A Dream Confronting Reality

[Dante Vroom]

December 5th, 2007
10:11pm

Dante rest his head, eyes closed and drifting into the unknown. The day was long, and he was quick to go to bed. A slam new object sat beside his bed on a windowsill. It was a gift he had received in the mail that morning, something unexpected. The package was addressed from an unknown “M. Bruno” who claimed to be an uncle from his mother’s side of the family. He had no idea that his mother had such a brother, but it was not important. For now all that mattered was getting to sleep. He lay on his back, with his head resting just below his pillow. He had slowly slipped off it as he drifted into the unconscious.

”Dream Dante, relax and let your mind drift. Find somewhere you are peaceful.” He did not recognize the voice, yet he felt that he should listen. Clearing his thoughts Dante pictured a place he always considered safe. Slowly in his mind Dante formed a vision of himself. He wore a robe that he did not recognize. It looked like a robe from Hogwarts, but the colors were off and an unknown insignia rested on the shoulder of the robe.

From this body Dante saw a room come into focus around him. More over he saw a house created out of nothing. He recognized this house immediately, eyes widening he wondered what was going on. It was the house he grew up in. The one in Italy, but something was different he was much younger when he lived in this house. It was no longer the place he considered home, and as such, it was not the place of much comfort for Dante.

Yet here he was feeling almost forced to be here. Which was made stronger when he remembered the voice that had encouraged him to relax, who was that? “Who are you? Show yourself as I can feel that you are here,” his voice demanded. It was a lie though, he could feel nothing. His nerves were numb he could not even feel the weight of the robe on his shoulders.

Several seconds went by and Dante began to hear a sound in the distance. Perhaps footsteps, at any rate it was verification that someone or something else was in the house. As the sound got louder he realized that it was not the sound of footsteps, but rather it was clapping. And here he thought this dream could not get stranger…

[Michelangelo Bruno]

Michelangelo had long planned on finding this boy again. And to stumble on word that he went to Hogwarts now was to convenient to pass up. So he sent the abomination a present, something he learned while in India. The figurine looked harmless, but on contact and as long as it was kept close at night, Michelangelo could not only enter a dream, and he could manipulate them to his own goals.

He had no intention of giving this boy all the information he desired. Though Michelangelo could sense that this boy had quite a lot of questions running through his mind. And unlike the other participant in this dream, he could sense such things. It was one of the several perks this idol offered. He would entertain this creature though, and so he created a home from it’s memory and watched the reaction. Toying with prey was so much fun.

Attention to detail, this…thing at least had the memory to put some extra things into the room. It was the closest to a compliment that he could give. He could not wait forever to do what he had to, impatience would lead to recklessness on one of their parts. So he clapped the hands he only just created for himself.

He had no reason to hide his true appearance from this thing, and so he did not. Arms connected to the hands, as newly formed legs allowed him to walk toward an entrance to the room. He paced the clap to match his broken stride, almost in a tempo, but skipping a second or two off every so often. It was almost intentional, but even in the dream he had unintentionally created his injured knee. A cane would not be required for it though, in the dream he could manipulate the pain it would normally have caused. And instead it felt normal, or as normal as a dream allowed.

He only stopped clapping to open the door to the room. He entered, keeping eye contact with…it. He remembered those eyes all to well, “Hello Dante.” His facial expression was blank, completely unwelcoming and unimpressed with the figure that stood before him. The door to the room shut itself as Michelangelo intended for it to do, and so he was alone in the room with the creature.

[Dante Vroom]

He was expecting to see someone he knew, after all this was his dream. He was able to recognize that it was indeed a dream; this was not the reality that he was accustomed too. He strained his eyes to scan the older face that stood before him. He was very good with names and voices, and figured he would be able to place a name to the voice when he saw the speaker, but he could not. Why would his mind create a man he did not recognize? It frustrated him, and a frown crossed his face. “Who are you to know my name?”

Well maybe it was a foolish question. After all this was his dream wasn’t it? At this point he could no longer be completely sure without several answers. Most important to him right now, was the identity of the man standing before him. There was obviously a story that he was supposed to understand here. The clapping old man, the home he left behind in Italy, every time he thought about the entire situation more he thought of a new question. It was getting rather frustrating. And this old man just stood there before him with a straight face wishing him hello.

He took several steps toward the man when his questions went unanswered. But he did not seem to get any closer to the man. One of those classic issues in a dream, how annoying it was to know that he could not approach this man; it was classic in that every step he took toward the man was meet with the room adjusting to his step. He would get no closer to him so long as that kept happening. “I asked you a question sir, who are you?”

