feels like i'm falling into a world i can't control (♫)
Sleep is not kind to Daisy Johnson. It never has been. As a child, she dreamed of parents who never came to rescue her, of mean scary nuns who showed little kindness to her, and of the foster families who no longer wanted her. The loneliness of her waking life was infinitely better than the life she found in dreams — something that did not change as she got older. With each new tragedy, the arsenal of nightmares stacked against her grew both in number and strength. Betrayals and losses, emotional and physical trauma, she was plagued by the original memories as well as twisted versions of them that were often even worse than what she experienced firsthand.
The solution to this problem is, obviously, to sleep as little as humanly possible. Coffee is her best friend, helping her stay awake and alert through the deprivation, and when she does have to finally get some rest, she works out until she's on the verge of exhaustion in the hopes of collapsing into a dreamless nothing for a few hours. It works sometimes, but more often than not she's waking up crying or shaking or screaming in the early hours of the morning, the room shaking from her powers activating as her body's instinctive reaction to fear. Sleeping anywhere but her own quarters is never a good idea for that very reason — she needs the power-absorbing panels lining the walls of her bedroom or she might bring the building down.
Tonight, it's the barn that haunts her, except this time Malick turns his attention to Sousa first. She has to watch as the SHIELD legend is dragged out of the room, powerless to help him, and then his screams fill the building. When they dump his body back in the room with her, there's nothing she can do except hold on to him as he slips into unconsciousness. And then they come for her.
Daisy wakes with a scream in her throat, each shuddering breath like razors as she struggles to calm her racing heart. The adrenaline spike leaves her shaking as she climbs out of bed, gets dressed, and grabs her phone and keys. There's an all-hours diner down the street with not-too-terrible coffee where she can wait out the rest of the night. It won't be the first time she's rolled in hours before dawn.
In the Dreaming, it can be hard to keep track of the faces of the millions of people who visit his realm each time they fall asleep. But every once in a while, Morpheus does take note, thanks to his sisters gentle insistence and his regularly scheduled century visits with Hob. Though in this case, it was also especially hard to miss the fact that someone was desperate to avoid dreaming all together. Knowing why suddenly interests him enough into finding out.
He spends a few days watching from a distance, slipping in and out of her periphery with his trusted raven companion, Matthew, which he might have been seen flying overhead or heard cawing somewhere not so far off in the distance.
It doesn't take long to pick up on the unmistakable feeling of loneliness that Dream recognizes from being held captive in his glass prison for too far too long. Yet, there is something else -- something so glaringly obvious that sets her apart from everyone else. A superhuman power. The kind he has only seen a handful of times outside the existence of the Endless.
Of course his curiosities get the best of him, and despite Lucienne advising him not to interfere, Dream pays the diner a visit.
A familiar waitress greets Daisy as she enters the diner, giving her a nod of acknowledgment and a wave to seat herself. She slips into the same corner booth at the window where she's sat every other time she's visited this place — it offers a good view of the front door as well as easy access to the kitchen and back door, should she need it. Having the window to look out and people-watch as the city slowly comes alive is nice too, of course.
That's how she's currently passing time, her eyes following the taillights of a car as it drives by. Already, she's removed the requisite three sugar packets from the ceramic container, lining them up beside her cell phone on the tabletop. Even though her life is vastly different now than it had been when she'd started the practice over two decades ago, she still finds comfort in the act, her fingertips constantly touching the packets even if she doesn't fully move them. Minor adjustments remind her that she has control of this part of her life, no matter how the rest of it might be spinning into chaos or loneliness. (It's been the latter since her team split up and went their separate ways.)
The waitress approaches with a mug in one hand and a black-rimmed carafe in the other, pouring a steaming mug before asking if she'd like anything else. "Just coffee, for now, thanks."
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won't you wake me up —
no subject
He spends a few days watching from a distance, slipping in and out of her periphery with his trusted raven companion, Matthew, which he might have been seen flying overhead or heard cawing somewhere not so far off in the distance.
It doesn't take long to pick up on the unmistakable feeling of loneliness that Dream recognizes from being held captive in his glass prison for too far too long. Yet, there is something else -- something so glaringly obvious that sets her apart from everyone else. A superhuman power. The kind he has only seen a handful of times outside the existence of the Endless.
Of course his curiosities get the best of him, and despite Lucienne advising him not to interfere, Dream pays the diner a visit.
no subject
That's how she's currently passing time, her eyes following the taillights of a car as it drives by. Already, she's removed the requisite three sugar packets from the ceramic container, lining them up beside her cell phone on the tabletop. Even though her life is vastly different now than it had been when she'd started the practice over two decades ago, she still finds comfort in the act, her fingertips constantly touching the packets even if she doesn't fully move them. Minor adjustments remind her that she has control of this part of her life, no matter how the rest of it might be spinning into chaos or loneliness. (It's been the latter since her team split up and went their separate ways.)
The waitress approaches with a mug in one hand and a black-rimmed carafe in the other, pouring a steaming mug before asking if she'd like anything else. "Just coffee, for now, thanks."