endless_epithumia: (go ahead I'm listening)
[personal profile] endless_epithumia
 Desire is restless. There’s an itch underneath their skin and everything they look at feels sour, stale, their flesh and blood palace is all too confining now. They need to be out and about. They’ll find some distraction, someone or something to play with to take their mind off all that foolishness Delirium was on about, trying to find their brother. Desire doesn't want to waste any time in maudlin nonsense remembering the way things used to be before Destruction left. Delirium acts as if that was the moment when things started to go wrong for them, but Desire knows different, it was always heading toward this point, because that’s how things go. The difference between wanting and having, and then the hollow absence in the aftermath. They won’t mourn the loss, because of that. It was an inevitability. 

And this makes their current feelings of dissatisfaction all the more irritating. They don’t like thinking that they can be drawn into the kind of sentimentality that gets their youngest sister going off on doomed little adventures, and they certainly don’t like knowing that they’ll probably have to go and pick up the pieces if Delirium falls apart again. So they resolve to distract themself, find something to pick and poke at so their interest is turned toward something more entertaining than irritatingly moral feelings of familial concern. 

That odd little patch of the Dreaming, for instance. Desire smiles at the memory, such a strange environment full of desperate minds, and no sign of their brother's handiwork anywhere. It's like a little snow globe someone designed just so Desire could shake it up and see what happens when the blizzard starts. Yes, that would do nicely. 

They stand up and brush nonexistent dust off their trousers and concentrate their attention on the feelings they got from that dream environment in order to find its source. The thread is there, practically tangible, unguarded and gleaming with possibility and easy prey. Desire almost thinks that it seems odd that such a place would have escaped Dream's notice and is just lying there, for anyone to find. Desire almost thinks this, but they are a creature of the moment and of impulses, and that kind of second-guessing does not suit them. So they tease the thread out from the weft of realities and brush themself up against it, just to get an introductory taste. 

They aren't expecting the catch as the little world snags against their essence and tugs them with more force than they'd expect. Desire pulls away, indignant that someone in some paltry dimension would presume to summon them, but they find they cannot disentangle themselves from this...whatever this is, and it's not like sneaking into a dream at all. Desire holds on everything they have, everything they are, their gallery and their Threshold, but the hold of temporal-spatial gravity is stronger, and after too brief a struggle Desire falls, sick and furious, into the world. 

Desire is standing on a sidewalk in a city, some version of earth and humans, and all the noise and chaos and emotions that go along with them. They narrow their eyes and observe their surroundings: tt is a throbbing hellscape of metal and concrete and neon, streets and buildings reaching up and intersecting at acute angles to force the pulse of life to bend from rigid lines into this swirling, sweating mass. Now this is very interesting indeed. It's all so shiny and full of wanting that it distracts Desire from their anger for the moment. It's some small consolation, Desire thinks, because the streets are (somewhat) cleaner and the skyline is sharper and there's no brothels or pornographic theaters like they remember, but they've been here before, and the beat is familiar. They've been pulled from their own palatial heart to a heart of a different kind, the heart of a city they've always rather enjoyed. If this is meant to be a trap for them it's baited well. 

Desire smirks up at the advertising, conceding to whoever or whatever caused this displacement that it was a hand well-played. 

"Hello New York," they murmur fondly. "My, but you clean up nice." They wonder what sordid enticements the city has to offer behind the ultramodern facade. They step away from the curb and cross the square in seamless rhythm with the pedestrian traffic. They'll keep a low profile for now, just another face in the crowd until they can find the party or parties responsible for bringing them here. Perhaps they'll take in a show. 

(ooc: Desire will be ambling up Broadway towards the park, feel free to bump into them!)

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