What happens to your mind when you go to sleep? Does it lie as dormant as you are, or does it go to another world that you are only partly aware of when you wake?

What if behind your closed eyelids there lived another world, a world where things beyond your wildest dreams could occur. And what if while you were in this world,you are aware as you are while awake. You are in control of yourself, and to some extent, the dream itself. It sounds like..a dream. But what if your mind has a different idea. Not every body's dreams are pleasant.For some life is easier when their eyes are open...


It seemed simple enough, drink from the bottle and be able to go away to a world without pain. Where you can control the world around you. For too long it had seemed like she was without control.There was a piece of her that said "don't do it, this isn't something natural, no good could come of it", but she ignored it. Happiness didn't have a price. The rules were simple, drink from the bottle and you'd go to sleep. While your body slept, and the world went on around you, you'd wake up in a place of your choosing, living life how you wanted.

Rosalyn sat on the bed, the bottle on her lap laying prone in her hand. There were a few thoughts that had entered her mind since she'd met the salesman with the mysterious bottle. Why had the man approached her? What was on her face that said she would be a sure sale? Her eyes had always deceived her emotions, perhaps this salesman had been looking into a window to her soul. Reckless though as this was, she had taken some precaution. A letter and several more bottles sent to a few that she considered family still despite the miles or troubles that separated them. Funny how the man had said he would be able to track them down, get the bottles to them. It had to be some sort of trickery, but what? Who? And did it matter if it delivered what he had claimed?

She knew the answer because the bottle was in her hand and she was sitting on the bed. The note she had sent to Alterio, Razlor and Jane had simply said " I'm told this is to relieve your pain, to take you away for a short time to someplace where your wildest dreams can come true. I hope to find out that it's true. Enjoy. Love, Rosalyn.
And now after pondering over it for a week, she had decided tonight was the night. Popping the cork the bottle fizzed once and then settled,the bottle was merely the size of her hand,instructions written on the side, said to drink to your desire. She sniffed the bottle, letting the aroma drift to her nose from a few inches away. It was enough to make her retch, her desire would be only what she could stomach and she hoped that it would be just enough.

A last glace around the dreary apartment had her sighing and lifting the bottle to her lips. Holding her nose she drank until there was enough to swallow. the liquid falling down her throat in a teaspoon sized drink. At first there was nothing and she calmly stuck the cork back into the bottle and laid down on the bed, settling above the covers. Once her head hit the pillow though she felt immediately drunk, the room spun, and then as suddenly as if she had snuffed out a candle, her world went dark.

A moment, a hour, minutes, days, she couldn't be sure of the passage of time, her eyes shot open, blinded by sunlight. Blinking, she sat up expecting the room she left behind but instead finding herself seated in white sand along the shore..

"About damned time," Alterio said, kicking a goodly amount of sand onto the bits of Ros' legs that stuck out from the long skirt. It was clear by the bronzing of his skin that he too had found a way back, and had been there for quite some time. It was clear by the furrow of concern in his brow that he'd been standing over her, waiting for consciousness to return. Ros always had that fair skin, which took well to sun when given a chance, but one can't give the sun a full chance in one shot, lest they be burnt to a crisp.

He'd stood there for quite some time, using his body to shadow the sun's rays from hitting her directly.

Could he have lifted her and put her in the dunes under a tree? Aye. But that would have required his acknowledgement that he wasn't alone here anymore.

He'd returned.

He'd done it in similar fashion to the way she had, yet it hadn't been through spirits. It was from a poppy variety. Ah, poppy. The very plant Ros and Jane had so sternly warned him and Razlor about when they'd fooled with the girls' syrups so many years past.

It hadn't been syrup, though. No, there was a more sinister variety. It hadn't come from a healer, either. It had been from a ne'er-do-well making their fortunes off of the elite in society. One might have expected Anthony Carazzi to make such a purchase, what with society's tailspin into such things other than rye and wine, to harder substances to get one away from their pain.

