sixthiterationlogs | what does it mean when you drown in a dream

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what does it mean when you drown in a dream

WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Fountain
WHEN: 15th July
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Potential panic attack
STATUS: Open

Kate wonders if her family has a touch of foresight. Ned predicted two deaths: Constable Lonigan, Justice Barry, both died as he said. She dreams of drowning and wonders. Wonders and then drinks, not that drinking helps her when she's already asleep and she opens her eyes underwater and thinks, Again?

There's light, which there isn't always, and a current that pushes her up, which never happens, and she kicks, kicks her way up.

(Is it her imagination or is she actually getting closer in this dream?)

There's weight on her back, pulling at her, digging into her shoulders, making it harder to move her arms. Her imagination or no, no, no, something always goes wrong, she always drowns and this is it, isn't it isn't it isn't it maybe she should just swallow water choke and wake up but that doesn't work she can't wake up she just has to kick and kick and kick and swim and oh God oh God she's actually drowning isn't she air air air air she needs air-

She reaches the surface, gasps, bobs back down, then kicks herself up again.

Air.

Coughing, spluttering, Kate swims over to the edge of the fountain. She takes a moment to haul herself over the edge, falls, but the fall isn't much. More of a roll until she hits the ground, struggles to all fours, all the while coughing up water fit to throw up.

She knows what she needs to it. Sit up, take stock. This isn't a dream, it's not. She needs to get her long, heavy hair out of the way to see, but she can't. All she can do is crouch, cough, and gasp in air.

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Thorfinn had arrived the day before. His first night was spent emotionally compromised and trying to grasp what was happening around him. That still didn't have much in the way of answers. Answers would come in time he had supposed. But when morning came, he made quick to slip out in the morning and go explore the beautiful strange new place.

He was making his way back, looking for the strange house Jo had taken him to the day before. He couldn't quiet recall what it looked like at the moment. He had had so many things on his mind when he arrived and, left in a whirl wind to explore he never thought to look over Jo's Hall.

It was in this wandering that he came across a lady in bright red, wet red which to him seemed to be the color of blood. He came to a stop not to far off from her. She had the same hair color of the woman he met first, but he was certain it wasn't her.

She'd needed to get her bearings. Get her bearings on her own, without oh-so-reasonable blond Americans hovering around, trying so carefully to be helpful. It is not that she's paranoid, she doesn't think, just that friendly can be a mask and she needs to gather her own evidence.

Like the shadows, casting themselves in the wrong direction.

Kate's busy glaring at those shadows, wringing out her hair again as she does, when she notices the man. She doesn't startle. She doesn't jump. She does not. She just blinks, startled, and gathers herself back in.

He's a short man, maybe around her own age. Stocky. Scarred. Long haired. Same coloured clothes as Mr Becket.

"Hullo."

He had ventured out on his own for the same reason. With a heavy language barrier he had to find his own answers. No answers were found for him while walking through the wild, just an odd sense of hope. A lush land with lots of trees and lands, it looked fertile and promising.

When she noticed him he offered an awkward smile.

Though he was almost certain it was a greeting she spoke, it was close enough to the few word he knew.

"Halló. Góðan dag. Vissir þú að koma frá vatninu eins vel?"

His accent was heavy, the words were spoke a little slower in hopes that someone might understand his language. He kept his hands in sight to try and not appear a threat. The last thing he wanted to do anymore was frighten people.

Edited (tired html fail) 2016-07-17 10:34 (UTC)

His words are nearly German, she thinks. 'Godan dag'. 'Vell'. Except, no, the last is more accent than a word so maybe he's saying something else. Not 'well'.

Not everyone here, then, speaks English. Which is...

Very concerning, actually.

But Kate tries.

"Good day. Do you speak English?"

German was a good guess. He had met Germanic people in his travels but not to often. And his language was a branch of romantic language.

Thorfinn stayed still as she spoke. The smile vanished when the word english was spoke. He shook his head.

"No English."

He was repeating these words a lot of late. He wasn't sure if country names would sound the same if he said it. So he spoke the word many English had screamed during the raids, the word the old band had cheered with pride...

"Viking."

It may not speak his country or language but, he knew from Medietas so long ago that there was many years. His people were gone as was his language.

"Viking?"

She stares. Maybe it shouldn't be any more surprising than anything else here. She has been kidnapped for long enough that she is on another continent. Her memories have been stolen by drugs or hypnotism or some other strange means.

Why not a Viking?

She resists asking about his missing horned helmet. She doesn't say that she is Catholic (not that there is any church to raid.)

