I see alot of these going around the OP fanfiction section. But for one, this one isn't going to follow the rules all that much of a 'girl falls into OP' work. Hopefully I can pull it off successfully, and so, please, give it a shot and see how it turns out.

-Kagetaka

True Dreaming

It really started off as nothing more than a strange dream. Every night, Demetra would dream the same thing, an open blue sea, an endless sky, and a crew of notorious pirates. Next thing she knew, she went from being an invisible bystander to something more in her dreams. And soon, Demetra learns that there is much, much more to her seemingly innocent nightly trips to another world.

Prologue

The Dreamer's Tale

--

I take a shower, blow dry my hair, brush my teeth, climb into pajamas and hop into bed. But none of that is significant. Because it starts the same way every night.

I stare for hours up at my ceiling. It is dark. Closing my eyes does not make a difference. But no matter how long I watch the roof above my head, a different sort of darkness claims me, drags me down to the depths of sweet, dear, merciful rest.

Sleep ended for me around a month ago. When I woke up, the ceiling was no more. The sky was blue. My walls were gone, replaced by an unending cascade of blue, blue, and more blue. The bittersweet stench of salt struck my nose and flew out of bed, doing the only thing I knew to do in this situation. I screamed. And screamed and screamed, yet nothing happened, no one came running, not a single kidnapper to shut me up. What was going on? What had happened? Where… was I?

When I ran out of air and finally overcame my initial shock, I looked around, like any sane person. Alright, so I was obviously exaggerating things in my panic. I wasn't completely surrounded by the sky and the sea. The peaceful roll of the planks beneath my feet slightly upset my head and stomach fluids but I hoped I could manage. My state aside, the second things I noticed were… the tackiest dressed people I'd ever seen in my life. A part of me wondered if they were some sort of heavy metal band traveling on a ship. A quick glance up to the sails proved otherwise as a jolly roger stared back down at me with its blank accusing eyes, as if it were telling me I should not be here. Pirates. My heart stopped. I was on a pirate ship. And the pirates did not look the part of friendly people. At all. In fact, the only thing funny about what was going on was the fact that I was in my pajamas. On a ship.

But these people… these… pirates. They were not looking at me. They weren't even acknowledging me. As if I hadn't just screamed for five bloody minutes straight. They ignored me, so I stood up and looked around. Apparently I was allowed to, given that no body had stopped me yet. Meekly, I went to tap the closest person to me and almost screamed again out of shock when my finger penetrated his skin and went out the other side of his shoulder.

I was… intangible. The last thing I remembered was falling asleep. This was a dream. But this thought didn't assure me at all as I saw the ocean and even tasted the salt on the wind. It was so real. I thought it was a dream. But it's been happening every day since last month-

--

The heavy sounds of feet heading up the stairs caused Demetra to slam her hand across the newly inked page- wincing when she realized what she had just allowed surprise to do to her. Carefully, she removed her hand and breathed a sigh of relief when the writing turned out to be mostly intact. Her hand, on the other hand, had not been so fortunate.

"Demetra, honey! Dinner!" Her mother called, apparently having stopped on the stairs, not bothered to continue the rest of the way her voice could carry. "One minute, young lady!"

"Be right there mum!" Demetra quickly called back, holding her ruined hand away from her bed sheets and quickly stowed the still open diary underneath the bed. Hopefully the dust would not damage the pages. Hastily, she made for the bathroom and seized a bar of soap, scrubbing furiously at her hand before rinsing. Grey lines were still visible where the ink had been, but it was satisfactory. At least her mum wouldn't throw up a storm about it.

She took the stairs, two at a time, turned the corner and reminded herself to calm down and compose herself before attending to the dinner table. It didn't work, seeing how she was still out of breath when her mother turned to greet her with a frown.

"Demetra- must you always be cooped up in your room doing god-knows-what?" She scolded, bustling her dark-haired daughter to the table and pressing her to sit down. "And Demetra, dear? What have I told you about that make-up?" The older woman rebuked.

"Not to lay it on too thick." Demetra muttered sullenly, half-heartedly rubbing at her eyes, which were heavily accented by her black eyeliner.

"And the boots need to come off." Her mother added, shooting a glare at the knee-high metal studded boots Demetra wore. "Honestly Deme, I don't see what you teenagers see in this so-called 'Goth' thing."

Demetra rolled her eyes, carefully averting them so her mother would not see. "I'll take them off mum. And that's just it. It's a 'thing'. Nothing to get too worried over." Before she nearly stood up, Demetra quickly sat down again and mumbled, "May I please be excused from the table?"

"Yes dear- come back right away when you get that dreadful makeup off and those atrocious boots too! Honestly! Street clothing is fine for school, but not at my dinner table, young lady!"

"Yes, mum." She placed sarcastic emphasis on the 'mum', but turned obediently to leave the table.

Her nostrils flared. "If you expect me to take that attitude from you, then you may as well skip on dinner." She sniffed. "Demetra Traumer?"

"I- I'm not that hungry!" It wasn't true. She was starving. But let her mother think she was fine, she would know no better like the rest of them. They would brush it off as some teenager's hormone thing.

Once more, she took the steps, two at once, ignoring her mother's ranting which echoed in her ears. Her head was starting to ache, so she flung the door open to her room and swiped the pen off her bed and replaced it back on her desk. Then she pounced on the unoccupied bed and inhaled her own scent from the sheets and the comforters.

"Deme!" A series of rapping rang against her door. "Deme, I brought dinner up."

