I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.
Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.
Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”
That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.
“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.
I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”
I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.
“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”
“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”
“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”
So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.
They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,
“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”
“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.
“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.
“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”
I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.
“This is a dream,” he informed me.
“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”
“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”
“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”
“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”
“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”
“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”
“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”
And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.
First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”
And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.
Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*
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