He looks uncomfortable. Disappointed. And she is only firey, not actually cruel.

"I don't speak Viking," Kate offers then. But she wants to try. It cannot be easy not knowing the language.

"Fountain?" She points to it. "You came from the fountain?" Her small hand moves as she talks, 'you' has her point to him, then back to the fountain.

"Viking" He repeated, though with a touch of shame. He didn't want that life anymore. His hands were far to stained in blood, the weight of the horrors he brought to the people who got in his way. The things that made his name known, made him something to be proud of were now his shame.

He wouldn't have understood the horned helmet, even if he could understand English. History was funny that way.

"Fountain." He repeated the word, it felt heavy on his tongue, but he spoke it, pointing back to the water. "já, ég kom frá fountain." He moved his hand back to his chest, then back to the fountain, then to her. "You, fountain?" He tried, he knew a few words in English but not enough to get by. And her use of you confirmed what he thought it meant. He wanted to know if she to had come from the water. He moved his hand back to his chest once more. "ég er Þorfinnur Þórsson." His hand shifted back to her again. "You?"

Edited (wording) 2016-07-26 02:28 (UTC)

She hears the shame, the remorse. And she understands that, she thinks. Viking is not associated with peaceful ways but with blood, violence, theft. Buildings left on fire. Even heathens can regret taking part of that.

(Police, she isn't so sure.)

"Yes. I came from the fountain."

Again, she gestures: first to herself, then back at the fountain.

"I was asleep," she mimes briefly with folded hands, "woke up in the fountain." 'Woke up' is accompanied by her hands being flung upon, her head straightening and eyes opening. She hopes it gets the point across.

"I am Kate Kelly." A tap to her chest. "Thorfin-er Thorson?" She points at him, arching her eyebrows in what she hopes is a universal gesture of questioning.

He wanted to forget his blood-stained past. To do more good than all of the evil he had done in his youth. Shame and regret were strong with him, but so was hope. He couldn't give up on hope. Even with things bleak and stacked up against him he couldn't give up. Thing's would work out if he was vigilant.

Came from He noted how she said it, it sounded close enough. "I came from the fountain." He repeated her sentence back to her. Words falling in placed as he nodded filing them away for future use.

AS she went on he listened and watched, like a child learning from an adult. "Þú varst sofandi, og vaknaði í vatninu." He repeated back what he assumed she meant from her words and movements. A moment later. "I was asleep." The p had a heavier pop when he said it. "...woke in fountain. Yes." He nodded more. Understanding. Understanding and learning all at once.

"Kate Kelly." He motioned over to her with a confirming now. Smiling just a bit before shrugging. Close enough. In his youth he would have raged at his father's name being said wrong, but he could deal with it now. He motioned towards town then, not sure how to ask. Silently offering his company.

As he repeats her words (she presumes), she tries to follow his own speech. She'll have to have to broken down, slower, she thinks, if she'd catch on. He's doing better than she is at this.

Then again, she's never had to do this. Learn an entirely new language. She knows pieces of Gaelic, but mostly she was raised with English and the Irish brogue and knows both. Can switch between both. Can even alter her accent.

And isn't Mr. Thorsson going to have a hell of a one after this.

"Yes. That's it," she says, and smiles at him. Not as a teacher to a child, but as a stranger to another. He's not a child, no matter that he cannot speak her language.

At the silent offer of companionship, she nods. "Yes, thank you," she says, and falls into step with him.

It's odd, still, walking without her corset. Without the weight of her skirts. Without her own shoes, with the fabric clinging to her. She tries not to fidget and flinch, and instead concentrates on the surroundings as they walk back towards the inn.

At least she's used to the bush, she thinks.

Learning the language was already something Jo was helping him with. He was finding it wasn't easy at all but he was trying his best. He wanted to be able to communicate, to be able to talk about what had become of his life to Jo and maybe others in time. So, he had to learn. He felt a little bad at the moment though, the poor woman was soaked and he had nothing he could offer her.

His accent would certainly change a bit with the different people teaching him.

He smiled at her when she said yes, he knew that word. Jo had been teaching him the basic of basic his first day, and this his second he had mostly been on his own, but the words he was retaining. Learning more and more just as Mister Sverkel had told him. As long as he started empty as he had been he could fill himself with anything. Keep learning every day and become something better.