No one ever said anything about a physical transference; just a mental escape, but that didn't seem to be the case, not in his case. And clearly, not in Rosalyn's.

Alterio's method hadn't been as pure as Ros's. Simply put, the poppy can be smoked, with a variety of pipings, but the seller hadn't been quite clear as to what else was added to the mixture to enhance it. Can't always trust the spice traders. Alterio had basically smoked the pipe, what felt like some time ago, and woke up here. He'd never returned to the place he'd been at the time of that transaction in a mainland's alley. Seedy, it was, that guttersnipe form of sale and purchase, but it had brought him where he needed to be.

It wasn't the first time he'd purchased it; no. It had become something of a habit, much of a habit as he'd once had making his rounds and checking that everything in his life was as it needed to be, in a comfortable, or sometimes uncomfortable, routine. Doing the rounds, going through the motions..ah, well. Times had changed. Life had changed.

The street vendor saw an easy mark in Alterio, and yet, must have taken some pity, for whatever was added to that last purchase...it brought him home. Now, for all Alterio knows, that last batch stopped his heart where he stood and his corpse is in reality, lying in an unseemly fashion, rotting in a gutter, but he can't find it within himself to -care- about that reality.

The reality is here. Now. Where things mightn't be quite what they seem. He knows not; hasn't had the nerve to go much further downbeach than here. Hasn't dared gone over the dunes to the path that lead to the all-too-familiar cobbles.

Momentary lapses have him recalling his own arrival. Wasn't on a dragon; was merely opening his eyes. Dressed more for the mainland than the beloved isle, he'd removed the overlay, keeping the lighter tunic on. That hadn't been off too long when he'd seen Rosalyn's unmoving form.

The sun had moved in the sky quite a bit, but he wasn't able to read it hours, as he'd been able to do with such great ease. Again, things mightn't be what they seem. It felt like an eternity that he'd stood waiting for her to waken, and yet, explain how there's a scroll in his pocket from her, if he'd gotten here before she did.

It's not making sense.
He doesn't -care- if it makes sense.
He knows what he knows right now, and that simply, the sand-covered toe of his boot deposited an ungainly shovel of sand on Ros's unsuspecting legs. He'd break into a roguish grin once she realized he was there.

Sand.Both familiar and since it was so long ago that she'd been here, foreign. It felt gritty beneath her fingers and...glorious, heated by the sun, smelling of the sea. And it was being puddled onto her leg....

Gazing up towards the culprit everything felt as though it were moving slowly, as if her mind needed to first absorb every detail before she could see the whole picture.

First to meet her eyes were the boots, expensive, supple, sand covered men's boots. Already her mind was jumping ahead to fill in the answer to the question of who they belonged to but her eyes focused slowly, drifting up two strong legs, a pair of knees, thighs. It was here where her manners prevailed and she avoided gazing so intently to avoid eye contact with a particular bulge, menacing or no.

So much time seemed to have gone by before she got to the familiar face and all to familiar expression, but in reality, her long traveling gaze from foot to head had lasted but a moment.

There was no surprise in her expression upon seeing Alterio standing there, in her mind's eye he was as much apart of this particular sandy beach as was the sand itself. Her lips curved upwards with a smirk that had often graced her face, and was almost as good as a greeting to somebody she'd known for more than ten years past. The sand was kicked from her ankle in his direction. The soft soled slippers she was wearing were not suited to the beach and with any amount of walking would fill with sand. It was as good excuse as any to remove them and then the stockings beneath before getting to her feet.Sinking her toes in the sand and wiggling them gave her enough of a thrill that it was easier to believe this was all real, as real as the grin she gave as she did so. Hardly was she ever this quiet, but she wanted to take this all in before it was taken away again.

Once she had wiggled her feet in the sand and lifted her face to the sun with some contentment, she turned her eyes to Alterio.

