Paint it Over | Retro Turtle & Daisy Dreamland

Every word came too fast, each one more treacherous than the last, until Turtlefang's head was swirling, as if somehow dizziness had pervaded the threshold of the intangible word itself. How could you even get lightheaded within your own head? Bombarded by too intimate words, romanticized in the most careless way, all he could think was how close of a replica he'd been able to manifest. Recreating a cat was hard to do when they weren't very well known, but he supposed Daisyfire had left quite the impression of himself in the days after they'd last parted. A literal mark of sorts, even, in the way that the Sunclan warrior had been forced to wince off the reminder of her paws on him, bowling him across rock and holy ground all just to prove some sort of point. Inevitably, with the constant soreness up until the wounds closed, he'd done some thinking. Enough thinking, apparently, to have this version of the tom right here and now, rambling off ridiculous ideas like they were in any way feasible. At least his mind dignified them both enough to acknowledge his own awareness, for once. If they both knew it was a dream, that meant Daisyfire knew she was just a construct of his own creation, and that made this whole thing a lot less awkward than having to play out script just to get a result.

Freed from the confines of delusion, at least for the time being, Turtlefang chuckled idly, then sighed deeply afterward like laughing itself required exertion. That's just how it went, when you didn't practice something all that often. When he spoke, he didn't bother to look at her for a response. They both knew he was just talking to himself, here. "You want me to commit thought crime?" Here in the safety of his mind, there was no need for the accusatory tone he would've taken up otherwise, fighting tooth and claw to make the Moonclan warrior eat his words. Here, nothing was of consequence. It wasn't even the real cat, after all. Instead, there was an underlying amusement, like making casual comedy among clanmates. "I suppose I'd expect nothing less." Of course, that's why it'd be Daisyfire. This wasn't a nightmare meant to evoke fear, it was to evoke shame. To dangle the forbidden in front of him and then make him feel guilty for batting at it. Clever. How strange, to be playing strategy against his own intellect.

"You're correct, of course." Turtlefang finally glanced back at him, taking a step to the side as if to show off his back like an example. "I'm never injured, here, but in this case it reflects reality. I'm perfectly recovered." Explaining it aloud felt a bit dumb, knowing he was in his own echo chamber. There was nothing he could say that Daisyfire didn't already know, and vice versa. For all he knew, the other could hear his own internal (doubly internal?) narration and reprogram accordingly. But maybe a bit of play was allowed, at least until something terrible happened. Letting the nuances of metaphysical worlds and their properties slip away for the time being, the warrior tilted his head indulgently, cool eyes studying the set across from him, unimpeded by the regular social strain that regularly kept his gaze adrift. "What do you want to do, then? Since this is a dream." The last word lilted again in humor, like exchanging another joke between two knowing parties. Or rather, one knowing party talking to another fragment of himself, which meant they both were 100% in the loop here, which made it extra funny to act like they weren't.

The peaceful ease with which Turtlefang observed the other, knowing all too well the inconsequential nature of their interaction, couldn't help but stiffen a little at that word. Devoted. What a mocking phrase to throw at him. Yet at the same time, the affirmation left him with a wry smirk as the other cat- his subconscious- sprung away into the flowers, as if it hadn't attempted to scandalize him with such a pointless affront. Trying to pick at his wounds, make him feel guilty. Clearly, this ran deeper than he thought it did, but it was of no concern. Here in the meadow, awake in every sense of the word but physical, the warrior knew better than to let the jab sting. It was just another intrusive accusation, the same as all the others that haunted him. But here and now, they both knew it was baseless. He didn't pick his dream. It was out of his paws. Who was he to take responsibility for such an uncontrollable fantasy? That much was in the control of the very psyche that threatened him now, creating problems and then trying to blame his conscious mind for having to deal with them. It was so unreasonable. Just like us, I suppose.

The dip into resentment didn't last him long. A warrior couldn't fight off the intangible enemies of their own mind, and Turtlefang could hardly take it out on Daisyfire, if he could even call him that. She was just a daydream acting on his own fantastical whims, nothing at all like the real thing. Or, well. He actually was pretty close to what he last remembered, but that was just the nature of memory. It didn't make this any more authentic. That's what he told himself as he caught sight of her vivid pelt slipping back towards him, warm like sunshine and earthy like rich river soil. From where he'd been sitting, he offered the other tom another glance, bordering on mirthful as he found a simple sort of satisfaction towards watching a Moonclan cat run up to him like a subordinate. "Hmm?" Although there was no point in showing much real interest, he did provide another cooperative hum as the other approached, pose lax until he noticed the gift she came bearing. Immediately, his eyes sharpened over the ring of flowers, overcome by a similar curiosity to what he'd felt by the painted stones.

