@Abubu asked for a die roll:
Rolling 3d6: 6 + 1 + 3 = 10 against Antonella’s reduced Perception of 10
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Sorry for the delay, things have got busy this week.
Green steps in to cover the awkward moment.
“William Green - Bill to friends. As it happens, I was in the force myself until last year. Stella already mentioned the Strong case, so no sense in me being coy.”
His voice takes on a distant note as he continues, losing his normal affability. You have the sense he’s been over this countless times.
“A dozen of us went to the woods to pay a ransom for that kid. Halfway through the handover, the crooks’ leader - I guess he was half-crazy to begin with, and he snapped all at once, said there was some sort of conspiracy - started yelling all kinds of nonsense. Next minute the air was full of lead and noise. Five of us and four of them left in caskets.”
“I ended up on the floor with a broken leg, in no state to do anything. One of them stepped out of the trees, close enough to touch, pointing his shotgun down at me. He was shot dead just as he pulled the trigger. Nicked my arm instead of putting a hole through my chest. I don’t remember much after that - woke up in hospital days later, with a limp, a pension, and a lot of funerals to attend.”
Green’s tone softens a bit, as though he’s got through an official report.
“I’m sure you can guess I don’t sleep so well. When the room gets dark, I think of walking into the gloom of the forest, knowing they were somewhere out of sight, watching for us. I don’t always dream, but if I do, it’s usually of that day. It always winds up the same way, lying there helpless while he raises that gun. But this time, he pulls the trigger a moment sooner. When I wake up, my heart’s going crazy, and an awful pain in my chest and leg.”
He attempts a wry smile, and manages a grimace. “Always knew I might die in uniform. I thought it would only be the once. Antonella, maybe I know how you feel. Lying there waiting to die again isn’t exactly conducive to drifting off.”
Anyone watching him needs no roll to notice his eyes welling up, which he makes no effort to do anything about.
Cynthia next, unless anyone wishes to do anything first.
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Antonella nods at Mr. Green in understanding. True to her word, she does feel better after confiding in the group and, although still feeling out of place and terribly ashamed, she does her best to make sure she hangs on every word of her peers. It’s the least she can do, listen and understand.
So as she sees Bill’s eyes well up, she pulls out as handkerchief and hands it to him, squeezing his arm in solidarity before returning to her seat.
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Stella’s face visibly pales as Green tells his story, but she says nothing.
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It’s entirely possible I’ve missed someone but I think Celia is the only one left.
As everyone’s eyes slowly turn to Celia, she settles back in her chair and sips her tea before speaking.
Body Language or Psychology for anyone who wants it.
“My parents decided I should join the study.” Sip. “I dream about my twin brother.” Sip, brief glance at Aurore. “He- had a driving accident, two years ago. There was a fallen tree around a bend. He was in a hurry to get home, and-” Deep breath. Sip. “He was always careful when I was in the car. But I had a stomach-ache, so he went to the dinner without me.”
“My parents are concerned for my nerves. Which is to say, they are worried their daughter is a lunatic, but wouldn’t dream of actually saying any such thing. I agreed to come here and consult Dr Thorne.”
Dr Howard, and likely anyone who’s paying attention, can guess the alternative. Probably enforced rest to help her nerves - think The Yellow Wallpaper - or perhaps electric shock therapy. Nothing pleasant.
“I’m sorry all of you have such distressing dreams. Mine are precious.” She levels a challenging gaze at the doctors, before looking back down at her cup. “I don’t want to lose him again. But I will take part.”
Again, no roll is needed to notice she’s glossed over a lot of specifics, compared to some of the group. Feel free to ponder and draw conclusions about anyone here, as you wish.
Unless anyone wants to react, the doctors will throw open the floor to questions.
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Compared to their conversation earlier and at dinner, this is the most closed off Ant has seen Celia in her short time here. Although she feels a connection with the woman, this new wall she is seeing is inscrutable, impassable. If Antonella didn’t know better, she could have been talking about the weather for all of the emotion she was presenting. This is definitely something she planned to ask Celia about later.