"You look good, maybe younger, is that the way I see you? Or the way you really are?" Did she expect him to know what she was talking about? Yes.He was here and it was supposed to be her dream. Or was it his? Waiting for his reply she reached out for his hand and pinched him on the back of it, that was how you were supposed to wake somebody who was asleep, was it not?

Oh, that bulge is ever menacing, alright. Don't you worry about that. Although it's dormant at this moment; what, you expect him to have become some sort of deviant rogue assailant of her sensibilities?

He's -still- not a barbarian.

But the good-natured smirk deepened as she averted the gaze. He'd caught the flicker in her eyes.
He extended his hand to take the slippers that she'd removed. He'd carry them. Although if he carried the rest of what she'd removed, that might be tawdry; people might think they'd just tumbled right there on the beach.

People? What people? He, as stated, hadn't come across any other. Too unnerved to leave the beachfront, for fear of it just a cruel illusion.

Right now, though, his fears didn't matter. She's asking questions now that he can't answer. So, of course, he allowed some playful arrogance to answer on his behalf, mayhap to disguise the fact that he -can't- answer what she's asking:

"Of course I look good. I always have, and that's how you've always seen me, for that's the way I really am. Brat."

When she pinched his hand, he jerked his hand back and popped her hand with his, as if she were an errant child. "What was that for? Do you forget I hit back?" he smirked, as he rubbed the pinch mark away. She'd gotten him good, too. Even though her nails seemed a practical length, he'd still felt the pinch. Surely she'd felt that pop as well...it's not like he hadn't meant it to sting.

"So then you still look like a pompous ass? " There was just time for a smirk before Rosalyn yanked her hand back protectively against her chest as it was smacked. "OW! I was just making sure you were not asleep!" she had to look away to cover the grin over the obsurdity of the statement she'd just made. Asleep? Of course he wasn't asleep. He was standing on a beach, how does one stand on a beach and sleep? And if he was awake , and pinching him had hurt, and as her hand stung now from getting slapped, then she must be awake as well, right?

Maybe it didn't matter, at least not yet. She could put the thought out of her head and simply bask in the idea that she..rather, they, were back on the island. On the island where the sun burned hot and was quickly making the long sleeved heavy winter gown she wore too much, but unlike her shoes and stockings, that wasn't something she was willing to throw off on the beach. It made her wonder if her house was still here, if the Pleasuredome was stilll standing, and what else, or perhaps who else there was to find.

"Alterio?" her toe nervously wiggled in the sand as she put a hand over her eyes to shade the sun as she scanned the horizon inland. "Is everything as we remember? The dome, the houses, I mean, the beach is lovely but we certainly won't be able to stay -here- all night"

He noticed the glinting of perspiration starting on Ros. That's what happens when re-exposed to the Isle's sun after so long. He'd had his own sheen of sweat, but the lack of humidity dried it; she'd soon find herself dry again, as if the beach was a desert.

She asked another question he couldn't answer, and this time, he couldn't recover with a quick wit, or sarcasm, because not only wasn't he fast enough to, there were moments, mayhap few and far between, but enough of them in days past that she'd know he was uncertain, and even a bit hesitant. Times like that, when he was unsure of himself, or his surroundings, he'd generally be less of the showoff, the extrovert, with enough bravado for an entire line of lineage..

He looked out onto the water, which was sparkling like diamonds.

"I don't know."

Looking Southwest, the Pleasuredome's roof was still clearly visible. It seemed as fresh as when it was still new construction and fully operational. As for the houses, he couldn't see from here. He hadn't seen another soul, til Rosalyn returned.

"I just don't know."

He wasn't sure if he wanted to, or was ready to, know.

"What say you," he asked, looking toward the dunes. He had a memory lapse right now. He doesn't know if he's seen the sun set since his return. Sunsets were once taken for granted here. Rising of the moon, while equally beautiful, cannot be maintained as an image in the mind's eye as compared to a sunrise or sunset on this Isle.

