Strange Dream
Jun. 7th, 2006 10:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lenora_roseNow, of course, dreams include bits of illogic and severe anachronism (the dream that led to the first half of the first draft of the story that eventually became Raising the Storm had an incident with a drink machine and grape soda, even though it was kind of a spy caper crossed with enchantment scenario.)
So be forewarned, though I'll skip the most silly of those. I will say the dream was very confused; some details were here and now, some were not, some attitudes were archaic, some all too modern. The modern pieces seem the easier parts to transmute and have the initial scenario not feel unsympathetic, as it is weirdly exploitative.
. I was instead a young North American garret artist or some such, (a sculptor when i could afford the materials, a painter when scraping together the money) who was spending part of an inheritance by travelling in (Roughly Victorian) Britain. Backpacking or something very like, spending as little at a time as I could, so I could stay longer and see more, and still have a good solid cushion to support me for the next while once I got back to my garret and my otherwise hand-to-mouth existance.
I'd used up almost all the money I'd meant to spend on the trip, and on the very last days of it, ended up in a guest room upstairs to one side of in a Wizard's mansion. I knew a wizard kept the place, though he had nothing to do with the rooms that were let out to travellers, (Or the souvenir shop - there's always a souvenir shop - that sold cheap magical trinkets to prove you'd really stayed in a wizard's house, along with the more usual stuff) and that we never entered his own living space. We got into the guest area by a small side door off the entry hall; the main door was always closed & locked.
However, while awaiting the ride to take me out of the country (Anachronism: It was a modern car, though the assumption seemed to be that I'd be going on a sailing ship for the trip back), I found the door to the wizard's own space open, and went through, into the wizard's own front room; grand white walls with pillars and ornamentation, and a pale, wide, hardwood floor, and the accoutrements for entertaining guests - but a certain cold emptiness about it, like it was rarely used. I rather liked being able to make this illegal peek.
Someone was there, too. He gave me a start because he didn't move. He, the wizard's butler I supposed, or some kind of a servant, stood, hardly moving, in what at first looked like a niche in the wall, surrounded by the pillars, but was actually some kind of narrow service corridor. How they were expected to get down from an entry two feet up in the wall, while carrying things, seemed hardly a relevant question; I took it for grantwed that this was a wizard's house, and his servants not exactly usual. So when he stood there, I'd have throught him a statue, except for the polite -- if ironically amused -- look of him, and that his eyes were on me. He was very tall, near seven feet, even accounting for the height at which he stood. I knew he was the butler because he'd helped out in the guesthouse side, too, and was very competent, though he'd never work in the souvenir shop.
He hadn't said a word, to report me or to offer currently unwanted refreshment, but let me look my fill without protest, and let me take my CD from the wizard's CD player with a little bow and a look that made me want to laugh. I couldn't be the least worried about him reporting my transgression, especially after finding my property on this side of the line. But I wasn't afraid of him anyhow. I liked him, and his funny formal smile.
And an urge came on me. My parents had servants. And I had, currently, a great deal of money. Yes, it was a one time lump sum, and I hadn't meant to spend on anything extravagant. But I felt the urge to just make a deal with this butler, take him away with me, leave a pile of money on the couch for the wizard. I knew, knew absolutely, as if he were in the room, that the wizard wouldn't just refuse, if I asked him if I could take this servant's contract. He'd probably blast me where I stood, and if not, I'd be just as likely to end up trapped in the house, serving him myself.
This was an incredibly impractical plan. I knew I had a one room attic apartment, and a tiny, filthy studio. I couldn't affortd to keep him for long, not remotely. Besides, what would he do? Cleaning and making meals would be a step down, and the sorts of organizational stuff I knew he did would be wasted in a garret. I had to make -- and pay for -- a whole ocean crossing first. And only that ocean crossing meant I had the remotest hope the wizard wouldn't hunt me down, and then enact the exact same kinds of very real magical dangers he could do right here. Wizards didn't like ocean travel.
But I wanted this more than I'd wanted the rest of the journey, much less the cheap souvenirs and nonsense. So I dared to ask -- and the butler made it explicit that he wanted out of this house and this household, now, where-ever he'd end up otherwise. The length of the Atlantic, a new country, new customs to learn, and all that came with it, were prices he'd pay. A garret was a price he'd pay, as was my company - to get out of here.
He did all this by nodding his head.
Sometimes, in real life, that sort of eloquence can be got from friends. Only in dreams do you usually get it from a stranger whose expression didn't change at all.
The weird urge to get me a butler like him pretty much died on the spot, and the urge to get him out took over.
The room was getting mazy and shifting, and not very friendly. I knew there wasn't much time, but my ride was already outside, and indeed someone poked their head in, clamouring with their own impatience, totally oblivious to the fact that nasty magic was about to try and swallow me. So I left the money, grabbed this great not-all-quite-human butler, and towed him along with me.
