Wilbur stood on the lava platform for the second time recently, gaze set on the prison, a broad smile on his face. When Sam argued with him about bringing things such as enrichment to Dream, he pulled the insanity card, claiming some bullshit about "how it'd be worse if Dream got out because he was insane, right?" In his pocket we're a deck of cards, and he also carried some small snack-foods and dry goods.
Dream waited patiently, watching the lava move and shift as it was turned off at the click of a lever. Incredible. Though the magic of the mechanism didn't lower his guard. He couldn't hear much unless it was Sam shouting back that he knew what to do. Telling him to stand away from the railing and wait with his hands against the wall.
He always thought it was hilarious how Sam insisted on that ritual. Like he wouldn't be free to do what he wished to those visiting once they arrived. Today he'd discarded an open journal and pen. The doodles on the page were disturbing but he hadn't had time to close it and clear up his space anyway. He'd gotten back to leaving papers around the floor and every which way much like his own twisted version of a corkboard.