So his line of thinking, at this precise second, is: Can't we?

Can't they stay put?
Mayhap this is somehow a stop in time.
Magic, or a break from the mind's realities.

What if they find that they -are- the only two here? Or if this is merely a cruel illusion?

He didn't know what was worse. To know, or not know. He looked at her, troubled eyes locking with hers.

Rosalyn didn't like the look in Alterio's eye. He had oft been one to turn to when in need, when crisis were to hit, or trouble was looming, he'd be the first to say 'You stay put, or you hide while I stand here like I"m daft and take on whatever problem there is by myself' Well..not in those words perhaps.

There had been times though. Times such as the time they spent watching this very island sink as smoke billowed from it. Those were troubled eyes. Crazed really. Desperate. But she knew how it felt to watch your world disappear before your eyes. It was lucky he had lived to tell the tale.

This was different though. Different than when his mind would fail him, like the night he had drug her out behind the manor and dug up what should have been his wife's grave.It had been nothing but an empty hole, but the look in his eye had caused her to protect him not punish.That she had saved for Laura.

Night's he'd been, lost, for lack of a better word. Where his mind was someplace else. Likely...here. Times like that when he'd needed to be pacified with kind words and protected, most of the time from simple words, or himself.

He had been better in recent years, the last few she had seen him anyway, hadn't been filled with lapses in memory, or delusions of sisters who had long ago sentenced themselves to death. It was a wonder she herself hadn't had such experiences. No, her mind was clear, clear to think of all the terrible things that she'd experienced without the ease of forgetting for a little while. Wasn't that what it was all about? This island..she only vaguely recalled the laying down now, it seemed a long ago memory, even further was the exchange of the bottle and the scrolls.

"Maybe its the sun." she meet his troubled gaze with one of her own, and nodded mostly to herself as she realized the answer to her thought had been spoken out loud.

"We need to get indoors sooner rather than later, too much direct sun like this..well I have a feeling it can't be good for us." There was a gesture made to signify they may go crazy. She began to pace.

" And we can't drink salt water. Or eat sand. Have you anything to make a fire if by chance we were to catch a crab or something, you are more likely to catch one than I, I have no experience catching crabs.And Alterio, really, who knows what else lurks in the water at night."

They did know actually, but she didn't want to speak of it. She was rambling and maybe it was to cover her insecurities, but so be it. She hadn't caught on to the idea that maybe there would not -be- night. That would be another fear unto itself. No passage of time, just two souls on the beach with no way to tell when one day moved into another.

Action had to be taken, and, as in the times she had attempted to protect his fragile mind, perhaps it was up to her to do. He didn't know the answer to her questions and Alterio Carazzi almost always had an answer, even if it wasn't the right one.

Rosalyn turned in a full circle, slowly, not as if she were crazy, simply to survey their surroundings. The dome was there, if she could see its roof, then there must be a building beneath it. Slipping her arm into Alterio's she nudged him.

"Come on, if there is drink to be had I'm sure the 'dome is stocked with Rye, the island wouldn't disappoint it's favorite son."

He'd been wordless and soundless as she spoke, and his face drained a bit of color the more she spoke of them moving from this spot.

When she nudged him, though, he jerked backward, away from her. There's something in his eyes there that she can't be all -that- familiar with, for he's not generally a Mary;

Terror.

Everything she's said is right. No, they can't stay there forever. Unless, mayhap, they've died and this is their form of Purgatory. In that event, then no, they won't need to eat nor drink nor rest; and if this is Purgatory, then there are far worse scenarios than the Isle.

He knows she's right. Doesn't mean he's not inwardly panicking and showing signs of it when he went white as a ghost, or when the tic in his left eye flared, or the unceremoniously lurching away from her. Toward the water.

She had spoken of, yet not spoken of, the (depending on your point of view) guardians of the Isle, or predators, that lurk the Sandbar.