He understood thank you, but he could not remember what to say back. It hadn't stuck... that was more from the strange other world, and it was still a little hard to recall it all. He lifted his hand back to his chest and bowed his head as a way to say she was welcome and thank you all in the same. He quietly started to lead her along towards the town as had been done with him. He had made sure not to look to closely at her, she was soaked and it would be unbecoming and he knew it. He was a norsemen, and even if he didn't know where she came from, woman were to be treated better. They had rules about woman. Even if it didn't matter on raids, he would never raid again.

He did look back, but only to her face to make sure she was following along. He wasn't sure where to lead her, he just figured it better to offer the company. So, he pointed to the inn. "Inn." He spoke the word he had learned the day before.

He bows, and he takes care to look at her face, and at least one part of Kate relaxes a little with it. So many people here with so many different manners and this, at least, is something she suspects she might be able to trust without educating anyone.

He points to the inn and Kate nods again. "That's where I'm staying," she says.

Then she regards him for a moment. Different names for things are important, too. English bundles words together, words and terms and places.

Well, it's worth a try.

"Inn," she says, holding up a finger. Then she says, "Pub," and puts up a second finger. Two words, one places. "Pub is where people drink," and she mimes tipping a glass back.

Once he could fully understand the common language of the people here, he planned to learn the modern etiquette. His manners came from his youth before his father's death, and learning to adapt on the farm to keep the farm hands from coming after him. Before he eventually stopped fighting back all together. Good day, thank you, best of health all words he spoke to people who tried to break him, all words he genuinely meant by the time he bought his freedom back. He wanted to be better, and to be better he had to fit in somewhat.

He nodded a mild understanding. He knew stay from Jo, from Jo explaining where she stayed. Where he would stay with her. He pointed down the road a bit more. His other hand returning to his chest to motion to himself. "I stay Jo's Heimili." He spoke in a mix of his language and English. It was hard but for his second day, but he was trying. He moved his hand then. "Pub. Inn." He grasped then two names for one place. It wasn't that unusual. A nod of understanding given, and a bit of a grin, oh he got that gesture. ""Drykki" It sounded enough like drink. A bit of old Norse had been swallowed up into English, so some words were easier for him to pick up.

Edited 2016-07-31 02:37 (UTC)

Jo, Joe. It's a common name and she has even met a Jo here - a female Jo, all wiry and careful eyes - so the name is not, actually, haunting her. But sometimes, just for a moment, it feels like it.

She also doesn't know what 'heimili' is, although she suspects it is something like house or home. He is staying with Jo, that's all she thinks she needs to understand.

Still, she can understand the grin and returns it. Muted, but still warm and bright. "Drykki. Yes. Exactly. You... Found any?"

The female Jo was the very one he meant. He knew all about names that were both male and female. Thora was a female name, while Thors was male. So close but so apart. So many were named after the mighty thunderer. Thorfinn's own name was pulled from the god of thunder. Thunder Wanderer was what his name meant when translated proper. It was more fitting than his parents could have ever realized when they picked it.

He sees that haunting in her eyes but he doesn't know how to ask if she's alright. So he just offered a sympathetic look. Shaking his head to his question. "No, no Drykki. Water, yes, no mead. No Ale." Words he knew from his travels.

Names are strange things. Her own are unequivocally feminine - Catherine Ada - although the meaning she laughs at. Pure and Nobility. She prefers the link to saints, for all she isn't worthy of the linkage. She is far, far from saintly.

At his answer, she sighs, mocks a sulky pout with her full lips. "No beer, no whiskey, then."

She's more concerned under that, a fluttering but the bloody hell am I meant to go to sleep, but she's good at hiding that.

"But water's good. It is clear? Good water?"

"No." It came out in the same tone, but he was a little more confident in it. "No yet." He spoke, he was hopeful, a drink now and then would be nice. His past few years had made the fact that just water wasn't to bad. The elder master sometimes let him and Einar have a proper drink but only on special days.

"Yes, good." He answered gathering what she asked, inquiring of him. At least as best as he could anyway. He brought them to a stop before then inn and gave a shrug. He wasn't sure where else to go at least in leading her but he was willing to show her around more but something told him someone already had.

"Tell me," she says, "when there is drykki." It's nice, alcohol. Lubricates social interaction, makes one relax. Lets her get to sleep.

That there is clear water is a relief, then. Although she's not sure how to ask about tea. Tea would be... Tea would be nice. She could do with some tea.

Thorfinn Thorsson walks her to the door, and then stops, awkwardly. Fortunately, Kate has done this dance before. She steps forward, turns, smiles.

"Thank you," she says then. "And, goodbye."

With that, she vanishes into the building.

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