timebethine | [Semi-Closed Post: Aornis Is a Real Headache]

Somewhere around midnight, a migraine descended on Laertes like a thunderhead, and he still hasn't come out from beneath its anvil. He's spent most of the day hiding in bed with the curtains drawn, feeling as though he's about to be sick--and that feeling's only grown worse as the sun has drifted sluggishly to a low apex in the sky.

It isn't until mid-afternoon that he feels well enough to make progress on all his plans. He needs to speak to SecUnit about its drones, to Dionysus about whether Avernus (that is her name, isn't it?) is a goddess, and to Nightingale about whether he can offer magical support in case their confrontation goes sour. He needs to talk with Claudius about what to say when he does speak to her.

So it is that he starts making his rounds through the mansion and its grounds, seeking out friends old and new, clinging grimly to the thermos of coffee that smells sickeningly strong but also helps drive back the pain. His face is wan, his eyes shadowed. He would rather be doing anything but this.

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“Because!” He lets out an exasperated noise. “What if something bad happens to you?”

"Then perhaps those I love will be preserved by it."

"I'm sure we can figure out some way to resolve this that doesn't involve you being put at risk."

"Wiser men than I have tried," says Laertes doubtfully. "But if you have a better plan, then I'll hear it."

"I -- well, I just found out about the situation, I haven't had time to formulate one yet. I still like the idea of me talking to her instead of you, though. You might be better bait, but I'm better equipped to actually handle the situation should anything go wrong." Somewhere in the middle of all that, he started fidgeting with the hem of his peplos.

"If you wish, you may try," says Laertes. "But you are not less dear to the general company than I. Have a care, sir. I would not draw you into harm in my place."

"Any chance she's just making everything up?"

"Oh, ay. Perhaps a strong chance. But even should she not intend to return me to my story, that does not mean she will not torment our dreams. This, she does in secret--if indeed she does it at all; we suspect her less because she has given us cause to doubt than because we have eliminated all others from consideration. There may be much she can do that I cannot guess."

"What if the nightmares are simply being caused by the mansion spirits?" He's not trying to be contrary, he's just trying to get as much information on the subject as he can. "It seems like they can do whatever they want, nightmares seem pretty in line with other things. Were you able to rule them out?"

"No," Laertes admits. "But I know not how we would oppose them if they did mean us harm. And it seems easier to rule out one of our number than something so ... numinous."

"That's fair, I suppose. Next question, what is it about the nightmares that has led people to assume they are being given in the first place, rather than coming naturally?"

"There are some here who have received divine visions, and others who have the ability to enter and alter dreams--and others still who have been given dreams before by those with the power to work them. I know not the details; I was told of them indirectly, by other parties. But these dreams seemed to those who knew better than I less like divine visions than like dreams given or altered."

"I suppose if it's happened before, you'd know what signs to look for when it happens again, yeah. That, unfortunately, makes sense. Who all has been suffering?"

"That, I will not say without their leave."

"Fair enough. Can you tell me how many it is though?"

"At least one. There may be more I know nothing of." He looks away. "I fear I have few answers for you. If I had them, I wouldn't be doing this in the first place."

Dionysus makes a soft, noncommittal noise. He hates everything about this, of course. He hates that he can't be of more use, he hates what could potentially happen to a sweet friend, and he hates that he doesn't know what on Earth is going on.

"So what is your plan exactly? Walk right up and say 'hello, I'm Shakespeare's Laertes, are you a goddess and are you planning on sending me to -- back to my story? Also, while we're chatting, have you been dishing out nightmares? What are your thoughts on driving people mad?'" He rubs his face. This day just keeps getting worse. "Sorry. That was mean, I'm sorry. I'm just worried."

"Forgive me," says Laertes. "I'll go." He turns to get the door.

"Laertes, no, please wait! I'm sorry!"

"I only--I am being directed by wiser men. I'll seek counsel as to what I will ask, and how; I want to answer thy questions, but I cannot. The hand knows not what the brain decides."

Well that he also hates. Dionysus moves to give Laertes a tight embrace. "Look, if you -- if you start to suspect she's done something to you, come find me? I might be able to help." He brushes his fingers through Laertes' hair. "Mastery of madness works in both directions."

A pause (and a lengthier kind of pause, because he is still feeling deeply rotten and this is an unexpectedly very nice hug). "If you knew whose dreams had been afflicted--could you trace them back to their origins? Master that madness?"

He considers this. "Potentially? I've never tried that, and it might depend on how the nightmares are being given, but I could try?"

"Let's try if I fail," he says. "Ask Sagramore whose dreams have been clouded; he knows."

“Let’s hope whatever the plan is, it works better — better than expected, you know? Then it won’t come to that at all.” He offers what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

There is still absolutely nothing about this entire situation he approves of, but it doesn’t seem like he has any choice in the matter.

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