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Everyone having now shared their stories, the doctors open the floor to questions. Lambert and Green kick things off with some simple questions about the schedule.
Newton is the first to ask one of the heavier questions. “Doctor Thorne, be honest; how likely is this to work?” There’s a heavy pause, and a few nods from around the circle.
Thorne: “It’s a fair question, Mr. Newton. Well, it wouldn’t be fair for me to make any promises. Each of you is unique. But that’s precisely why we are trialling this type of exploratory therapy, with individual consultations, rather than laying out a single treatment regime.”
“This study is the latest in a series of ongoing trials as we refine this approach. In the last two rounds, around two-thirds of patients saw an improvement worth reporting. A quarter reported a very significant improvement. Generally speaking, the therapy has proven more effective in treating dreams associated with specific traumas.”
Lambert and Rowe look a little disheartened at this.
Lewinsky leans in. “As Dr. Thorne mentioned, his background is in the treatment of trauma, so it is perhaps not surprising. Part of the purpose of the current study is to improve our success rates with other forms of sleep disorder. Amongst other things, we have increased the length of the trial, which I know has caused some administrative confusion - my apologies. This will give us more time to understand the underlying issues, for those of you without a specific traumatic association.”
“As I think you know, there is also the opportunity to participate in further rounds of the study. We cannot promise any ‘quick fix’ solutions, but we do not propose to simply abandon you after this week.”
Thorne takes over again. “In short, the chances are in your favour, Mr. Newton. Most of you should find the treatment helpful, and all of you are welcome to return for further treatment, regardless of the outcome this time. The best way to improve those odds is to be open-minded and accepting towards the treatment regime, even though it will touch on sensitive personal questions.”
He looks around. “Anyone else?”
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McQueen looks attentive, but doesn’t speak up.
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Celia’s latest comments have given Stella even more food for thought and she tries her best to formulate what she is thinking into a question.
'Dr Thorne… I asked you half a question when Mr McQueen and I were signing the agreement earlier. About that Charles Fort, do you remember? It’s been bugging me, the idea of somehow being connected to something… more than just me… in my nightmares, I mean. And that guy Fort suggesting something along those lines too. About artists painting in their sleep… inspired by dreams and so on.
‘What do you think we are connecting with exactly when we’re asleep?’
The question takes them a bit off-guard, and they look at each other. “Lewsinsky, more your field than mine, I think?”
He nods thoughtfully. “It has been grounds for a great deal of discussion in recent years. I myself don’t subscribe to any specific theory, although I turn in general to the work of Carl Jung, as I mentioned. To simplify, the principle is that the unconscious mind has two parts. One part is unique to each individual’s experiences. The other derives from the biological structure of the brain, inherited from our most distant ancestors, and is largely identical in us all. This second part is what can be called the ‘collective’ unconscious.”
“Many of my colleagues subscribe to the idea that in dreams, this collective unconscious is activated strongly. Because the brain has been shaped by the experiences of our ancestors, it…” he thinks for a moment. “Think of it perhaps as a building containing the echoes of all the conversations held there, the scents of perfume and dinners. When we enter it in our dreams, we meet those echoes and feel as though we are experiencing those conversations for ourselves.”
to be continued when I’m not in a meeting
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“That is certainly not the only position, however. Some psychologists would say that we do not connect to anything, other than our own past selves. Others, that we ‘connect’ with one another at second hand - that through daily conversation, we share our experiences, and then through dreaming we process that knowledge into our own minds.”
Thorne takes over as Lewinsky settles back into his chair. “There are more esoteric theories, of course. In the last century, spiritualists placed a good deal of emphasis on dreams and their interpretation. Those ideas are, well… the field has moved on, shall we say. I believe modern psychical research is far more rigorous and scientific in nature. I have colleagues, well-respected scholars, who argue that mankind’s psychic senses are fully activated in sleep. Bergamaschi, for example - he’d tell you that a dream occurs when our sleeping mind brushes against others, sparking off thoughts. Lowe takes the idea to another level, that there is a kind of ‘psychic sea’ composed of stray thoughts and memories, and we enter it when we sleep.”
