Barnacle Squids & Awesome Ass-Kickery

Yet another multi-dream from Saturday night.  This one somewhat flows together, so I've made it into one story.  Yet another entertaining dream.  Well, the second half was.

Amanda & Jack

It is nighttime, and Amanda and Jack (from the show Revenge) are swimming in a rather upscale outdoor pool.  I'm Emily (the protagonist from Revenge).  I’m watching the two of them canoodle and swim around from outside of the pool.  Amanda is in a ruffly teal bikini.  As I watch the them, I notice that something is not right. Even through the water, I can see that she is not actually pregnant.  I can see that she has on a fake pregnancy belly.  It is some kind of gel base material, and it is completely see-through.

I get Jack’s attention, and point out the fraud that his fiancé is.  I’m now in the pool, making my accusation.  Before anyone has time to react, dark purple barnacles that are almost black start appearing on the sides of the pool, one by one. They are perfectly round with bumps and grooves covering the visible side, like a rough concrete wall.  Shortly after they appear, tight clusters of ominous tentacles jet out from the middle of each one.

 

After waving their tentacles about in a menacing fashion, the sea creature abominations begin to release what looks like squid ink into the pool water.  The 3 of us watch, frozen.  Upon touching Jack and Amanda, the black ink turns them into rough, crusty statues.  I quickly make my escape from the water, and start pulling other people out of the pool.  I run towards high ground, not knowing what might happen next.

From behind me, a tidal wave of water that is teeming with molecules of the toxic squid ink engulfs the pool below.  I don’t look back and run as fast as I can.

From a 3^rd person omniscient perspective, I see two men running from the tidal wave.  They are friends, running together, and they both look like warrior heroes from a storybook.  They’re running for their lives, but they know it is futile.  They are too close to outrun the wave or find any means of escape.  When the reach a stone embankment at the top of the hill, they sit down beside each other.  They’re exhausted from running so hard for so long.  They look at each other, exchanging a million words with one glance and clap each other on the back.  They’ve surrendered to what has become their fate.  They led noble lives and will die with honor rather than fear.

The two heroes disappear in the wall the tidal wave brings.  The water does not sweep them away or drown them.  Like the others, it turns them immediately to stone.  My 3^rd person omniscient perspective knows that they truly did die with honor, as their fit, stone bodies will in time become a highly revered and famous statue of two great, brave men.

I don’t survive the tragedy either, but my dream-camera doesn’t catch the details of my demise.  I’m sure it wasn’t nearly as Oscar-worthy as the two heroes, anyway.

In some way that I am not privy to, my statue transformation preserved my body.  I was converted to a different state of being.  To make it simple, I could say vampire.  However, I am now neither dead nor undead, not vulnerable to sunlight, and do not need blood for sustenance.  So not a vampire at all.  My hair is jet black, my skin is as white as snow.  My eyes are ice blue surrounded by darkened eyelids.  My fingernails and teeth are long and sharp.  I move quickly and gracefully, but cautiously and a bit strangely.  The important detail, however, is that I am a true bad-ass.

I am wandering the streets.  Everything is unfamiliar, as if I’m not from this world anymore.  In a small pharmacy/grocery store on the corner of a street, I see a girl trying on lip gloss samples.  She’s bent slightly forward in front of a make-up display from which a white robotic hand applies the gloss to her lips.  This fascinates me.  As soon as the girl moves on, I cautiously approach the display.  All of the glosses are a thick pomade substance has been completely saturated with glitter.  I pick a metallic silver color, and the hand reaches for me.  I recoil, ready to attack.  The hand waves around, trying to find my face.  I lean forward and allow the application.

Surly, unhygienic bad guys of no specific origin come crashing through the doors with growls and menacing laughter.  The store’s shoppers squeal and yelp and run for cover.  Everyone scatters.  I examine the men calmly, From out of nowhere, I whip out my gleaming black cane.  There is a silver cap on one end, and a miniature scythe blade on the other end.  With wicked precision and some bad ass moves, I puncture each villian with the scythe, turning their skin and everything beneath it into disgusting necrotic tissue.  One by one, they fall to the floor, dead.  Not once does my face loose the expression of disaffected calmness with a hint of curiosity.

The shoppers and employees come out of hiding.  They all come towards me, gushing and singing my praises.  I turn and resume my make-up fascination.  One of the shoppers, a girl, follows me, chattering away.  I pick four things that I want: the silver lip gloss, along with a firetruck-red one (equally as glittery), and two fingernail polishes – one red, one black. When I take the merchandise to the cashier and show it to him in my spread hands, he nods in understanding: I’m taking these because I saved your asses.

Illyria

I start to leave the store, and pass one of those crappy display mirrors that is just flimsy papery material.  My face.  I’m reminded of Illyria (from the show “Angel”).  A gothic Illyria, black instead of blue.  But the eyes and expressions are identical.

With the chattering fangirl still following me (she reminds me of Abby Normal from Christopher Moore’s “Bloodsucking Fiends” trilogy), I wind up in a cozy museum.  I’m wandering, looking at this and that, and getting extremely annoyed by a small child who is shrieking and playing with a giant, dead mantis head.  He’s thwacking it on the ground repeatedly and yelling things.  When my patience breaks, I thrust my scythe cane’s blade into the side of the mantis head.  Now it is a reanimated mantis head, flopping about, that turns on the small boy.  I assume it wants to thwack him on the floor some.

More nondescript bad guys converge on the 2^nd floor lobby where I’m entertaining.  I ninja all over the place and slay them all.  Everyone is cheering and amazed and grateful…. and I don’t seem to mind either way.

Illyria

I wander back outside to the sidewalk and spot 3 more bad guys.  These three look like street thugs.  They are harassing a small, young Asian woman they’ve pinned against a white older model car.  I approach them at a normal pace.  She manages to slip away, and attempts to hide underneath the car.  As she’s attempting to shimmy under, the scene erupts in a blaze of gunfire.  With spins, kicks, and neck snapping, I kill two of the thugs.  The third has run off as his comrades were being pulverized.

I spot him down the street in a forest green Mustang convertible.  I fire a gun at the car.  In a panic, the mobile thug crashes through the window of a shop.  He is now stuck in his car.  With one more shot, I’ve got him.

I wander back to the museum.  The scene girl who has been following me this whole time is now telling me about how she is devoted to me and is my number one fan.  She is annoying the crap out of me, but I let her live and mostly ignore her existence.  Back up in the 2^nd floor lobby where a group of my fans has gathered, I entertain them with simple hand tricks, moving my hand faster than the human eye can register.