His boot toes were in the water and fins began to surface, as if there were an armada of Sharken daring him to take just one more step further.

His eyes went huge, really, and he backed up onto the shore. The fins disappeared.

He looked at Rosalyn in disbelief. He was stunned.

He set one toe back in the water. Half the armada rose again, just the fins.

Set the other foot. The other half joined.

He stepped back onto the dry sand again, and they disappeared once more.

It appeared there was no way out by sea.

Running from the unknown could only be done on land. It was known now, what could be run into, in the water.

He still hadn't spoken, unless you count the gasp emitted when those fins rose.

He took her arm. Color still hadn't returned to his features, and he shook his head.

Had they any choice but to follow Rosalyn's train of thought? No.

His shoulders were square, but stiff. Like a man walking to the gallows. But he put a stoic look on, gritting his teeth and trudging forward. His eyes would not go back to the waters for quite some time. While the sun still glinted like diamonds when its rays reflected upon the sea, there was no mistaking what they saw.

Februarys in Haven were cold and uneventful. The landscape was blanketed in snow, the sky perpetually cloudy, always threatening to snow, but never quite following through. Frost lined the window panes in the morning when Jane woke, and repainted the pictures the children had drawn there with their fingertips over the holidays. Jane found her dreary, chilly mornings brightened as she gazed at the outlines of trees and snowmen and stars, cradling a steaming cup of tea before preparing for her day. Gods, she missed them when they were away.

Things were going well. The mines were turning a significant profit. Thanks to her uncle's push for innovation, the family had been able to establish a new hydraulic mining project. Diamonds were no longer their only speciality, and gold had become a major export. Hestia had gotten married,and she and her husband managed the keep's agricultural endeavours. Jane oversaw the management of the household, and reviewed the finances of the business every week. The staff she had assembled were very proficient, and things tended to run rather smoothly.

The children were away at 'school', receiving unconventional lessons from Mairin at an enclave she had established with her newly recovered family just south of the city. Under Felina's protective eye, Mairin led Jane's brood and some others on a journey to understand truth in its purest form. Their brother, Maccus, handled academic studies, and was surprisingly engaging compared to the sisters. Aithne led intensive survival lessons, while their sister, Briannon, handled linguistic and artistic endeavours. The children were blossoming, and Jane was forever impressed with their progress, no matter how much she longed for them in the meantime. They were only a four hour ride away, and she often visited on rest days, when she had the time to make the trip.

Things were going well. She had nothing to complain about, not really. She kept her head down, got her work done, maintained forward momentum, and loved her family. It was all very fulfilling.

And, when Jane lay awake at night, the peaceful and prosperous keep silent around her, achingly and painfully dull.

She wondered what was wrong with her. She should be happy, thrilled. Perhaps she had grown so used to mayhem that she could no longer stomach a life of stability. She was restless and anxious, and found herself prowling the grounds in the early morning hours, and hacking at practice dummies with a newly forged rapier in the evenings. Perhaps it was that she didn't really have anyone that she could share her private thoughts with. Her past wasn't something anyone here could really understand. Her passions, doubts, and fears were kept to herself. It left her feeling very alone.

When her assistant brought a package from Rosalyn Lovine with her morning tea, Jane was elated. She missed her friend, the only person who had every properly understood her. When she read the missive, it was as though Rosalyn had known her thoughts. But still, she hesitated for a moment. What was in the bottle? What, exactly, constituted a short time? A million doubts clouded her thoughts.

She shoved them away impatiently, sick of always questioning, always imagining every possible consequence. Rosalyn would never send her anything that might harm her. The children weren't due home for weeks. Work at the mines was currently on hold due to the weather. Certainly, she could use a brief escape. Her wildest dreams were most inviting. What did she have to lose?

Opening the bottle, Jane sniffed its contents cautiously. The scent was vile, nearly enough to make her retch. Seems about right for such a concoction. Calling back her assistant, Jane instructed her to clear her schedule for the day, and leave her in peace. Surprised but compliant, the assistant hurried away. Jane settled herself in the center of her bed, and opened the bottle once more.