"This isn't what I imagined," Turtlefang murmured, an uneasy prickle teasing his neck fur as he glanced up towards the ring bearer suspiciously. Here in the confines of his mind, how was it that something unknown to him could be reproduced without complication? He shouldn't be able to see new things here, not really. Right? Maybe old things in new ways, but not something entirely new. He leaned into the point to nose the flower crown, peering into the internal weaving with little regard for Daisyfire's proximity. Although he felt the immediate impulse to snatch the strange item and look closer at the handiwork, he instead responded (not without an air of lingering wariness), "Put it on me.. how?" Somehow, it was hard to believe it could stay in place adorning an animal. Even flowers had to know they didn't belong on cats, and they'd surely leap off at the first opportunity.

He didn't blink twice at the sudden appearance of the new crown, popping into existence like the glimmer of stars fading onto an early night sky. Although Turtlefang wasn't sure he recognized them as regular Sunclan flowers, he knew better than to question any further the composition of a dream and its rules. While his visions didn't tend to summon things out of the blue like that, it wasn't exactly an irregular occurrence for something outside the laws of reality. Instead, he watched as the other cat donned the decor, petals curling softly around her ear tips and nestling into the waves of her pelt as if they'd grown there naturally, among soft browns and creams instead of the soil far, far below. At the same time, there was a strangeness to it, and he couldn't help ogling that strangeness as he tried to grasp what was going on. Framed vivid blue on Daisyfire's warmer tones, it felt like looking at another painting. Something impossible, but utterly real. Like taking the pleasant contrast of a bright sky behind a dark cat and concentrating it down to a microcosm of that very scene. The colors complimented each other, and it was strange, to see a cat take the hues of the world in their paws and wear them around so actively instead of having to wait for the environment itself to provide the scenery. Like harnessing the seasons to their own agenda, defying nature. Defying life through the act of creation.

Although Turtlefang was already well aware of Daisyfire's impermanence- a little bit fixated on it, even, if only for the sake of his own dignity- his offer did leave him faltering ever so slightly. It wasn't as if he had anything to hide within the confines of his own dream, but the way his face collapsed into immediate neutrality was just that of habit. An unreadable contemplation as he sought out the answers needed to project an expression in the first place, because how exactly should someone react to such a forward advance? Confronted with the illusion of a Moonclan warrior, it was probably best to maintain guard, anyway, lest he fall out of practice.

Even so, the blank stare that landed on the other tortie was fleeting, chased away the moment he finished his consideration. Under all other circumstances, the aid would be an offense, especially coming from an enemy. Had Turtlefang not known his place, the usual swell of irritation would've been quick to ignite, not so much as to earn a swat, but moreso to garner a cold shoulder. But that was not the case. These were special conditions. Conclusively, Daisyfire aiding him here and now would be no different than accepting help from a phantom limb, same as using his own paws. They were born of the same mind, after all. Comforted by the thought, he dipped his head inwards, almost invitational towards the warrior's hovering touch. "You may." It was impossible to help the cheekier addition that slipped out alongside it, somewhat goaded by the uninvited warmth with which he'd been addressed. But even so, it lacked much bite, veering more into further teasing as the ghost of his prior smile twitched in passing over his muzzle. "Come tend to your leader. I won't bow any further to a subordinate."

There was an instance, when the other tom's paws brushed so gently near his ears, that Turtlefang almost forgot he was dreaming. Caught up in the visceral sensation of touch, so close to the cautious motions of Daisyfire's administrations, it was easy to hurtle back to all those nights ago they'd accompanied one another to the Moonpond. Not him and this one, of course, but the real deal. Had she been just as gentle then, too? At the time, he'd been too overstimulated to take much notice, the shock of holy water dousing his consciousness beyond the point of passive observation. In spite of the gap occupying his memory where sensory data should have been, he somehow felt quite certain that this was a close replication. He was so certain that he almost forgot about the little roleplay he'd set up, missing his chance to shoot back a biting reply to his companion's indulgence. But then, it wasn't required. Not when the crown was arranged to completion.