He stood with his arms to his sides and waited for the man’s next move. Surely something had to happen on his part, because the dream did not seem to want Dante to make the next move. And so he waited impatiently for something, anything, to happen.

[Michelangelo Bruno]

The smile melted away, and his hands faded to his sides. How dare this mudblood ask so directly Michelangelo’s name. This thief had a lot of nerve confronting him in such a way. “In time, your ignorant bliss will end. Then you can know my true name, but for now you may call me Isac.” The meaning of the name was not lost to the old man.

He had sensed its importance on his first searches of the dirty memories. The expression of Dante when he heard the name was not lost to Michelangelo either. He reveled in it for a moment. Many more moments would be enjoyed by the man tonight. He did wonder if this boy knew any of the truth on his own. The right question at the right time though. More questions for now let the maggot squirm in his uncomfortable situation.

He knew the challenge of belief would be the hardest part of this. What he could tell of this…thing was that it was set in belief; which was what Michelangelo would have to change by nights end. Though this was a dream, time meant nothing here; he could condense the entire dream to a second or less of sleep.

“First, I shall tell you exactly what you are and through this you shall know who I am.” He shifted in place, allowing his left leg to take most of his weight as a scowl came over his face. “And, no I am not part of you, as you were thinking. We are of different minds.” He knew that piece of information was almost a give in by this point, but still felt he needed to spell it out. This was a halfblood he was dealing with after all. “You are an unfortunate mistake that refuses to accept where it belongs. You are a thief, a murderer, and the victim of memory altering magic.” He paused to let the shock of it all soak in.

[Dante Vroom]

Isac? But that could not be this man's name. This seemed to be a mix of Dante's memory. It must have been his memory confusing things, and it was unable to sort everything out. So his mind was confused, was this dream really that simple? Still more unanswered questions for Dante. And when this, Isac spoke more, the theory of jumbled memory went straight out. It was impossible that what Isac was saying came from Dante's own mind. But was he able to do anything aside from listen at this point? He doubted it. He tried to take a step forward, and at first he seemed successful. But the room did finally adjust around him, and Dante was no closer to this man than he was a second ago. Frustration clouded his mind, mixing with the use of the name it was to much for him.

“How dare you use that name, you are not Isac and you have no right to use his name!.” His voice was deep with a rage, the read of his anger tinted the very house the mind created in vibrant shades. This from the misuse of a name, and if Dante could have reached the man he would have quickly punched him across the head. But perhaps this was why he could not get closer to the man. Just as he began to calm, this man spoke more. As he started Dante shut his eyes in an attempt to shut him out. But it was useless, as so many attempts in this dream were. And he sighed again.

Not of the same mind? So he was not part of this dream, but could enter it? It had to be some powerful magic to create such a feat. Or at least nothing he had ever heard of at Hogwarts. He focused so intensely on that little part that he almost missed the barrage of insults. Mistake? Thief? Murderer?! But a victim as well? How confusing. He wanted to be upset about the insults, but the last one had him rather confused.

“So you come into my dream just to hurl insults at me? What a waist of time.” He raised his hand with the intent to show this man the door. Waiving him away, at this point he wanted nothing to do with this man.

[Michelangelo Bruno]

“How dare I indeed,” speaking as a smile graced Michelangelo's face. He had anticipated the name would trigger some kind of response, but the complete rage that Dante expressed sent shivers of glee down the old man's spine. “You have your mother's temper,” he laughed, through a frown, “just as you have her eyes.”

As he remembered the eyes his hand clenched in a fist. The room around them had changed just slightly in this creature's anger. A reminder to Michelangelo that he did not have complete control over this dream. He could control much of it, and he figured that this half wit was to dense to figure any of it's control out.

So he continued without worry of the previous thought. “Rather than become offended you should be happy that I am gracing you with this information.” He was responding to Dante's hand gesture that attempted to get rid of him. He took a step forward in the room, and unlike the disgrace, his step did get him closer to the target. “Perhaps I shall start with some other information though.”

His face wrinkled in anger as Dante prepared to protest, “silence,” he barked. “The robe you wear is that of the great Italian school of magic in Rome, Telendel.” He pointed then to the crest on the shoulder of the robe, the school crest. “The school was torn down many years ago.” He paused, distressed by what he was about to say. “Far to many wretched falseblood.”

He was sure the being would understand that insult, for it had been called such before, in the years it spent in Italy. The emotions this mind felt toward Italy confused Michelangelo. The trueblood thought there was much more resentment of mudblood in Italy than this land. Yet Dante seemed to think of Italy more as home than here. How could it consider a place that by all standards hated it home? Was it really that fool hearty? Apparently, so a lesson needed to be taught. “Like much of Italy, the tainted blood ran at the school before it closed." He grinned remembering that particular day.