"Well, Ros," she murmured aloud, "bottom's up."

Holding her small nose, she tilted a small amount of the liquid onto her tongue. Screwing up her face, it took all of her considerable will to swallow the stuff. Once she had, she lay back and shut her eyes. Almost immediately, a wrenching nausea rushed over her. She thought she might vomit, and then a roaring filled her head, along with the sensation of falling.

Gasping for air, Jane's grey eyes flew open. She was suddenly still, her hands scrabbling at something smooth and hard. She jolted upright, blinking rapidly, wondering if Rosalyn had killed her. Where was she? In a booth? Yes, a booth. She was in a booth in a large, cavernous space. There were cages suspended from the ceiling. Hades then? No...no, something was familiar... She was breathing hard, steadying herself with a hand on the table, bleary like a drunk who had passed out in a tavern...

Or the Pleasuredome.

"Oh, Gods...this can't be real..."

"Alterio?" 'have you gone mad?' The unspoken words hung in the air as he lurched away from her. At first she reached out to grab his arm back, to tug on it like she were his annoying little sister trying to get her way. And so be it, she had tried to jest and be jovial about it but she wanted off the beach.

When the sharken fins surfaced as his toes hit the water her arm dropped back to her side and her mouth instantaneously felt as if she had the moisture sucked right out of it so that when she spoke her voice came out as a gasp "dear God's". Mesmerized, she watched the show the vicious creatures were putting on for them, it was clearly a warning not to go further and it was clear even more that they needed to be anywhere but here. Still she stood watching the water, starring out at the sunlight glistening on the surface, giving a false sense of tranquility. They had been reminded just how hostile the water could be.

When Alterio took her arm she jumped, startled out of her trance and ready again to get a move on, not merely holding his arm but clinging to it like a lifeline. Their mutual silence as they walked spoke volumes, but moving as if they were in a funeral procession soon began to unnerve her. Her eyes darted behind them every couple of moments, gazing back to the water as if they might be charged at any time not knowing if it Was it worse to know the danger was coming and most likely not be able to stop it, or just be caught unaware? There wasn't ever going to be a clear answer, not unless they were attacked,if the gods had any love for them she would never know .


The path to the pleasuredome was familiar enough that she didn't have to focus on where they were walking, instead she relived scenarios where the sharken had made their lives hell, where friends and loved ones had been torn apart, and the bloody mess left after. An involuntary shudder passed through her.

"thank the gods they stayed in the water" it was spoken outloud but she hadn't meant to and she exchanged a glance with Alterio before continuing. Now that the silence had been breached it was easier to speak " it's not as if they were specifically there for us. " there was more than a hint of doubt in her words, and even more in her eyes as if she didn't really believe it at all.

" and we will be safe soon, it's not as if they have followed us, or can get inside the dome" doubt continued to show it's ugly head. "it is not as bad as it seems, this was our home, we always knew what dangers were lurking out there and it was still a paradise for most of us, this isn't a bad thing. " she kept rambling in hopes to bring him out of the silence and to encourage herself to believe what she was saying. Her head still felt murky though, she told herself it was Just the shock of the scene at the beach, it would be better once they were inside, they would have a drink and figure things out from there.they were approaching the dome now and it looked like a slice of the heavens"look, we are almost there, it stands just as we remember it, perhaps there is even a minotaur behind the counter." One could hope.

"They won't come ashore. They're patrolling the sandbar." That was said in a monotone. How did he know that? Wasn't part of the Sharken danger that they -could- walk on land? It is. But much in the way that they couldn't explain anything that was happening, he felt certain they weren't coming onshore. They were in the water to prevent an avenue of escape for Alterio, or Rosalyn, or...anyone, to leave by water.

Mayhap the trick is to leave whence you came. How you arrived is how you leave.

