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Changeling - Broken Mirrors game
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<blockquote data-quote="Orochi" data-source="post: 5034518" data-attributes="member: 11276"><p>Christian awoke in a sweat, his breath catching for a moment in his throat. The sweat wasn't unusual in the heat of summer. But the dream...the dream was disconcerting.</p><p></p><p>He got up slowly, letting his mind settle, looking around his apartment as though to establish that he was here and not anywhere else. The place was almost spartan, but what was there was of the highest quality he could manage with his diminished means. A few pieces of art hung on the walls, representing various artistic periods. He made it to the bathroom, the cool marble of the counter top refreshing against his fingers. He ran the tap, splashing his face briefly and taking a deep breath. His mind went to work, looking at the pieces of the dream. Dreams had meaning to those like him, as he knew all too well. Was this something crafted for him, or a vision? And if it was made, by whom? And for what purpose.</p><p></p><p>He went to the living room, sitting in the leather recliner in front of his TV. The room was dominated by a piano, a cold black testament to the talent Christian so longed to possess again, and his current performance obsession. He considered attempting to play, but music no longer came without effort, and he wanted to try and piece things together.</p><p></p><p>The places were somewhat familiar, at least some of them. He'd seen the hospital before, though never the interior. The theatre he knew quite well, having watched performances there on numerous occasions, and seen auditions there even more frequently. But he had never performed there himself...he hadn't performed in years, in point of fact. He had worked with an acting coach back in the States, but he never felt like he had ever gotten back to a place where he felt it would be worth trying to act before a crowd. The coach had disagreed, but he was being paid, so how could Christian trust him? But he set that aside. It wasn't the time to recycle that issue.</p><p></p><p>The burning man...that was the big piece of all this. Was it purely symbolic? Truth as a danger, truth blocked by others, truth that would eventually destroy? Or was it something more directly sinister; a Keeper, or something else from the Hedge?</p><p></p><p>He went to the kitchen and got some water from the fridge. He drank deeply, starting to cool. He looked out of the window, saw the first pink traces of dawn starting to from.</p><p></p><p>(as far as where Christian lives, he'd be in an artist's community of some kind; feel free to fill in an appropriate neighborhood/part of town)</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Orochi, post: 5034518, member: 11276"] Christian awoke in a sweat, his breath catching for a moment in his throat. The sweat wasn't unusual in the heat of summer. But the dream...the dream was disconcerting. He got up slowly, letting his mind settle, looking around his apartment as though to establish that he was here and not anywhere else. The place was almost spartan, but what was there was of the highest quality he could manage with his diminished means. A few pieces of art hung on the walls, representing various artistic periods. He made it to the bathroom, the cool marble of the counter top refreshing against his fingers. He ran the tap, splashing his face briefly and taking a deep breath. His mind went to work, looking at the pieces of the dream. Dreams had meaning to those like him, as he knew all too well. Was this something crafted for him, or a vision? And if it was made, by whom? And for what purpose. He went to the living room, sitting in the leather recliner in front of his TV. The room was dominated by a piano, a cold black testament to the talent Christian so longed to possess again, and his current performance obsession. He considered attempting to play, but music no longer came without effort, and he wanted to try and piece things together. The places were somewhat familiar, at least some of them. He'd seen the hospital before, though never the interior. The theatre he knew quite well, having watched performances there on numerous occasions, and seen auditions there even more frequently. But he had never performed there himself...he hadn't performed in years, in point of fact. He had worked with an acting coach back in the States, but he never felt like he had ever gotten back to a place where he felt it would be worth trying to act before a crowd. The coach had disagreed, but he was being paid, so how could Christian trust him? But he set that aside. It wasn't the time to recycle that issue. The burning man...that was the big piece of all this. Was it purely symbolic? Truth as a danger, truth blocked by others, truth that would eventually destroy? Or was it something more directly sinister; a Keeper, or something else from the Hedge? He went to the kitchen and got some water from the fridge. He drank deeply, starting to cool. He looked out of the window, saw the first pink traces of dawn starting to from. (as far as where Christian lives, he'd be in an artist's community of some kind; feel free to fill in an appropriate neighborhood/part of town) [/QUOTE]
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