "It's okay, Lan Wangji, I think. They're trying to tell us that they were preoccupied at the time."

And then, he turns back to them. "But if we find out you're lying," he says, once again putting on the voice.

"Preoccupied."

There is a talent to speaking words owlishly, unblinking, with the loose, disarming benevolence of a gerbil. Lan Wangji does not accuse, so much as he conducts his life as a sequence of bland, reiterative, increasingly shaming statements that underline their speakers' foolishness.

This is not Buck's fault, defender of the... jovial couple and their conjugal affairs. No, to look at the ripe flush that bruises the man's nape, the tips of his ears — how the woman keeps pleading to cooperate and end this quickly. This affair substituted passion for legitimacy.

He flees the room with a nod in passing, greetings and farewell extended, waiting until Buck has joined him, while the pair inside erupt in squabbling about who proceeded well and who should have just listened throughout the encountered.

"Screams disrupt," he notes to Buck, once their steps align evenly. For all their... dubious appetites, it is unlikely the couple would have carried on to the gentle play of a woman's rushed, feral screams. However... occupied,

"Yes," he says. "So I'm gonna go on a limb and say that she probably didn't let out a scream." He heaves a sigh. "Maybe the cabin on the other side? Don't uh. Put your sword in there, please."

He just wants to make sure he's not destroying things on the train.

But the whole thing is really suspicious and Buck hasn't a clue as to what happens now. He wishes Athena were here - she's the best detective he knows, and she's damn good at what she does. She'd probably have this all buttoned up and be complaining the whole time about how strange this place is.

He tries to channel her. All right, Buckaroo. "Wait," he says, "stand on the side of the door." He goes out the other side, and falls against the wall. "Did you hear that?" he asks.

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a little dream of her | part i

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