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LUCIENNE
Lucienne has her arms full of books when she hears the Corinthian's voice. Her brows furrow but she stops herself from sighing too heavily. His ears are better than hers, damn him, and there is no way the petty bastard is not going to take it personally and make her life difficult for weeks just for the hell of it.
Nightmares. Honestly.
She decides to ignore him and go about her duties as usual, but before she can even divest herself of the books in her arms, she hears him again. And then again, in a different section altogether. She does sigh then, and the stupid nightmare doesn’t even have the good grace to act like himself and come see her. When another sound interrupts her, Lucienne puts the books down and heads over in their direction. If that damn nightmare thinks just because he is the lord's favourite she isn't going to throw him out on his ear, he has another thing coming.
She walks around a shelf, a rebuke already ready on her lips when the sight of the Corinthian stops her short.
He isn't alone.
Their master is there as well, sitting on one of the chairs while the nightmare is on his knees in front of him, between his spread legs. He is not making any noise anymore because the lord has fingers of one hand in his main mouth, and the fingers of the other divided between his ocular mouths, pushing them in so deep Lucienne is sure he must be touching his throats.
The king's eyes find hers as she stands there gaping at them and he takes his hands away. The Corinthian whines and chases after them, but Lord Morpheus shuts him up with one look.
"Yes, Lucienne? Did you need something?"
The Corinthian turns to glare at her. She can't blame him really, not if this whole thing was heading where she thinks it was, even if she would strongly prefer it took a different direction while they are in her library.
"No, Sire," she says, and she is proud of how even and unaffected her voice is. "I just heard a little too much noise in this section, so I thought I would investigate."
The master doesn't smile, but his eyes soften a little as he moves his attention to his nightmare. It's no wonder really he is spoiled to high heaven, the lord is much too fond of him, and too obvious about it. Lucienne could never understand why the Corinthian of all things was his favourite, why he was the only one to be given the high title of masterpiece. Granted, his form was quite perfect, but he was not alone in that among the king's creations. He was possibly more powerful than any of the other Major Arcana, but he was also by far the most troublesome.
"You are right, of course, Lucienne," the lord says. "The Corinthian will help you with your books for the rest of today as recompense."
"I will what?"
The master narrows his eyes, and even the Corinthian is not brave enough to question an order again. He mutters a "yes, my lord" under his breath, and gets up. Lucienne doesn't really want him around, but she is most definitely not going to question her king in front of others, and so she bows and turns to walk away. When she doesn't hear the Corinthian's footsteps behind her after about 5 steps she turns back to see him bent over, the lord's hands in his jacket pulling him down, their lips pressed together.
When the master lets go, the Corinthian still stays bent over him, but when he tries to move in for another kiss he is stopped by a firm hand on his jaw.
"Go to your punishment, little nightmare," Lord Morpheus orders. "You may return here to me, after Lucienne releases you from your duties."
The nightmare goes to her then obediently, but even with the glasses on his face, Lucienne can see he is planning to make her let him go by being as annoying as possible. Well, he can try, Lucienne is not going to do that until she is good and ready, preferably a few hours after she knows their lord has left and there is going to be no activity in her library.
CALLIOPE
Calliope walks away from the merriment of the party, hoping to find someplace she could get a little peace and quiet on her own. It is not that she does not enjoy the revelry of it all, but it has been going on for days, ever since the Endless siblings arrived on the Solstice, and she would like just a little bit of solitude to read the latest story she has inspired, away from her sisters' eyes and opinions.
Being the youngest is not an easy fate.
A sound from a corridor to her right startles her, and she carefully looks past the corner, not expecting anyone so far from the party. She is even more surprised when she realises it is one of her father's guests of honour, Dream of the Endless, tucked into one of the alcoves with a handsome, light-haired man she does not recognise. They are kissing, their hands tangled in each other's clothing, the Dreamking pressing the other into the wall with strength that doesn't seem congruent with his current form. But then the Endless are largely incomprehensible at the best of times.
The two of them separate, Oneiros leaning back so he can reach for his partner's darkened glasses, and- Oh. No wonder she does not recognise him, he must be one of the Dreamlord's nightmares with features like that. Even with teeth instead of eyes, he is still beautiful, and she can see pure adoration and love on his face as he looks down at his master, leaning softly into the hand now stroking his cheek.
"My lord," he whispers, hoarse and with an edge of pleading.