The trip blurred away, as it does in dreams, summed up only in a vague recollection of criticisms of unbelieving family, the same doubts recalled, and an absolute certainty that whatever had been going on in that house must be worse than it seemed for a guest, and that the ex-butler made no mention of it. All I knew back at the garret was that it was very nice to have someone to get a hot bath ready in the old wooden tub, and to wash my hair, and hold a towel for me after, without the slightest hint of distraction or interest at my brief nudity.
And a feeling that, since this was North America, I shoudl eb teaching him about this whole 'freedom' thing.
A feeling borne out. I woke after one week (And a big dream-time jump) to find him gone,a nd a note saying basically that he'd taken the first hunddred of his fair wages, and that I should send him the rest at so and so a place.
I felt simultaneously horrid, because we hadn't actually worked out a wage and I had no idea how much more I owed him, besides "A LOT". Ashamed, because I hadn't been encouraging him to strike out on his own before now -- because however much I'd liked the pampering, that wasn't why I'd done what I did. I'd let myself forget.
Equally strong was the sudden belief that something else was very wrong. That I had to find him now. There was some reason he couldn't be let go alone, that even if I made recompense for the wrong by treating him as an equal, he had to stick with me, or something very very very bad would happen to him. I was feeling that same kind of dark magic stirring again - not the same wizard, bt the same kind. I'd tripped into something very big, much bigger than just letting a butler leave a master he didn't like. I had no idea what was going on, but the feeling of warning was very strong.
So naturally, about the moment I found him again, and sat to ask him about it, I woke up.
___________________________
Can I just say those are really skewed class dynamics in there? Including some implied in the relationship "I" had to her family that I had to leave out.
I don't know about you, but what my brain does with a dream like this, so close to being a logical coherent story fragment, is to transmute the anachronisms one way or another, and to chew over the bits you can get away with in a dream (A non prescient character -- and "I" doesn't have the right feel for a psychic -- can't "just know" things as a dream-figure can.) It tries to recapture the moods lost in a straight re-recitation -- "I" In the dream is more bright and cheerful than I am, and the whole scenario weirdly sun-washed for a thing set mostly in interior spaces -- and then start poking into all the things one would need to research and/or fake.
And to wonder what's the deal with the fact that the first waking hypothesis I had was that this butler might be so willing to serve and keep serving, to be exploited in a modernish world, because he didn't actually have a soul. The second was that the whole could be moved back in time and feel more "right", the third that this didn't necessarily invalidate the first.
And dammit, I need to finish RtS.
I didn't mean to be at the computer this long today. The eyes are bothering me after yesterday's hours of photoshop. It just took a while to write out.
Goodnight.
So be forewarned, though I'll skip the most silly of those. I will say the dream was very confused; some details were here and now, some were not, some attitudes were archaic, some all too modern. The modern pieces seem the easier parts to transmute and have the initial scenario not feel unsympathetic, as it is weirdly exploitative.
. I was instead a young North American garret artist or some such, (a sculptor when i could afford the materials, a painter when scraping together the money) who was spending part of an inheritance by travelling in (Roughly Victorian) Britain. Backpacking or something very like, spending as little at a time as I could, so I could stay longer and see more, and still have a good solid cushion to support me for the next while once I got back to my garret and my otherwise hand-to-mouth existance.
I'd used up almost all the money I'd meant to spend on the trip, and on the very last days of it, ended up in a guest room upstairs to one side of in a Wizard's mansion. I knew a wizard kept the place, though he had nothing to do with the rooms that were let out to travellers, (Or the souvenir shop - there's always a souvenir shop - that sold cheap magical trinkets to prove you'd really stayed in a wizard's house, along with the more usual stuff) and that we never entered his own living space. We got into the guest area by a small side door off the entry hall; the main door was always closed & locked.
However, while awaiting the ride to take me out of the country (Anachronism: It was a modern car, though the assumption seemed to be that I'd be going on a sailing ship for the trip back), I found the door to the wizard's own space open, and went through, into the wizard's own front room; grand white walls with pillars and ornamentation, and a pale, wide, hardwood floor, and the accoutrements for entertaining guests - but a certain cold emptiness about it, like it was rarely used. I rather liked being able to make this illegal peek.
Someone was there, too. He gave me a start because he didn't move. He, the wizard's butler I supposed, or some kind of a servant, stood, hardly moving, in what at first looked like a niche in the wall, surrounded by the pillars, but was actually some kind of narrow service corridor. How they were expected to get down from an entry two feet up in the wall, while carrying things, seemed hardly a relevant question; I took it for grantwed that this was a wizard's house, and his servants not exactly usual. So when he stood there, I'd have throught him a statue, except for the polite -- if ironically amused -- look of him, and that his eyes were on me. He was very tall, near seven feet, even accounting for the height at which he stood. I knew he was the butler because he'd helped out in the guesthouse side, too, and was very competent, though he'd never work in the souvenir shop.
