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You had hoped you'd pass out right away, but after a good ten minutes of trying to get comfortable you're exactly how you started. ...Except mildly irritated and even less sleepy. Damnit. A lesser individual would give up here and slink back to lose at cards, but you refuse to let yourself be bested by a <span class="mu-i">bed-stealer.</span> Richard?
He stands in the crack between the chair and the wall. "Is there something I can do?"
When isn't there? You just need him to, um—
"Certainly, primrose. Anything for you." He lays his fingertips on your forehead, then hesitates. "Dreaming or no dreaming?"
You had no idea this was something he had power over. ...Can he make sure they're good dreams?
"Ah." You feel his weight shift. "I'm afraid not. Nothing may be best, then."
Yeah. Nothing may be best. You sit there and let him pour the hot sand into you, filling your insides, making you lumpen and weighted and thoughtless. You loll in the chair and pass into sleep. You do not dream.
-
Nevertheless, that's your first instinct when awoken: a nightmare! There is a large dark figure over you, you are in imminent danger, you must run or punch or scr—
A hand is clapped over your mouth, and you scream into it and kick back into the armchair. "Shhh-hh!" your assailant counters, and gives something a hard squeeze— a glorb. Your eyes water against it. "Hey, kid! It's just me! Remember? We're doing the...?"
It's just Earl. You blink hard and settle down; he lets you go. "Shit! You really are feisty! Remind me not to get on your bad side, haw-haw." The glorb casts quivery shadows as Earl folds his arms. "Need a hand?"
"No," you say, and breathe deep before standing. "You know where we're going?"
"Sure do. I'll get us there before I space, so don't pay that any attention. Trust me, you'll know when I do! Haw-haw. Need any last things before we skedaddle?"
Do you have The Sword? Of course. Is Richard around? Not at the moment, but surely he'll come when he's called. That's all you can think of. (You, er, embrace minimalism.) "Um, I'm good."
"I figured! I think you packed light last time, too. From what I remember, anyhow, haw-haw. Should we beat it before we wake the whole gang up?"
It's a gang, now? Whatever— you have no reason to argue. You trail Earl to the front door, stepping lightly around a sacked-out Madrigal on the settee, and wait as he jams himself through.
As he jams himself through? Huh. Earl was always tall, yes, and broad, certainly, but you can't remember him having any difficulty with doors. Has he gained a couple of inches in height? And... in the biceps? He was a touch paunchy beforehand, but now his torso's smooth and barreled. Not that you're <span class="mu-i">staring.</span> His shirt is small, and only half-on; you have no choice in the matter. It's just—
(2/5)
