From The Outside Looking In (Devil's Nightmares)
Jun. 30th, 2025 07:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_brash_devilThe Brash Devil stood in darkness.
He looked around, not sure of where he was or where he should go.
Suddenly a scene was before him.
A gathering of devils. It looked like a party at the Brass Embassy. Celebrating their liberation from aristocracy by dressing down to the point of being scruffy and outdated, every one with a thorny rose around their wrist.
Is it possible to be both pretentious and trashy at the same time? To the Brash Devil, it felt like most devils managed to do that perfectly.
There were devils dancing in the center, somehow a perfect synchronization of many pairs of figure eights.
Many wore shoes with slivers of Nevercold Brass that created little sparks with certain steps of the dance.
He could practically feel the heat from the room.
But that's the thing, isn't it?
He isn't in the room.
There was an invisible wall separating him from the party. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there.
Despite himself, he walked right up to the barrier and placed a hand against it.
Funny, he could have sworn he could feel the heat coming off it, but now it's cold....
Another scene appears.
Now it showed the rooftops of the Flit. A few of the urchin gangs had gathered for a special occasion.
Even the Naughts and Crosses are only being mildly rowdy and rough with each other. Practically a miracle.
He could tell from just that what the occasion was.
There was a "New Wind" coming up from the Bazaar and all the urchins were having a race in honour of it.
He smiled, remembering the last time that had happened. How much fun the race had been. Only two fights had broken out, with only one bloody nose. It was the best he'd seen all the gangs get along together.
Before the race they sang a Correspondence song. One of those ones they claim the thunder taught them.
(He'd never heard of such a thing but they claimed it's because the thunder only liked children)
And they were off.
He pressed both hands against the wall, trying to press through.
It was pointless.
He couldn't be with them.
The walls surrounded him now.
He was in London but could not move.
People passed him without a glance.
They were moving freely about the streets.
He was frantically pressing against the unseen walls as they were now pressing against him.
They continued pressing.
Him from inside, the wall from outside.
Eventually he was on his knees trying to hold back the unseen walls from all sides, even above.
He cried out. He yelled. He cursed.
And still people passed on by.
----
After he woke from the nightmare, at first he was reluctant to divulge to maven what it was. But after she had written down her nightmare while telling him about it (fuck that rotten family of hers), he finally told her. If nothing else than because he realized he needed her help transcribing the dream. (he did not want to try writing that all down himself) Afterwards, both returned to, thankfully dreamless, slumber.
He looked around, not sure of where he was or where he should go.
Suddenly a scene was before him.
A gathering of devils. It looked like a party at the Brass Embassy. Celebrating their liberation from aristocracy by dressing down to the point of being scruffy and outdated, every one with a thorny rose around their wrist.
Is it possible to be both pretentious and trashy at the same time? To the Brash Devil, it felt like most devils managed to do that perfectly.
There were devils dancing in the center, somehow a perfect synchronization of many pairs of figure eights.
Many wore shoes with slivers of Nevercold Brass that created little sparks with certain steps of the dance.
He could practically feel the heat from the room.
But that's the thing, isn't it?
He isn't in the room.
There was an invisible wall separating him from the party. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there.
Despite himself, he walked right up to the barrier and placed a hand against it.
Funny, he could have sworn he could feel the heat coming off it, but now it's cold....
Another scene appears.
Now it showed the rooftops of the Flit. A few of the urchin gangs had gathered for a special occasion.
Even the Naughts and Crosses are only being mildly rowdy and rough with each other. Practically a miracle.
He could tell from just that what the occasion was.
There was a "New Wind" coming up from the Bazaar and all the urchins were having a race in honour of it.
He smiled, remembering the last time that had happened. How much fun the race had been. Only two fights had broken out, with only one bloody nose. It was the best he'd seen all the gangs get along together.
Before the race they sang a Correspondence song. One of those ones they claim the thunder taught them.
(He'd never heard of such a thing but they claimed it's because the thunder only liked children)
And they were off.
He pressed both hands against the wall, trying to press through.
It was pointless.
He couldn't be with them.
The walls surrounded him now.
He was in London but could not move.
People passed him without a glance.
They were moving freely about the streets.
He was frantically pressing against the unseen walls as they were now pressing against him.
They continued pressing.
Him from inside, the wall from outside.
Eventually he was on his knees trying to hold back the unseen walls from all sides, even above.
He cried out. He yelled. He cursed.
And still people passed on by.
----
After he woke from the nightmare, at first he was reluctant to divulge to maven what it was. But after she had written down her nightmare while telling him about it (fuck that rotten family of hers), he finally told her. If nothing else than because he realized he needed her help transcribing the dream. (he did not want to try writing that all down himself) Afterwards, both returned to, thankfully dreamless, slumber.