He hadn't said a word, to report me or to offer currently unwanted refreshment, but let me look my fill without protest, and let me take my CD from the wizard's CD player with a little bow and a look that made me want to laugh. I couldn't be the least worried about him reporting my transgression, especially after finding my property on this side of the line. But I wasn't afraid of him anyhow. I liked him, and his funny formal smile.
And an urge came on me. My parents had servants. And I had, currently, a great deal of money. Yes, it was a one time lump sum, and I hadn't meant to spend on anything extravagant. But I felt the urge to just make a deal with this butler, take him away with me, leave a pile of money on the couch for the wizard. I knew, knew absolutely, as if he were in the room, that the wizard wouldn't just refuse, if I asked him if I could take this servant's contract. He'd probably blast me where I stood, and if not, I'd be just as likely to end up trapped in the house, serving him myself.
This was an incredibly impractical plan. I knew I had a one room attic apartment, and a tiny, filthy studio. I couldn't affortd to keep him for long, not remotely. Besides, what would he do? Cleaning and making meals would be a step down, and the sorts of organizational stuff I knew he did would be wasted in a garret. I had to make -- and pay for -- a whole ocean crossing first. And only that ocean crossing meant I had the remotest hope the wizard wouldn't hunt me down, and then enact the exact same kinds of very real magical dangers he could do right here. Wizards didn't like ocean travel.
But I wanted this more than I'd wanted the rest of the journey, much less the cheap souvenirs and nonsense. So I dared to ask -- and the butler made it explicit that he wanted out of this house and this household, now, where-ever he'd end up otherwise. The length of the Atlantic, a new country, new customs to learn, and all that came with it, were prices he'd pay. A garret was a price he'd pay, as was my company - to get out of here.
He did all this by nodding his head.
Sometimes, in real life, that sort of eloquence can be got from friends. Only in dreams do you usually get it from a stranger whose expression didn't change at all.
The weird urge to get me a butler like him pretty much died on the spot, and the urge to get him out took over.
The room was getting mazy and shifting, and not very friendly. I knew there wasn't much time, but my ride was already outside, and indeed someone poked their head in, clamouring with their own impatience, totally oblivious to the fact that nasty magic was about to try and swallow me. So I left the money, grabbed this great not-all-quite-human butler, and towed him along with me.
The trip blurred away, as it does in dreams, summed up only in a vague recollection of criticisms of unbelieving family, the same doubts recalled, and an absolute certainty that whatever had been going on in that house must be worse than it seemed for a guest, and that the ex-butler made no mention of it. All I knew back at the garret was that it was very nice to have someone to get a hot bath ready in the old wooden tub, and to wash my hair, and hold a towel for me after, without the slightest hint of distraction or interest at my brief nudity.
And a feeling that, since this was North America, I shoudl eb teaching him about this whole 'freedom' thing.
A feeling borne out. I woke after one week (And a big dream-time jump) to find him gone,a nd a note saying basically that he'd taken the first hunddred of his fair wages, and that I should send him the rest at so and so a place.
I felt simultaneously horrid, because we hadn't actually worked out a wage and I had no idea how much more I owed him, besides "A LOT". Ashamed, because I hadn't been encouraging him to strike out on his own before now -- because however much I'd liked the pampering, that wasn't why I'd done what I did. I'd let myself forget.
Equally strong was the sudden belief that something else was very wrong. That I had to find him now. There was some reason he couldn't be let go alone, that even if I made recompense for the wrong by treating him as an equal, he had to stick with me, or something very very very bad would happen to him. I was feeling that same kind of dark magic stirring again - not the same wizard, bt the same kind. I'd tripped into something very big, much bigger than just letting a butler leave a master he didn't like. I had no idea what was going on, but the feeling of warning was very strong.
So naturally, about the moment I found him again, and sat to ask him about it, I woke up.
___________________________
Can I just say those are really skewed class dynamics in there? Including some implied in the relationship "I" had to her family that I had to leave out.
I don't know about you, but what my brain does with a dream like this, so close to being a logical coherent story fragment, is to transmute the anachronisms one way or another, and to chew over the bits you can get away with in a dream (A non prescient character -- and "I" doesn't have the right feel for a psychic -- can't "just know" things as a dream-figure can.) It tries to recapture the moods lost in a straight re-recitation -- "I" In the dream is more bright and cheerful than I am, and the whole scenario weirdly sun-washed for a thing set mostly in interior spaces -- and then start poking into all the things one would need to research and/or fake.
And to wonder what's the deal with the fact that the first waking hypothesis I had was that this butler might be so willing to serve and keep serving, to be exploited in a modernish world, because he didn't actually have a soul. The second was that the whole could be moved back in time and feel more "right", the third that this didn't necessarily invalidate the first.
And dammit, I need to finish RtS.
I didn't mean to be at the computer this long today. The eyes are bothering me after yesterday's hours of photoshop. It just took a while to write out.
Goodnight.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-06-09 10:54 pm (UTC)Read a bit of "you" here, and since I followed you home, can I keep you?
*hug*
nice to meet you
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 06:01 am (UTC)Welcome! (And hugs are always good.)