Oneiros smiles and obliges his creation, leaning back in to press a kiss to the nightmare's main mouth.
"What would you like, little one?" he breaths out. "Tell me."
The nightmare opens his mouth, but then his little ocular mouths meet her eyes, and in one jump he is between her and his lord, knife in hand, all teeth bared. A snap of "Corinthian" brings him up short before he can get close to her, and he returns to his master's side obediently, head bowed. Oneiros gives him another fond little smile, brushing his knuckles across the nightmare's cheekbone before he turns his attention to Calliope.
"My Lady Muse," he greets her with a slight nod. "May we help you in any way?"
"Oh, no," she says, suddenly rather embarrassed about being caught looking at them. "I was just looking for a quiet place to read, I'm sorry for... interrupting you."
Oneiros smiles, forgiving to the daughter of his host, and says, "Please, have this place, if you wish. We should really return to the party now."
The nightmare looks unhappy about it but he follows along, two steps behind, when Oneiros walks off down the corridor after bowing his head to her. She gets into the alcove and takes the scroll out, but she is looking down the corridor following them. Oneiros is a lot different than she imagined. He must be a good king if his creation adores him so much. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get to know him a little better.
MERVYN
Mervyn is procrastinating on dealing with some very suspicious shrubbery that has been growing in the corner of one of the gardens recently when he hears noises coming out of one of the summerhouses he has built in this area. Now, usually, he wouldn't care one way or the other. The gardens are pretty popular among the citizens of the Dreaming, and a good thing too with how much work Mervyn has put into making them, breaking his back, and on one occasion splitting the side of his head on some very difficult vines, which required him to find the lord and ask him to fix him. But this area should be blocked off in preparation for doing battle with the shrubs and no one should be able to get through his barriers.
He shoulders his rake and goes over to yell at the interlopers. It might be good for him if he is being honest, to work out some of the frustration at the hedges before he has to pay attention to his work. Last time he fought foliage annoyed, it almost won.
"Hey, there-" he starts banging on the side of the summerhouse only to swallow down his words so fast he almost chokes on his cigar.
The Corinthian looks up at him from where he is sprawled on the floor with their master leaning over him. Lord Morpheus lifts his head from the nightmare's neck, his eyes all black and star-filled as he stares into Mervyn's soul: "Yes, Mervyn?"
"Uh- Sorry, boss, didn't know it was you. Carry on. Please. I'll just get back to gardening," he says, whirling around. "It might be best if you get off the floor though, those bushes are vicious."
"Ah, are we interrupting your work?" the lord asks, and Mervyn can hear the rustle of his clothes and a noise the Corinthian makes which Mervyn is not going to call a whine because he likes his sanity intact, thank you very much, as the master stands up. "Is there a problem with the shrubs?"
"Oh, you know how it is, boss, sometimes they get a little aggressive in the corners, and you have to get to it early before they mobilise."
"Quite right," Lord Morpheus says. "Well, since I'm already here, why don't I help you out?"
Although usually Mervyn would jump at the chance of getting their lord to snap his fingers and cut down on Mervyn's work by hours or days, this time he is pretty sure agreeing to take him away from this situation is going to get Mervyn knifed later. He doesn't have any eyeballs to carve out, but the freaky nightmare will definitely come up with something, and he would rather not be the focus of the Corinthian's creativity.
"It's fine, boss, don't you worry about it," he says, turning back to them since he is reasonably sure they are no longer doing anything he doesn't want to see, and talking to his master with his back to him is probably not the politest way to go about it. "It's my job, ain't it, I can do it. I'm sorry for barging in on you."
He sees he isn't going to get away with it, before the king frowns.
"Nonsense," Lord Morpheus says. "I have not inspected the gardens in a long time, this time is as good as any. Come along."
And with that, he strolls away in the direction of the suspicious shrubs. Mervyn sighs, but gets ready to follow when a hand lands heavily on his shoulder.
"Thank you very much, Merv," the Corinthian drawls at him, voice oozing like honey. "Really appreciate you showing up."
This is what Mervyn gets for trying to be nice and saving his fellow dreams from being attacked by foliage. Last time he does that, and that's the truth.
DEATH AND DESIRE
When Death calls Dream from the Threshold, her arms crossed as she glares at Desire, he sounds half annoyed as he agrees for the two of them to come over. It takes them a few minutes to get to the Dreaming, Desire does not want to talk to their older brother even with Death insisting on it, but in the end, they are not as strong as she, and her will prevails. She isn't sure what has happened between the two of them now, but the friction between their realms is not helping anyone, and if she has to play mediator for their sibling spat, she will.
