Sandy's been getting used to the barge for almost a week now, though to be fair, he's not really getting used to the barge. As weird things go, a space-traveling barge (seen it) run by a semi-omnipotent ineffable being (that too) filled with a number of different people from different worlds (yup, you guessed it) some of which were dead (sort of? sometimes? The Dreaming was a weird kind of place) was actually pretty normal for his life, even if the combination was new. No, what he was getting used to was sleep.
Dreams.
He hasn't had those for years at this point.
It's wonderful.
He still stays up too much, drinks too much coffee. Habits will be habits after all. And he tries not to be chipper when he's in public because for goodness sake, he's on a prison barge with people who are there against their will.
...but sometimes it's really hard. Especially the morning after a dream where he got to fly.
It almost makes up for not being able to travel through the walls and floors around here, though at least he can still travel a little when he goes to the greenhouse or takes a spin in the Enclosure. Other than that, he's usually to be found in the gym practicing, keeping in shape like he's been doing for years, or in the cafeteria, working on the cookie recipe he'd been told by Ma Hunkle but never seemed to be able to replicate to be quite as good.
Since the Emperor left, Iris has been entirely responsible for the beehives. This includes spending time socialising with the bees; Iris always finds the contact with their hivemind peculiarly soothing, with its orderly joy. Like living in a musical score.
She sits in the long grass, singing softly in time with the bees' constant communication, while they tickle her face and fingers, tasting the news of the Barge on her skin.
Something changes in the song's timbre and she looks up.
There's no physical disturbance from his travels; the walls he slip through at home remain walls no matter how many times he walks through them. But bees are subtle creatures and it's no wonder that they sense his movements. That someone else has makes him wonder if he was thinking particularly loud or happened to make any of it move or shift in an absent bit of effervescence.
After a moment, though, he lets himself slip halfway out of the soil, still entirely made of the stuff so it might make for an odd image but there it is.
"Sorry. I hope I wasn't intruding. Just getting a bit of time in the soil."
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Sandy @ Iris
Dreams.
He hasn't had those for years at this point.
It's wonderful.
He still stays up too much, drinks too much coffee. Habits will be habits after all. And he tries not to be chipper when he's in public because for goodness sake, he's on a prison barge with people who are there against their will.
...but sometimes it's really hard. Especially the morning after a dream where he got to fly.
It almost makes up for not being able to travel through the walls and floors around here, though at least he can still travel a little when he goes to the greenhouse or takes a spin in the Enclosure. Other than that, he's usually to be found in the gym practicing, keeping in shape like he's been doing for years, or in the cafeteria, working on the cookie recipe he'd been told by Ma Hunkle but never seemed to be able to replicate to be quite as good.
[greenhouse]
She sits in the long grass, singing softly in time with the bees' constant communication, while they tickle her face and fingers, tasting the news of the Barge on her skin.
Something changes in the song's timbre and she looks up.
"Someone there?"
no subject
After a moment, though, he lets himself slip halfway out of the soil, still entirely made of the stuff so it might make for an odd image but there it is.
"Sorry. I hope I wasn't intruding. Just getting a bit of time in the soil."