So where Ros kept looking over her shoulder, he didn't. He wasn't afraid of the Sharken now.

Bah, if anything, mayhap he'd end up back in the waters, should this traversing of the Isle become too much to deal with, emotionally; at least there's a certainty awaiting under the crystal surface of the blue horizon.

He let Ros grip him and he was still very quiet. There was a tremor in his arm, well, his being, when they got closer to Pleasuredome. What if, inside, there was nothing they knew. Or no one. Or it was hostile. Or if there were duplicates in there..of Alterio, of Rosalyn. If this was a mindfuck waiting to happen.

He wasn't armed. His swordbelt was not on him. He'd sold the beloved bejeweled claymore a very long time ago. The one with the stones that were selected specially by him, each holding meaning and memories of adventures and growing wealth. He'd carried a longsword for some time now, with a relatively unadorned (by 'relatively', it only had a few small stones, although those small stones had a clarity and quality that could feed fifty guttersnipes for the rest of their lives if converted to gold or food) hilt. He could swear he'd worn that swordbelt when he went into the alley to meet the spice trader, and the absence of it now has Alterio a bit distracted.

He can't very well send Rosalyn in alone, as uncertainty lies within the doors ahead. But it's clear that he does not want to go in. "What if we j-just went over the dunes, to the Bazaar," he tried to compromise. The stammer in his words likely gave away his nervousness, if he was convincing enough physically and otherwise to project something other than nervousness...and it's not as if he could convince Ros very well. She knew him for far too long to buy his nonsense.

"This isn't what I had in mind..." Jane murmurs to herself as she slowly slides from her place in the booth. The room is empty, silent. It reminds her of the first time she ever saw it, when she was brought here, an escape from a world that didn't want her anymore.

It seems like another life, now. But really, isn't that exactly what it was?

She lifts a hand to her hair, half-expecting to find it cropped severely to her jaw, as it was then. But no, it still hangs in a loose, sleep-mussed braid over her shoulder. As she gets to her feet, finding her legs shaky beneath her, her gauzy white nightgown falls around her calves. Drawing her pale blue silk brocade dressing gown tight around her, she takes a deep breath and looks around.

Her wildest dreams? Well, yes, she supposes that returning to this place, of all places, would fit into that category. She should have considered Rosalyn's missive more carefully. It did not specify that the 'dream' would be a pleasant one. An uneasy feeling had begun to fill her gut. This, the emptiness of the space, the echo of her bare feet shuffling across the floorboards, the salt tang of the sea that hung in the air, it all seems too real.

What had she expected? A dream, she imagines. She had expected to fall into some kind of a deep slumber, and have some wonderfully vivid dream of the sort that might bring a smile to her face and ease the restlessness in her core. Perhaps something about her days in Meadowood, before everything went horribly wrong. This was not at all what she had had in mind.

As she approaches the bar, feeling small and young and hesitant again in this place that never allowed her any ease, a part of her realises that she really isn't surprised. Of course something that Ros provided her would bring her back here, to this place, to the place where they were all connected. This was where they had learned who they were, where their moments of greatest happiness and greatest pain coalesced. This was a place that would never leave them, not any of them, not any of those who survived to speak its name.

Crystal Shores.

It's the sort of place that never lets you go. The thought makes her heart beat fast, her breath catch in her throat. Is she trapped here? Maybe the bottle wasn't from Ros at all. Maybe the magic of the island had left its mark on her, had simply been biding its time, to catch her unawares. To drag her back here, to see to it that it claims her, as it meant to all those years ago.

It's all too real.

Jane swallows, trying to beat back the terror growing inside of her. Standing in the center of the space, not having made it to the bar, she sinks to the floor. Drawing her knees to her chest, she wraps her arms around her head and squeezes her eyes shut. She begins to breathe, very deliberately, in and out, imagining herself back home, safe in bed, as though by the sheer power of her will alone, she can make this all go away.

