No... not a stranger's. Like I said, it's a friend.
[ Oz slows, watching his new companion while his own expression makes clear that he wishes he could properly explain this thing, this part of him that whispers to him in quiet anger where only he can hear, that bristles over the injustice they suffer on a daily basis and lends Oz a shadowy power to his sword strikes.
The dream once again intervenes on their behalf, trying to lend clarity to the unclear. Oz pulls to a slow stop, and for the first time since meeting Dimitri, that dark afterimage that seems to follow Oz around splits away from him. A shadow black as the blackest night, formless but for a pair of bright blue pinpricks where there should be eyes, peers at the prince from its place next to Oz. Its gaze is intense, unwavering, but not distrusting.
Whether Oz has noticed this or not is unclear as he still muddles for the right words. ]
I don't know if we're one person, or two people, but I don't think it really matters. He helps me.
[He is soon to learn that Oz speaks quite literally when he says a friend; impossible to deny it when that shadowy figure appears, pulling itself away from the other young man as though he is a part of him, and Dimitri supposes that isn’t too far from the truth. But it is still surprising, to be met with those pinpricks of intense lights acting as eyes, never mind if this is a dream where logic is malleable at best. Dimitri stops, jaw hardening not in distrust but in reflected scrutinization, seeking words even as his new friend begins speaking.]
Him, you mean?
[A sweep of a hand to indicate the shadow.]
Can he speak to me?
[He wonders, and then he wonders if it’s rude to ask in the presence of the “person” he is referring to — but he wonders all the same.]
[ Oz turns his head to look, just as the shadow cants what would be considered its head at Dimitri. For whatever it might be worth, Oz looks just as surprised as his new friend – the shade that lives in the back of his head is always there, but it never keeps a form long enough for Oz to look at it. ]
… I do.
[ What else could he possibly mean?
At Dimitri’s prompting, the shade does not speak, but it does move. Its shapeless form shifts, a tendril of dark reaching to span the place between them – a hand, extended to the waiting prince. ]
[This seems like imagery straight out of a cautionary tale told to children at night. That one should never feasibly reach out towards a shadow residing(?) in another, because a shade always represents something to be leery of, something dangerous, doesn’t it?
In this instance, Dimitri feels nothing of the sort. There is already trust placed in Oz, inexplicably — as a result, there is a newfound trust in his friend that saved him, this figure that he cannot quite make out the finer edges to.
Besides, who is he to judge when it comes to ghosts that reside within? At least this one seems amicable.]
Er—
[He hardly knows what to say, though. Dimitri reaches out, and—]
[ Fluid semblances of shadowy fingers close around Dimitri's hand, and oddly he will find that the shadow's touch truly is nothing to fear. It's warm. A comfort.
A friend.
The same feeling that presumably lives in the back of Oz's mind. The shadow has the capability to be his fury, his anger and sadness and resentment made manifest in a way that begs Oz to pay attention to his own feelings, but here in the dream, there is no cause for such fiery emotions. Only gentle warmth.
Those pinpricks of light angle, the shade canting its head in response to the prince's greeting, but it does not speak. Perhaps it doesn't know how to outside of Oz's own thoughts. Perhaps it's a moment, perhaps it's a lifetime, but eventually the shadow withdraws its hand, sliding back into Oz's being with a bow of its head. ]
[In his dreams, hands always reach for him. The dead grasp at his ankles, tear as his cloak, place their fingers around his neck and eyes and whisper in his ear that he isn’t doing enough — when will he do more? Dimitri should be more wary, then, of shadowy things that reach for him more, maybe fall on the instinct to recoil his fingers an inch or two in hesitation.
But no such hesitation comes. He doesn’t understand why, nor is he prone to questioning it, but slotting his touch against Oz’s companion’s is as easy as breathing, like he is reaching out to an old friend of many years. It's centering, correct, so much that it’s oddly distracting, and Dimitri has to blink and reorient himself in the moment when their contact is finally severed.
He flexes his hand out of habit, gives Oz an almost bashful-sounding laugh in reply.]
I’m glad to have made such a positive first impression.
[He drops his arm to his side finally, and the bright grin on his face fades into something softer.]
It is hard to explain why, but I feel as though… I have known the both of you all my life. I know that isn’t the case, but it’s strange, isn’t it? That I should call you my friend so readily and so soon.
[ Oz can't help but smile, a shy but amused expression that crosses his face. He knows, somehow without question, that Dimitri would be the only one to so readily accept that part of him, the shadowy thing that lives in his heart of hearts. Most others would fail to understand it, perhaps find it frightening. That simple, fumbling laugh lightens Oz's heart so much, he feels he might float away. ]
It's not strange. I feel it too.
[ Something is connecting them, a bridge between world and hearts linking them together. Dimitri is at once Oz's first friend and his oldest friend, and he can scarce explain how those two things can exist at the same time, in the same person, but he doesn't have to. Dimitri knows.
Quietly, and much in the same way his shadow had, Oz extends a hand to the prince. ]
[Without hesitation, without the self-awareness inherent in a young man born of royal blood and polite obligation, Dimitri reaches out to link his fingers with Oz’s. The connection feels solid and real, as though this were not a dream at all, a warmth where their bodies touch that makes him feel—
Secure, safe. Present and clear, in a way so very rarely granted to him.
