12045/A Dream of Utopia

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A Dream of Utopia
Date of Scene: 17 July 2022
Location: The Dreaming
Synopsis: Dream visits America in her sleep to gauge her thoughts on Dreams. Will her perspective aid Wonderland, or doom it?
Cast of Characters: Dream, America Chavez




Dream has posed:
On a long and lonesome highway, East of Omaha
You can listen to the engine Moanin' out his one note song
You can think about the woman... or the girl you knew the night before.
But your thoughts will soon be wandering, the way they always do
When you're ridin' sixteen hours and there's nothin' much to do
And you don't feel much like ridin', you just wish the trip was through...

'Turn the Page', Bob Seger.

America is having one of her more pleasant dreams. It's the one from a driving trip with her adoptive family, and they've hit the long stretch of road on the way to Des Moines. Except in this instance, she's the one driving-- a solo trip, piloting a classic '68 Impala convertible painted in glossy black. It purrs like a happy housecat against the asphalt. The dream is incredibly vivid, and real; the feel of air against the skin, the scent of rubber, the taste of pollen on her tongue.

The front seat is empty, and then it isn't. A man is sitting shotgun, hands folded on his lap and serene expression on his face. There is no urgency, no sense of danger about him. His presence doesn't even seem that aberrant, at least not while she's enjoying her dream.

America Chavez has posed:
    America doesn't start, doesn't flinch, doesn't even seem too unperterbed, even if the sudden emergence of a new face appears in her dreams. She takes stock of her own emotions with regards to the figure. Familiarity, and yet no sense of true recognition. Not one of her friends for another world. But clearly not your typical imagined visage in this land of imagination and wonder.

    She continues to drive for a moment longer before turning her face to him. "-Hola-" she greets. "You along for the ride or here for something more specific. I don't get many portents but" she shrugs, "stranger things have happened."

    Like finding out your 17 year old friend is actually the god that would create your world in their future, your past, and you have to ensure their continued survival for you own. Those sorts of things definitely qualify as stranger.

Dream has posed:
"Hola," the stranger replies, with a polite nod for America. He doesn't respond to her question immediately, watching the road go under the front tires and seemingly enjoying the drive.

"I like cars," he says, finally. "Not driving them. How they open possibilities for people. There was a time when humans would be born, live, and die and never travel more than 20 kilometeres from their home. You may not appreciate how much your world was changed by the internal combustion engine."

A few beats pass. "Imagine what would have happened to the world if the man called Ford had not developed the 'car'. No highways. No simple travel. You can drive across your United States in a few days. On horseback it could take four months. Maybe as long as six."

He turns his head slightly towards America, looking at her sidelong. His eyes are infinitely deep pools of darkness, a starry field that glimmers with the light of stars that no human has ever seen. "What do you think about keeping a dream like a car to oneself?"

America Chavez has posed:
    It's the eyes that give it away. Definitely not a being that she's met before. She would recognize those. "I never gave it much thought" she replies. "It's not my normal means of travel, but I appreciate it all the same" she says offering the road a broad smile. "But... I think if the dream is important enough to you?"

    She purses her full lips and thinks for a moment longer. She nods. "I think it makes sense. Everyone should have their own special place to call home. If it's in their dreams?" she shrugs. "I don't see a problem with that. After all that's what all those yogis and meditation experts talk about when they're going on about" she changes her voice, making it more breathy and mysterious, "'finding your center,' isn't it?"

Dream has posed:
The stranger listens patiently, and when America frames her question he is nodding patient agreement with her. "Dreams are unique. Like a car. No matter how it might look like other vehicles, it has a unique number on it. Unique sounds. No two parts are perfectly identical. If you dream of something, that is *your* dream to own and hold onto."

He looks at the passing treelines, then back to America. "If enough people dream the same dream, though, they can merge. The dream becomes more than just a story you tell yourself, it becomes a story you share with other people. A strong enough story, a strong enough *idea* shared among enough people takes on a life of its own. It gains its own momentum. But at what point is it too big? Should such a shared dream be kept accessible to everyone, or should just a few people own the story and let no one else add on?"

America Chavez has posed:
    Philosophy wasn't America's strongest suit. However, she wasn't completely out of her depth... yet. "That really depends on what the dream might be" she says in return. "I think some dreams, like some cars, are bigger than others. Some dreams are even bigger than cars, entire trains, planes, ships of dream concepts can be achieved" she replies.

    "I think... if enough people work together on a common dream and it becomes too big to be contained in that place..." a pause. "Then it might be worth a chance at making that dream a reality. After all, Mr. Ford's dream wasn't only created by him. He had a group of people who believed in his dream. Shared the idea. Gave him the tools because they also dreamed of a world where one coast to the other was doable in days insead of months."