"The Bazaar? What, are we to go shopping now? I don't know about you, but I seem to have left my coin purse at home." She ran her hands down the sides of the navy colored gown to emphasize she was without everything that gesnerally accompanied her, notabley, coin, and her satchel, the satchel that contained all the various tools she needed for patching up a wound, or curing a headache. It was as important to her as a sword was to a knight, her weapon of choice so to speak. Not having it gave her further reason to be inside, and not out.

It was clear to her though that Alterio did not look forward to venturing inside the building. There wasn't a time she could ever recall seeing him like this, nervous, evading. Loosening her grip on his arm, she slid her hand down until she was griping his hand in a sort of backwards hand holding. It was meant for comfort, not romanticism.

"I realize I am not much help phsycially, in what ever sort of situation may arise. But, I've survived this long haven't I? " Giving his hand a squeeze she gave a faint smile " What I mean is that whatever is on the other side of that door, or over the dunes at the Bazaar, or at the beach, it really can't be all that bad because neither of us will face it alone. The link between us, whatever has bound us together over the years, it started here, because of this island. And whatever force brought us back here, it must be for a reason. If the reason is bad, then we will best it, but if its good, let us not ruin it by running away. "

It was as heartfelt as she could make it, and not a load of rubbish just to get him inside.It did worlds of difference for her own nervousness, maybe she believed her own words more than he would. She kept her hand over his and gestured to the door

" Can we please go inside? "

Whilst he could have argued with her and told her that they'd figure something out, be it bartering with a shopkeeper or seeing if the Registrar's Office was still standing, or the Silver Seaport Bank, he remained silent. Arguing wasn't going to get him anywhere: Not because she's a woman, and you simply can't win arguments with women, but because each alternative he could suggest brought more uncertainty.

Say they did go to that Registrar's Office and they weren't recognized. Or, if they were, and shunned? Same could happen at the bank. The fact is, -anything- could happen now. Alterio's hand clenched Rosalyn's, not in a bone-crushing way, but of one accepting the attempt at consolation and facing whatever lies behind those doors, together.

He appreciated her efforts in explaining what was going through her mind, almost as if she could read his; she didn't appear to be looking down on him for his hesitance to do much of anything but want to remain on the beach. She understood his fears, had fears of her own, but she was right. Together, they stood a far better chance, than alone.

With his free hand, he opened the door, but averted his eyes once doing so beyond a half-assed attempt of a cursory glance, going through the motions of sweeping his gaze to and through. The bright sun from outside did temporarily blind him somewhat, when the darker interior of Pleasuredome opened to them, so all he'd seen, really, were large white spots against a dark background. Any movement inside of Pleasuredome was obscured by those sun spots still in his eyes. His ears were what he relied on at that moment, and nothing sounded threatening.

He held the door for Rosalyn, and let her hand go to let her pass.

Curled in the middle of the floor as she is, trying to convince herself that she can't possibly be where she is, the sound of the door opening startles Jane. Hey eyes fly open, and at the prospect of meeting someone else in this place, she suddenly feels a bit foolish. She also feels acutely aware that anyone - or anything - could be coming inside.

She rises quickly, bare feet barely making a sound as she lightly sprints across the floor to take refuge in the booth she arrived in. Tucking herself onto the bench, into the corner, she slides down so that her bright, pale blonde hair is hidden. Tucking her dressing gown around her, she keeps her breathing shallow, and holds still, waiting to see if she can identify the new arrivals before revealing herself.

It's not fear, she reminds herself, it's just common sense. This island, for all its beauty, has always been home to a great many dangers, as well. There's no telling what may be awaiting her here. It's best to be cautious, especially since she's not exactly equipped to face anything compromising at the moment. She's hoping she won't be here long enough to have to be concerned with that, but also steels herself for the fact that she may well have to find something to work with. Some clothes would be nice.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she focuses on listening to those now entering.