When they appear in Dream's gallery, they are met with their brother sitting on a chaise that was not there the last time Death came over, with a rather disgruntled-looking nightmare next to him. It is one that Death has seen before, Dream likes to bring him along to functions and events when he can, the nightmare is always full of smiles and charming words where his creator is stone-faced. He does not seem to be very pleased to see them this time, however.
But Dream's creations are all made with good manners, so the nightmare rises and bows to them both, remaining standing at his master's shoulder with his hands behind his back when Dream does not dismiss him. Death frowns a little at that, they are clearly there for a family matter and her little brother is being difficult on purpose. She is about to say something when Desire grins and slips their arm into Death's.
"Seems like our dear, darling Dream is a little busy, sister. Perhaps we could take some time to sightsee and come back later."
Dream looks startled, while the nightmare behind him chokes on laughter. It gets him an exasperated glance from his lord, but he just beams back with all three mouths with no repentance.
Desire's grins widens and they pull at Death. But Death is very used to her sibling's efforts at distractions and delaying anything they do not want to do, so she is unmoved.
"We have to talk, Dream. Maybe we could go to another room?"
Dream sighs but rises without a word, motioning them ahead of him. Desire, who wanted to go out just a second before, now needs real pulling to get out of the room. They keep looking over their shoulder at Dream, grin still wide on their face. Death gets them out of Dream's gallery, and a little annoyed turns around to see what her troublesome little sibling is so interested in.
Dream has his fingers tangled into his nightmare’s hair, and they are kissing. The nightmare is clinging to his master's coat in a rather desperate manner and makes a little whining sound when Dream pulls away. Death startles at the chuckle her brother lets out at that.
"Wait for me, little dream," he says, pressing a kiss below one of the nightmare's ocular mouths.
"I don't know, my lord," the nightmare replies, the drawl in his voice even more pronounced than usual, "if you are gone too long, I might start without you."
Dream hums, amused. "I think you will be good for me, Corinthian."
The nightmare's breath catches in half a moan, and he tries to cling again when Dream kisses him deeply once more. Death whips her head away then, and drags Desire with her, ignoring her sibling's cackling.
Really, Dream should have said he was busy, they could have waited for him a little!
JESSAMY
Jessamy flies back from the Waking World satisfied with the result of her mission. She has been watching the mortals for her lord, allowing him an easy view of it so that he could take inspiration for dreams and nightmares from the ever-changing world the humans were building around them. And she even managed to get it through those stupid pigeons’ heads not to mess with her within the first couple of days, ensuring peace and quiet for the rest of the week.
She is coming from the direction of the library so she flies in through the window to check it first. But the king is not in any of his favourite nooks, and when Jessamy happens upon Lucienne, the librarian shakes her head at her before Jessamy can even ask.
She goes to the throne room next. The door is closed, but there are no guards on it which means the master is not giving a private audience inside. Jessamy does not have arms to open doors, but she is the Dreamlord's raven and it gives her a certain control over the Dreaming. Nothing like the Major Arcana get, of course, but enough to open things and widen mouse holes when she wants to get at a rat.
The lord is there. So is the Corinthian.
That in itself is not strange, after all the nightmare has been clingy longer than Jessamy has existed, dream or human, at this point it's harder not to find him lurking around their king when he is not forced to do his work. What is strange, however, is the fact it is not the master who is on the throne.
The Corinthian is sprawled across the stone, his legs spread wide by Lord Morpheus standing in between them, leaning over him. Jessamy would usually assume it was in threat, especially with the Corinthian taking liberties far beyond his position, but the nightmare, judging by his easy posture and wide grin, is not worried at all.
His smile melts away when his eyes find Jessamy over their lord's shoulder. The king notices, because he turns his head to look at her as well, and he straightens, his hand sliding from where they were in the Corinthian's hair as Jessamy circles over his head once and lands on the arm of the throne.
"Hello , Jessamy," the master greets her.
She bows her head in return, "Sire. I have come to report to you on my observations on the Waking World."
