entrancelogs | + Am I asleep or awake? +

Members of angel stock don't really dream, since they're not really meant to sleep. Crowley doesn't dream so much as he remembers. There's none of the strange imagery or nonsensical subconscious bullshit you'd find in a mortal's dreams.

Just memories of places he's been and things he's done.

Shots Shots Shots
Imagine every pub, every bar, every tavern, every drinking house, legal and illegal, all of them crammed together down a street that could be English or American or Roman or Greek or Chinese or Japanese. If they ever invented and imbibed alcohol, it's here. Dream logic makes them blend together sometimes; here's a bit of a noisy Spanish cantina, there's a bit of an ancient Italian vineyard. A bawdy Irish pub blends seamlessly with a quiet, modern sake joint, and there's a place selling arrack right next a Prohibition-era speakeasy.

Thirsty? Be careful--some of this stuff isn't fit for human consumption. Laws regulating alcohol are kind of a recent thing, and Crowley prefers the good old days. It's Crowley's head, though, so he's buying.

Eden
The forest is endless in a very literal sense. The temperature is perfect, the weather is perfect, the plants and animals are all perfect. There are living things here that haven't been seen in thousands of years, strange beasts that look like they belong in myths and plants so green and with such large flowers that they seem impossible. It's the plants that are the most distinct, since that's what Crowley remembers best. Occasionally you might spot a single man and a single woman, wild and happy, running naked through the trees.

There's a bittersweet air to the entire place; this is the one that feels most dreamlike.

A Right Mess
Everything about this one is misery, suffering, pain and sorrow, and yet it's not Hell. It's not the eternal misery of Hell; it's the abrupt, sharp, violent misery of human life. A volcano erupts and wipes out an island; floodwaters wipe out entire continents. Wars, bloody and brutal, with swords and guns and bombs, bronze and steel and uranium. Pestilence, famine, general Four Horsemen stuff.

Some of the scenes are more specific than that. Thousands of children and poor people marching for the Holy Land, dying in droves; crucifixes by the dozens, lining the roads; a burning library; and more present, more distinct than anything else, torture in the dungeons of Spain.

This dream might get graphic at times. Tread with caution.

Heaven and Hell
This is the vaguest of the dreams, clouded with half-memories and a patina of forced forgetfulness. Heaven and Hell aren't places Crowley likes to remember, and in the case of Heaven, often he just can't.

Hell is dark places and fire and terror and pain and the perpetual sensation of falling. Heaven is light and joy and pain and bitterness and...disappointment. A lack of fulfillment.

This is Crowley's most private of dreams, and not one he's going to be pleased to catch you in.

[THIS ISN'T WHERE HE PARKED HIS CAR.]

...Holy shit.

[As in, holy shit that's a lot of booze... Or possibly holy shit why am I still a girl, because as soon as the words leave his mouth Jesse is well aware that even dreaming hasn't put him back in his actual body. Thanks a bunch, Wonderland...

But whatever. It's been a day or so, by this point, and he's... Well, he's not over it, exactly, but he's over freaking out about it. In the waking world, he's found himself some clothes that fit more or less comfortably, he's swept his hair back so it's not hanging in his face and getting caught on everything and tangled beyond all reason... Also the whole sitting down to pee thing. A truly harrowing experience, but he'd mastered that, too. Scarred for life, but there you go.

Now he's just resigned, mainly, and in this particular moment, a little curious, too; he hasn't quite worked out whose dream this is yet, and so for now he's just wandering, poking his head into this bar and that as he shuffles down the "street". No one's looked familiar so far...]

One of the upsides to being a demon is that you can usually tell when someone's trying to get into your head. Not that it was ever really a common thing; sometime before the invention of radio Hell found out about Crowley's sleeping habits, and decided to start sending him orders via dreams. Not pleasant in any sense of the word, but fortunately they never did it all that often.

Still, Crowley senses it immediately when there's a foreign presence in his dream, and it feels familiar. It feels like Jesse, actually, or at least sort of like Jesse; which is weird, because Crowley makes a concerted effort to never dream about actual recognizable people. Except for Aziraphale, since the angel is always unavoidable.

Especially over in that burning library section, and in Eden.

Crowley peers out the window of a rather seedy dive with a distinctly Caucasian flair, though the bar patrons can't seem to decide if they're Persian, Colchian, Russian or Scythian. He spots a girl--a girl?--walking by, and that's, well, that's definitely where the foreign sensation is coming from.

"Jesse?" He leans out the window. Okay, so Jesse's dream self is a girl? Crowley won't judge. "That is you?"

Oh thank god.

Really, Jesse shouldn't be all that surprised that this is Crowley's dream; they'd talked a little bit about some of the places he's seen (Iran? It was totally Iran, he's like ninety percent sure) and this whole thing has a very distinct world-traveller feel to it...

But as happy as Jesse is to have found the owner and operator of this establishment, Crowley's greeting/question is met with a groan. Yeah. He knows.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's, uh-- It's me." He takes a few steps toward the building Crowley's leaning out of. "I don't know if anyone's told you but yo... Stay away from the stupid gazebo."

