The open-air theatre in the Archimedes district quickly became a favorite for Morpheus. Without his endless library and his tether to dreams, he found himself quickly drained and without purpose. At the very least, such performances gave Dream a chance to quietly take in the creative atmosphere of the denizens of this place.
A chance, perhaps, to understand the dreams of those here.
The amphitheater was sparsely occupied at this time of day. The players on stage were doing some sort of musical on the subject of lost love and the plights of the common man. Concepts that Dream has heard billions of times, but it’s better than nothing.
Looking around, he spots a sort of creature he hasn’t seen in some time. Like any concept, Dream is viewed differently according to who’s looking. In the case of his nearby company, he would be as much of a troll as she was, at least in her eyes.
Ears pointed, teeth sharpened. No sign or mention of blood color could be found anywhere. The horns, as she would see them, look something like a pair of branches with the typical horn colors.
He was still Morpheus, but now he was also The Abstract.
The players on stage fret for a moment, as it would seem one of them forgot his lines. They mumble to themselves a bit and end up running off, clearly embarrassed by the situation.
“ 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕒 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕞𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕠𝕠.. “
while you’re a fan of the occasional OBSCURELY TOLD MUSICAL, you find this plot especially hard to follow. they say they’re in a ROMANTIC ENTANGLEMENT, but there’s no mention of a quadrant anywhere. such could be inferred by consistency and context clues, but the protagonist seems to fluctuate rapidly between RED and PALE with no explanation as to why... you suppose you’re not too privy to the ways of relationships, but you’re becoming more and more frustrated by this INDECIPHERABLE STORY.
and thus with your boredom, you find your eyes flitting around the mostly empty theatre. you do find the decor rather pleasing, not anything you’re visually used to. but in the wake of your admiration, your eyes rest upon...
oh my god. that’s a troll. but not just any troll... an ADULT.
you’ve never seen an adult in your life.
you can’t see any SYMBOLS or COLORS; nothing to infer your safety by. perhaps you can assume that they’re a BLUEBLOOD, as the theatre is of noble taste, but then you figure — you’re here too, a WARMBLOODED PEASANT. it’s simply of your interest.
you’ve become a creature of IMPULSE. with the heart rate of a mouse, you scurry down the aisle, ducking behind the seats as the play goes on. and then, he raises his voice. it’s INTIMIDATING, POWERFUL, a cadence you could never perfect.
and then you’re beside him, UNCANNILY HESITANT, slowly lowering onto your seat so it doesn’t make a peep.