“Which,” chips in Lewinsky, “is not so far from Jung’s collective unconscious after all. Many cultures have some concept of a ‘dream world’ or ‘fairyland’ that mortals can enter, under the right circumstances.”
“Quite. And then there’s the Theosophists, who say that dreams are when we make contact with the consciousness of a divine being, and with our past selves from a hundred lifetimes. Or the South Sea Islanders who say dreams are the messages of a god who sleeps under the sea, pleading to be woken again. There’s human creativity for you!” Thorne gives a wide smile, then recollects the actual question. “Ah. My apologies, Stella. You did ask for our own opinion. I don’t mind admitting I keep an open mind. I consider myself a practical man, and I don’t put a lot of stock in Fort’s work. Still, I admit the possibility of a psychic connection between dreaming minds. The human mind is a very powerful thing, and one whose capabilities we’re barely beginning to grasp.”
Both of them lapse back into silence, looking around to see how you all react.
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McQueen waits a few moments to see if anyone’s going to continue the seriousness, then (if they don’t) breaks the mood slightly. “Well, doc, just make sure nobody pinches my ideas while I’m in there! But seriously, I’m sure we’ve all got things we don’t want to share even with our best friends. How come they don’t leak out all the time?”
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apologies AGAIN, buried under coursework and visa applications etc. and a bit gloomy - will get back as soon as I can
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@Shimmin asked for a die roll:
3d6: 2 + 6 + 4 = 12
for Aurore vs. Celia
3d6: 2 + 4 + 3 = 9
for Duncan vs. Celia
3d6: 3 + 4 + 5 = 12
for McQueen vs Celia, though you have a hefty bonus from that previous roll
Neither doctor seems to have an answer for McQueen - Thorne gives a wry smile and a shrug, and looks to Lewinsky.
“It’s a very good point, McQueen. I haven’t seen a robust answer to it yet, and I’ve been looking.” Lewinsky also concedes the issue, but the banker Rowe makes an unlikely intervention.
“Humph! What makes you so sure they don’t? Maybe we don’t recognise 'em. Dreams are darned peculiar things.”
Leaving the floor for anyone to respond. Also, I realised I never responded to those rolls for Celia; just rolled for the others as well.
As her turn crept up, Celia shifted - subconsciously? - into a controlled demeanor, like an actress preparing to step out from the wings. You might almost say ‘affected’, but rather than trying to impress, she seems to be modelling compliance.
Stella, it reminds you of some spokespeople you’ve encountered - or witnesses - maintaining a level of guarded openness that leaves nothing specific for anyone to point at as Deceit or Being Uncooperative, but to the trained eye, leaving things unspoken. Those words feel carefully chosen, without being scripted. She’s had this conversation before, hasn’t she? In your mind’s eye, you recall interviewing employees under the watchful eyes of the boss. Not quite that, but something close, perhaps.
Duncan has seen this in patients before; a veneer of openness and compliance that can be damnably hard to transform into the real thing. Putting two and two together from the little she did say, it looks like a performance for her parents’ benefit. Probably good enough to satisfy them, but you’re too experienced to fall for it. You don’t think it’s her way of shielding trauma, though. Maybe protecting something - or someone.
McQueen, the word ‘rehearsed’ dances in your mind. It’s not a bad performance, leaving nothing very concrete for a dissatisfied parent to pick at. Celia isn’t, you think, the calculating type - unless she’s a far better actress than she’s letting on - but what she let slip here feels carefully weighed and measured. This girl has learned the precise amount of disclosure to satisfy questioning, and is giving not a drop more. Likely a recent development. The scenes of crystal-brittle society life practically write themselves. In your line of work, they tend to end in blood.
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I’m back from China/hospital. Anyone want to chip in, or shall I carry on?
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McQueen wants to have a quiet chat with Stella, but has nothing further to raise right now.
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