He lifts his arms up in a vague gesture that he hopes indicates 'or else', or maybe 'unless you want some boobs too'.

"Not worth the view." He glances down the street, in the direction of the cantina.

"...Dude, I feel like the Dos Equis guy is gonna fall out of one of these. You know, all like "stay thirsty", or whatever..." And he swivels to check out the pub.

"Have you been to all of these places?"

Even in his dreams, Crowley is wearing sunglasses, so Jesse won't be able to see Crowley blinking stupidly at him.

"But you're--how are you even here? Because you actually are here. I can tell." He hisses abruptly. "The beds? I knew there had to be a catch..."

And that whole swinging bed thing was so nice too. Very nest-like.

"Well, good thing you landed in this one." He's not going to expand on that thought. "And avoid the gazebo. Noted. I've gotten rather fond of this body, would hate to have it go changing on me."

He follows Jesse's gaze, still half-draped out the window. "I'm not much of a beer drinker, most days; not sure who you're referring to, either. But yes, I've been to all these places. Even put a few of them on the map. Well, temporarily."

He points off across the street to the gaudiest and loudest and most unsafe-for-work of all the pubs, across the street and down a ways.

"Like that one? Hottest place in all of Gomorrah, all thanks to my patronage. That was Before, of course." He waves a hand. "Anyway, you might as well come on in. I'm not sure what a demon's dream will do to a mortal mind...and anyway, I think it's Cairo out there, for now."

"I-- What?" Beat. "Oh, right, yeah the... Dream thing. Weird, right? ...Wait, so you think it's the beds?"

A frown, and then he shrugs. "I guess that makes sense, yeah. Good call, man."

Consider that a mental note to sleep someplace else tomorrow night... This is cool and all, but he doesn't know how he feels about people walking in on his dreams.

"He's like a mascot-- whatever though, man, this is awesome." Even the dude being tossed bodily out of the pub. Yeah, he's coming this way... Probably best to like... Move.

He does peek at the doomed Gomorrah bar, but it's just a quick glance as he scurries out of the street and into the place Crowley's hanging in. Once inside, he can't help eying the patrons up from something of a distance; Crowley's probably right about the whole human thing, and dream or no, he really would rather that Jersey Fresh looking dude not stomp over here and crush his head like a nut with his armpit.

...Or hit on him, Jesus. No thanks. He's just gonna... Weave out of the way, avoid eye contact as he moves through the crowd... That sort of thing.

But packed as the place is, he eventually makes his way over to where he spots Crowley, relief plain on his face as he slides into a seat with a massive sigh.

"Think we'll be hungover if we party too hard in here?"

"It's the only thing that changed about our rooms, isn't it?" With that he ducks back inside and waits for Jesse, mentally keeping track of him--her?--him--as he comes. Not that any of the bar patrons are a threat to him. They were never a threat to Crowley, so they wouldn't be a threat to anyone here with him.

It's more that Crowley doesn't know what will happen to a human faced with six thousand years of history and memories. This is all just a giant boozefest for now, but the walls could come down at any time and the Crusades or the Spanish Inquisition could come spilling in.

So Crowley relaxes about as much as Jesse does when Jesse finally sits down. He grins.

"Hungover in a dream? No such thing. Dreams are for escaping silly consequences like that. You know, I recall you once using that 'my body is a temple' line."

"I kinda figured, but you never know with this place... It could be some Nightmare on Elm street shit." And he spins to search the room for any booths that look suspiciously striped. He was totally kidding, but hey- if it'd possible anywhere, it'd be here. He doesn't see anything, though, and so he snorts, drumming his fingers against the countertop as he slouches down into his chair for maximum dream comfort.

"And it totally is, yo... But this doesn't count." His fingers slow just a bit and he looks away, just for a second before rearranging his features into something less... Incriminating? Open? Honest? None of that in here, no sir.

"Whatever, man, what's good in here? It's your house, got any recommendations?"

"No Freddie Krueger that I've seen." Mostly because Crowley doesn't watch that many movies, and he's not a big fan of the horror genre in general. "You're in more danger of a total existential meltdown, really." He gestures at the bar. "There's six thousand years of history out there, after all."

Not to mention all the generally insane crap that comes with being a demon and having access to all kinds of metaphysical knowledge.

He hides a smirk at the way Jesse still bothers to hide the obvious.

"Everything is good. Just, er, don't drink anything with yogurt as a base. Most of that has enough opium to kill a rhinoceros."

They really like their opium around here.

Crowley

PATRON ON THE ROCKS AND WE'RE READY 4 SOME SHOTS

WE GO UNTIL THEY KICK US OUT

POPO SHUT US DOWN

SO WHAT WE GET DRUNK SO WHAT WE SMOKE WEED

AND WE CAAAAANT STOOOOOOOP

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JACKSON COUNTY, MISSOURI (AKA EDEN)

UGH AMERICA GET OUT

HE DIDN'T EAT THE APPLE U CAN'T KICK HIM OUT

EXCUSE YOU YOU DON'T EVEN GO HERE

I TRANSFERRED

EXPELLED

U DON'T HAVE THAT AUTHORITY

MY DREAM MY RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULES

In Eden

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