The lord nods and then extends a pale hand to push at the Corinthian's arm in clear order to get off. The Corinthian makes a disgruntled sound between a growl and a snarl, but he goes easily, moving to stand at the king's side as Lord Morpheus sits on the throne. Jessamy can see the nightmare consider whether to sit on the arm of the throne and lean on their master, and also sees him deciding he is not brave enough for it, and instead leans against the back of the throne with his arms crossed.
"What have you seen, Jessamy?" the lord asks, bringing her attention back to himself.
She tells him all about the growing cities and horseless carriages, and lighting that doesn't need fire or magic. The Corinthian pretends he is not listening for a few minutes, but soon loses the poise of bored relaxation as he leans in with interest. Jessamy meets his eyes over the king's shoulder and he rolls his eyes at her. He might not have eyeballs, but she knows him and she knows that stupid look on his face too.
Once she's done, Lord Morpheus hums in understanding and lifts his hand to smooth it down her head and neck in praise. "Thank you, Jessamy. You've done very well. Is there anything you would like as a reward?"
She ruffles her feathers a little, moving from foot to foot. She doesn't like asking for things outright - after all, watching the Waking World for her lord is her basic function as the Dreamlord's raven - but she has just spent a week trying not to think of just one thing to not distract herself from her mission.
"There is a bakery near where I was," she says finally. "They had some pastries on display, same ones that I used to have when I was human."
Lord Morpheus does bring them things from the Waking World from time to time when he goes there, food and trinkets mostly. She knows that the Corinthian keeps his all hidden safe somewhere and that Lucienne displays hers on one of the shelves next to her desk. Jessamy keeps them in a box hidden behind one of the chimneys on the House of Secrets.
The master doesn't speak, stroaking her head absentmindedly. As the silence stretches, Jessamy is just about to say she doesn't need it after all, when he says: "Of course, Jessamy. The Corinthian will go with you and get it."
The Corinthian and Jessamy both make a sound at that, although hers is a lot more polite because she is not a rude jerk. The master smiles, fond and indulgent, and pets Jessamy again. Then he turns to run his hand along the Corinthian's arm in a similar gesture.
The nightmare leans over the armrest of the throne to press into the lord's side. "Come on, my lord, surely there are some better things for me to do here?"
Jessamy doesn't frown, because she is a bird and is physically unable to, but she is feeling frowny all the same. Just because the king is feeling particularly permissive today, doesn't mean the nightmare should be taking advantage of it like this. She doesn't like the idea of spending time with him either, but it doesn't mean she would be undisciplined and rude enough to question the master's decision when it was made. The nightmare is so spoiled.
The Corinthian looks at her over Lord Morpheus's head, using two fingers to push his glasses tdown his nose so he can glare at her fully. He's probably going to try to pull out her feathers again when the master isn't looking, the bastard.
"You will go with Jessamy, little dream," their lord orders again. Then he looks down at Jessamy and says, "Go rest, Jessamy, the Corinthian will meet you at the gates in a couple of hours."
She bows her head, and flies off. She turns her head once at the door to see the Corinthian kneeling by the master's leg looking up at him, the lord's hand stroking his face. Jessamy hopes he is not going to just let the nightmare off with this behaviour as usual, or he is going to be more insufferable than usual to spend time with in the Waking World.
+1 HOB
Hob is pretty sure he is seeing things. Considering how much alcohol there is coursing through his blood right now it's not exactly surprising, but he still isn't sure why his booze-addled mind is showing him visions of his Stranger - not Stranger anymore, Hob knows his name now - draped across someone's lap, his hands in the man's hair as they are making out. They are one of many couples locked in this sort of position in the many booths scattered across the edges of the club, no one is even paying attention. Hob wouldn't be either if he wasn't so used to looking out for his friend and his gaze catches on the pale skin by habit.
He makes his way over, trying to look for different angles to confirm that this is indeed Dream making out with some blondie hot bloke, but there is really not mistaking him. He probably shouldn't interrupt, but he is very drunk, he doesn't really have any way to contact Dream when he wants to see him, and he hasn't seen him in a few months (it's better than once every century, but Hob would still like a more regular schedule. He isn't sure Dream understands time the same way he does though, so he hasn't brought it up yet in case Dream thinks once every 100 years was regular enough).
"Dream?" he asks finally.
Dream detaches himself from his partner and looks over at Hob. His eyes are darker than Hob ever remembers them being, they almost seem entirely black. The man Dream is draped over is wearing darkened glasses like a pretentious prick, there is no way he is able to see anything in the already pretty damn dark club.
