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Third Floor Common Room [Thursday Morning]

Joan had listened to radio last night and was troubled by what she heard. Why couldn't God ever come and give her instructions that would be useful in times like this?

Since He hadn't, she decided to offer the best support she knew how: food. Which was why she was in the common room making omelets for anyone who wanted them.

[open if anyone wants to play in 'real life' :D]

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...Liir looked like death warmed over and he kept twitching at everything. Not only was he nervous, of course; you tend to get nervous when you keep having dreams involving being a psychopathic killing machine, but he felt raw and exposed and his shields were wobbly. The only time that happened was when he used his magic a certain way but he certainly hadn't.

At least, not outside the dream, which was why this was reaaaally starting to bother him.

"Morning," he offered, somewhat pathetically.

[still have to head to work, but getting it started]

Joan turned from the stove and stared at him.

"Liir, what's wrong?" she asked, remembering to turn off the flame before crossing the room.

He didn't even flop so much as drop onto one of the couches, arms coming up to wrap around himself as he gave a quick shiver.

"Sleep. Can't sleep well. Keep getting bad flashes of things, impossible things. I've had old memories invade my dreams before, but this is entirely different. This is... this is me."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"And somehow I did something in my sleep that's... it leaves me feeling terribly raw. I'm sorry I can't be more exact."

Joan sat next to him and put a hand on his arm as a gesture of comfort. "They said on radio that a lot of people are having issues with sleep and dreams."

Again, she wished that God would give her some direction for dealing with this.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

Her touch settled him and he leaned into it with an almost drunken smile.

"You feel like honey and fresh baked bread," popped out, a little embarassing as his cheeks turned red.

"Er, not so much no. I just need to shake it off. It gets better. I'm just worried about who I might have effected to cause this. It's... not a particularly pleasant ability."

His words made her blush a little as well, but she was more concerned than anything.

"I don't think it's you," she said. "It seems to be something going on with a lot of people. I know that probably doesn't make it less pleasant, but at least you're not alone."

He swallowed hard and couldn't look her in the eyes.

"I think I might have hurt Rachel."

Joan frowned. "You wouldn't hurt anyone," she said. "Unless you had to. And someone as gentle as Rachel... no. No way."

She scooted closer and slipped her arm around his shoulder.

Honey and baked bread and his completely normal nose picked up on the omelets. He found himself, somewhat against the wishes of his pride, leaning against her.

"I saw myself do it. It was dark and we... I sounded like Shell."

If there was anything more horrific, he didn't know what it was.

"It was just a dream, Liir. You didn't do anything," Joan repeated. "I'm sure Rachel is fine. There's something weird going on. They were talking about it on the radio."

He looked up at her.

"If I didn't do it," he said quietly, green eyes pained, "then why did I wake up with all the signs that I had."

"What signs?" she asked.

"This," he said, looking down at his hands.

"It's not nearly as bad as it usually is, but I'm always... I can't keep my shields straight and I start remembering things that I have no business remembering and everything that's more is More and everything that's less is Less and I sound like a madman half the time, though I'm sure you've noticed that."

Joan followed his glance, unsure of what his hands had to do with anything. They didn't appear to be marked or injured in any way.

Without really thinking about it, she stroked his hair.

"You sound confused," she said gently. "And upset. Which makes sense. It's never fun to have disturbing dreams."

That... had a remarkably calming effect on him and he leaned into the touch, silently asking for more. Whether it was because some lizard part of his brain remembered the small pieces of affection he'd been given as a baby or because he hadn't been given much of that since, touch had a distinctly soothing effect no matter how small and simple.

He breathed in, finally able to think, ignored some of the things the couch was trying to tell him, and looked over at her.

"There's a bit of magic I can do. It's... well, usually when I have to use it, it's unpleasant. It leaves me in a very uncomfortable state, all my senses raw. The only time it happens is when I do this, and then after having the dream I'm raw like this. So I did it at some point, but I don't know how."

Though it wasn't nearly as severe as it should have been. That was going to keep confusing him.

The instinct to stroke hair as a measure of comfort had obviously been instilled by Joan's mother, who had done the same throughout her daughter's childhood. Since it was obviously offering solace, she continued.

"Have you ever used your magic before without being aware of it?" she asked. "Maybe you were sleepwalking?"

It was stretch, yes, but she couldn't really think of anything else.

He shook his head.

"I've Listened but I've never-- well, um, sort of?"

Oh Nameless Name, if he started doing that in his sleep, though, he'd never be able to rest again.

"It wasn't the same, though. There's a difference. This is... this is very deliberate."

"Is it possible you used the ability in your dream to fight some kind of threat?"

Joan didn't think that Liir new about Rachel's true nature, but maybe he did and maybe that's what his dream was about.

He didn't, not entirely, but he wouldn't have harmed her regardless. The very idea was terrible.

"I can't see Rachel as ever being a threat. Ever. She's my little sibling, for Lurline's sake!"

Joan certainly wasn't about to share her friend's secret.

"Sometimes things in dreams don't follow logic," she pointed out.

Like koala bears in hats.

He breathed out.

"I suppose."

Then he looked over at her.

"Nor do I, apparently. Practically sobbing on you when you've been up this morning cooking. I am sorry to be such a bother.

She gave him a little smile. "You're not a bother at all. If I was the one who was upset, you would do your best to help me."

Besides, they were friends.

"Are you hungry though?"

He considered that for a moment.

"I should eat," which wasn't a yes, but it came with a tilt of his chin towards the kitchen.

"It helps. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Joan said, tousling his hair and then rising from the sofa. "What do you like in your omelets?"

"Whatever you feel like cooking," he admitted, flopping back against the couch. Yes, fine, slumber parties were interesting, very nice. Garg. He hated being like this.

"While I'm particular about what I cook, I'm not really particular about what I eat."

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Third Floor Common Room [Thursday Morning]

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