    She nods. "I think almost anything can be achieved if enough people bring their strengths to the table and put their own spin on making a dream a reality. That's what..." she swallows, her emotions welling up, "that's what we did in the Utopian Parallel. We made dreams into reality all the time. Us and the Demiurge."

Dream has posed:
Dream nods thoughtfully in response to America's words. Quiet returns, quiet to hear the sound of air and the thrumming of the old engine as it sends those tires whirring down the asphalt path.

"Would you sacrifice yourself, for a dream?" he asks her. "Not one of your own, not one of your private dreams. But a shared dream. There are those who remember the Utopian Parallel in their dreams, you know. The dream they all share builds off of all of their experiences. Yet the more time they spend in the shared dream, the less time they have in their private ones. The mortal spirit does not like retelling stories," he says, and a subtle curl touches the corner of his mouth. "If you could make the dream of the Utopian Parallel permanent, if you could stabilize it and make it a story-- what would you sacrifice to achieve this?"

America Chavez has posed:
    America had expected any number of questions from this being that's made its way into her own dreams. But -that- particular question, was not one of them. She's thankful for the absence of other cars on the road as she loses some of her composure and the vehicle moves into the opposite lane for a moment before she's able to correct it.

    She takes a few deep breaths and her mouth works to come up with an answer. She glances at the being, all serene and composed in the passenger seat. Could it be toying with her? Creating her world again? That was Billy's job wasn't it? Or well, what Billy would become, at the very least. But not for another... epoch. But did it have to be that way? Could she have her people back sooner? Have ther concept of home sooner? Could this being do such a thing?

    "I... I don't--" She was about to say she didn't know. But she does. She knows exactly what she would sacrifice to make Utopia Parallel a reality once more. Her voice has regained that strength and confidence. "I'd sacrifice everything if it could be done. Like my mothers before me. To save the world of my people? I'm willing to give it all up, if it truly means happiness and continued peace for them."

Dream has posed:
But Dream is shaking his head. "No. I am sorry if there was a misunderstanding. The Utopian Parallel is destroyed, and only one force can restore it. And you know which force that is," he says, with a pointed look.

"The Utopian Parallel is of the waking world. The waking world is not my concern. The Dreaming is." He gestures in the air and a bubble appears above his palm. It ignores the wind and acceleration, staying directly in place over his ghost-white skin. It's perhaps the size of a softball, and yet when America looks into it, she can see the whole of the Utopian Parallel-- and her mothers, smiling up at her. "But there is a dream of the Utopian Parallel. You dream it. The survivors dream of it. It remains alive as an idea because of your dreams."

He turns his full gaze on America, those infinitely deep starfields somehow boring right into her. "You can have your private dream of your lost home. Or you can join the shared dream. But you cannot have both. What would you do? Would you keep your private dream, the way you wanted things to be? Or would you surrender it to the greater good, sacrificing your memory and hope to keep a larger, greater dream alive?"

America Chavez has posed:
    A heavy question, but one she has already answered a few times over. "I would. No single person is greater than the needs of the many, no matter what the cost" she says and nods. "That's..." She swallows heavily. Even if she's made the choice already, it is still a high price. "That's what heroes do. And if I am nothing else, I am a hero."

    She blinks back unshed tears. "So yes. I'd sacrifice my own dream of it... if I had to, in order to protect everyone else's." She looks at the figure. "But why? What would be the purpose of such a sacrifice? Why now? What would it serve to give it up?" she asks. She snorts softly. "Or is this truly just some philisophical exercise for a being of immense power such as yourself?" She thinks she has a good idea of who her guest might be and the concept is both exciting and, at the same time, terrifying.

Dream has posed:
"Everything I do is an exercise in philosophy," Dream remarks with that endlessly patient, gentle tone. "It is that with which I am principally concerned. The needs of the self versus the many; the value of ideas and the power of the human spirit. There is never one answer for every question, and never one question for any answer."

The car is stopped; the dream seems to be holding itself in place for a time. The Dreamlord is now standing next to the driver door, towering over America. "Your counsel is appreciated, America Chavez," he tells her. "You will not remember this conversation. But I will. I extend you a small boon as thanks."

He leans way over, and touches two fingertips to her forehead. "Sleep well, and have pleasant dreams." It is more command than well-wishing.

Dream disappears a moment later. The world gets back into motion. It's perhaps less 'real' now. Colors softer, sounds lower. It seems like it could go any direction it wants. He leaves America Chavez to her sleep, and to her dreams-- dreaming of was, is, and perhaps what will be.