He smiles, sincere and his eyes bright.]
Would it be selfish of me to hope that this dream doesn’t fade quite yet? That it might last an age.
[It cannot, he knows. Perhaps even as he says it, the edges of this place begin to haze and blur, like the brushstrokes of a watercolor painting.]
[ The second Dimitri’s fingers curl around his own it feels like… like a burst of sunlight over the horizon, a cool breeze bushing past his face that makes him feel at ease and refreshed and, oddly, safe. Oz has never known such a feeling in all his life, and he leans into it wholeheartedly. ]
Not selfish at all.
[ There’s a smile on Oz’s face, a gentle sort of thing that he doesn’t even think about. It’s just there. ]
I feel the same.
[ Oh, how he longs to stay like this, connected and yet somehow freer for it, but he can see the edges of this world beginning to fade. A world away, a hand alights on his shoulder, a gruff voice calling for him to wake up. Oz fights it a moment longer, his grip on Dimitri’s hand tightening. ]
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finalflight2020-07-12 03:12 pm
no subject
[ Oz slows, watching his new companion while his own expression makes clear that he wishes he could properly explain this thing, this part of him that whispers to him in quiet anger where only he can hear, that bristles over the injustice they suffer on a daily basis and lends Oz a shadowy power to his sword strikes.
The dream once again intervenes on their behalf, trying to lend clarity to the unclear. Oz pulls to a slow stop, and for the first time since meeting Dimitri, that dark afterimage that seems to follow Oz around splits away from him. A shadow black as the blackest night, formless but for a pair of bright blue pinpricks where there should be eyes, peers at the prince from its place next to Oz. Its gaze is intense, unwavering, but not distrusting.
Whether Oz has noticed this or not is unclear as he still muddles for the right words. ]
I don't know if we're one person, or two people, but I don't think it really matters. He helps me.
no subject
Him, you mean?
[A sweep of a hand to indicate the shadow.]
Can he speak to me?
[He wonders, and then he wonders if it’s rude to ask in the presence of the “person” he is referring to — but he wonders all the same.]
no subject
… I do.
[ What else could he possibly mean?
At Dimitri’s prompting, the shade does not speak, but it does move. Its shapeless form shifts, a tendril of dark reaching to span the place between them – a hand, extended to the waiting prince. ]
no subject
In this instance, Dimitri feels nothing of the sort. There is already trust placed in Oz, inexplicably — as a result, there is a newfound trust in his friend that saved him, this figure that he cannot quite make out the finer edges to.
Besides, who is he to judge when it comes to ghosts that reside within? At least this one seems amicable.]
Er—
[He hardly knows what to say, though. Dimitri reaches out, and—]
Hello.
no subject
A friend.
The same feeling that presumably lives in the back of Oz's mind. The shadow has the capability to be his fury, his anger and sadness and resentment made manifest in a way that begs Oz to pay attention to his own feelings, but here in the dream, there is no cause for such fiery emotions. Only gentle warmth.
Those pinpricks of light angle, the shade canting its head in response to the prince's greeting, but it does not speak. Perhaps it doesn't know how to outside of Oz's own thoughts. Perhaps it's a moment, perhaps it's a lifetime, but eventually the shadow withdraws its hand, sliding back into Oz's being with a bow of its head. ]
... I think he likes you.
no subject
But no such hesitation comes. He doesn’t understand why, nor is he prone to questioning it, but slotting his touch against Oz’s companion’s is as easy as breathing, like he is reaching out to an old friend of many years. It's centering, correct, so much that it’s oddly distracting, and Dimitri has to blink and reorient himself in the moment when their contact is finally severed.
He flexes his hand out of habit, gives Oz an almost bashful-sounding laugh in reply.]
I’m glad to have made such a positive first impression.
[He drops his arm to his side finally, and the bright grin on his face fades into something softer.]
It is hard to explain why, but I feel as though… I have known the both of you all my life. I know that isn’t the case, but it’s strange, isn’t it? That I should call you my friend so readily and so soon.
[Ever earnest, he says it as he feels it.]
no subject
It's not strange. I feel it too.
[ Something is connecting them, a bridge between world and hearts linking them together. Dimitri is at once Oz's first friend and his oldest friend, and he can scarce explain how those two things can exist at the same time, in the same person, but he doesn't have to. Dimitri knows.
Quietly, and much in the same way his shadow had, Oz extends a hand to the prince. ]
no subject
Secure, safe. Present and clear, in a way so very rarely granted to him.
He smiles, sincere and his eyes bright.]
Would it be selfish of me to hope that this dream doesn’t fade quite yet? That it might last an age.
[It cannot, he knows. Perhaps even as he says it, the edges of this place begin to haze and blur, like the brushstrokes of a watercolor painting.]
no subject
Not selfish at all.
[ There’s a smile on Oz’s face, a gentle sort of thing that he doesn’t even think about. It’s just there. ]
I feel the same.
[ Oh, how he longs to stay like this, connected and yet somehow freer for it, but he can see the edges of this world beginning to fade. A world away, a hand alights on his shoulder, a gruff voice calling for him to wake up. Oz fights it a moment longer, his grip on Dimitri’s hand tightening. ]
I’ll find you again. I promise.