"Hello, Hob," Dream says, his voice as steady as it always is, like they are in the New Inn, and not in a pretty kinky-leaning nightclub. "How are you?"
"Who cares," the blonde guy groans, tugging at Dream's clothes to get him closer again. He's American, go figure.
Dream doesn't even turn around, pressing his fingers to the man's mouth in a clear instruction to be quiet. Hob can barely see the man's face in the semi-darkness and with the glasses on, but he still can easily tell he is rolling his eyes. He doesn't try to take Dream's fingers into his mouth, or bite however, which might make him a better person than Hob, cause he definitely would have if someone shushed him like this.
"Who's this?" Hob asks, ignoring Dream's question. His friend might be able to play the "everything is totally normal" game but Hob is not supernatural enough for that.
Dream casts a glance at the man before turning back to Hob. "The Corinthian. He's one of my nightmares."
"I'm the best one," the nightmare speaks up, grinning behind Dream's fingers. "Is this your little human experiment, my lord?"
Prick.
"Behave, Corinthian," Dream says, voice slightly chiding, but mostly fond.
"If you make the human get lost, I could behave really well for you, my lord," the nightmare purrs. "Or let him stay, I don't mind performing-"
He thankfully doesn't get to finish that particular sentence as Dream moves his hand and presses his palm against his mouth, fully muffling him.
"I apologise, Hob Gadling," Dream says. "He is a bit troublesome sometimes."
Comes with being a nightmare, Hob supposes. The Corinthian gets out from under Dream's hand, but he doesn't try talking again, instead leaning forward and starting to kiss his way up Dream's exposed neck. Dream doesn't stop him, his hand tangles into the nightmare's hair and he tilts his head slightly to allow him more access, the expression on his face one of exasperated indulgence.
Hob's mouth is suddenly very dry.
"Right, well," he coughs, trying to clear his throat but there seems to be something stuck in it anyway. "Have fun, I'm gonna go back to my friends."
Dream smiles at him in goodbye, more than a little absentmindedly, both of his hands now taken up with stroking his nightmare's hair and shoulders. When Hob looks back once he gets to the bar, he sees them locked in a kiss again and after he blinks they are gone.
He orders another drink and goes looking for his friends. Maybe he should find himself a tall blonde or a thin brunette for tonight. Or even better, why not both?
+ 1 +1 MATTHEWi
Matthew is just minding his own business, doing his raven things as he does every whatever-day-this-is-since-time-is-all-wonky-in-the-Dreaming, when he catches sight of a combo of black clothes and pale skin that can only mean the boss. As the boss has been pretty mopey recently, Matthew, out of the goodness of his feathered heart, decides to spend some time with the poor guy, and changes direction, flying into the trees of the little forest that seems to have sprouted overnight. Mathew idly wonders what the sudden forest appearance means re: the boss's moods, and decides he is going to ask Lucienne when he sees her next.
He loses sight of the boss as he flies through the trees. He can't see him, but even though he wasn't created by Dream, he can always feel him somewhere on the edge of his mind, even more so when they are in the Dreaming and the whole place seems to be always stretching itself in its master's direction. It freaked Matthew out to no end at the beginning, the way he could be just chilling in the gardens and suddenly every leaf and blade of grass seemed to strain yearningly towards one direction, and the boss was just there. Now it's just one of those weird things the Dreaming just does, like the time and distance being all screwy, or building cropping up overnight. Matthew can deal with the weirdness if he gets to stay alive, even without thumbs.
He flies higher so he can survey more land. The little forest is not very densely populated, as long as Matthew doesn't get too high he can easily see even through the leaves and branches. It doesn't take long at all to find the boss, among all of these spring-like flowers and greenery his dark clothes make him easy to spot.
As does the fact there is a tall blonde nightmare sitting astride his lips, his hands on each side of the boss's head, caging him in. The boss does not seem to be bothered in the least, he is looking up at the Corinthian with a heavy-lidded gaze, wrapping the nightmare's tie around his hand in a slow movement that slowly brings him closer and closer. Soon, they are flush together and Dream lets go of the tie to put his hands in the Corinthian's hair, pressing their mouths together and-
Matthew keeps his beak firmly shut, worried he might let out a caw out of surprise and make them notice him and flies off as fast as his wings can carry him. He really hopes Lucienne has a book on a safe way to bleach eyeballs, otherwise, Matthew might have to find his way back to hell and make a deal or two with some demons.