"Thanks Kyle…" Demetra muttered wearily, and swung herself from the bed and unlocked the door with a click. "Thanks… a lot." She repeated herself, taking the dish without really thinking about it.

Before she could close the door and lock it again, her brother stuck his foot through the door and shook his head. "Deme. We're all worried about you."

"I know that." She responded tiredly. "You don't have to though. I'm fine." Somehow, her brother seemed to see through every half-lie she came up with. Then again, she was closer with her brother than she was with anyone else.

"No. No, you're not. You need to stop going out. With those friends of yours."

"They're not my friends. I broke off with them last year, Ky." Demetra replied, starting to grow exasperated.

He blinked once, but remained undeterred, "Then I shouldn't see you retching your guts out in the toilet after dinner anymore, should I?"

Weariness gave away to the cold, sharp, sting of surprise. "Wha…? How did you find out?"

"It's not that hard. You know they teach us those symptoms at school. And those people you used to hang out with- please don't tell me you think this is natural." Kyle muttered darkly, gesturing at his sister's unnaturally slim body. "Do you think this is beautiful, Deme? Cause I don't."

"You're a guy. And my brother." She answered flatly, clearly unimpressed.

Now he was also starting to grow annoyed. "Deme, that's the point. I'm a guy. And your brother. I see attractive girls all the time and trust me, this ain't attractive. You look like death came to life in human form. Now eat that." He groaned when she eyed the dish warily. "Look, 200 some calories isn't going make you the least bit fat at all. Eat! And don't let me catch you- oh screw that- don't you dare throw it all up, you hear me Deme? You're killing yourself!"

That was her brother through and through. Always the source of logic- logic that she didn't seem to posses much of when it came to her looks. She looked down at the cooling dish and reluctantly gave a small nod. "I know what I'm doing isn't… right. But… do I have to finish it all, Ky? You know I can't handle too much."

He shot her with another hard stare, but finally relented and softened. "All right. Eat half. No throwing it up. And I'll leave you alone for now. But one last thing. That's not makeup either, isn't it, Deme?"

She stared back at his departing back, but he halted at the door for her answer. "No." She answered finally, slowly. "No, it isn't." Demetra sighed, reaching up to massage the dark circles beneath her eyes. The door clicked shut and so did her eyes. "I told you. Sleep stopped a month ago for me." She said aloud to nobody in particular.

Sighing once more, she set the dish on the table next to her bed and settled down on top of the sheets, aimlessly glaring at the ceiling. Dutifully, she took one or two bites of the food her brother had gathered for her before pushing the rest off to the side. As usual, she didn't remember when her eyes stopped gazing at the ceiling, and when it had been replaced by the searing blue sky.

--

The pirates had clearly stopped to restock on supplies. Demetra opened her eyes and found the ship devoid of activity and life. Struggling to her feet, she almost lurched to the side when the waves gave the ship a particularly nasty throw. Nausea flooded her senses once more with a vengeance, and her head pounded even more fiercely than it had when she had been running up the stairs. All together, her body was punishing her ferociously for her abuse of it. Perhaps Kyle was right; screw her habit and her looks. Clearly if she ate anything right now, it would be used immediately to reinforce her failing body. Maybe if she just ate enough for that…

The plank was still set, from the deck to the dock, guarded by a single punk sporting shades and a Mohawk. A lower tier crewmember. By now, Demetra knew fully well none of these dream people could see, much less, interact with her. She was in her world and them in their own. It took a moment more, but the pounding eventually dissipated. Once she had regained control over the rest of her senses, Demetra stumbled from the ship, inching her way down slowly so that she would not topple into the ocean in her state.

As expected, the underling didn't even look up when she staggered past him, her platform boots making down clopping noises as she stumbled down the plank and onto the dock. Even less surprising was the lack of people wandering around town. Her month-long stay in this world had taught her several things about the crew that piloted the ship she always awoke upon.

Apparently they called themselves the Kidd Pirates- courtesy no doubt, of their captain's name. And apparently they were supposed to also be extremely dangerous- but she had yet to see any such danger happen yet. Her entire month had been merely spent wandering up and down the ship as an invisible specter, watching the proceedings while she waited for her alarm to yank her from this strange dream world.

But this time, the ship was docked and there was dry land beneath her feet. Demetra didn't know what sort of gods this dream world worshipped, but she must have done at least something right up till now that they would give her such a relief. No rocking ship to drive her crazy or to unsettle her stomach. And no bizarrely dressed people and their loud voices echoing around her head.

"Like I have a right to talk. I'm the Goth here." She muttered angrily to herself, not really watching her path. Not like it mattered either, she was intangible to everything and anything, they simply went through her.

She tried the first shop she found- which turned out not to be a shop after all, but a bar, filled to the brim with the exact same pirates she had been sailing with unknowingly for an entire month. Their fiery-haired captain was sticking out like a signpost, despite the fact he was gathered in a corner with his inner circle. "Oh great. I just can't get away from them, can I?" Already the heavy musky scent of alcohol and the ringing of laughter was already causing her head to pound again. Immediately, she turned to leave, and merely phased through the swinging doors, before trying the shop across the street.

Demetra wondered what these dreams were all about. Very seldom did her dreams actually… continue. Like a story and its sequel. It was strange, bizarre, and a little scary, but the shock had worn off after the first week. Now she expected to come here every night she closed her eyes.

But the novelty of it all was wearing out even faster than ever. Same old sea, same old sky, same old rude, disrespectful louts that ran this ship. She had to admit this trip had been an unexpected surprise, but she shook her head ruefully as she eyed all the items she could see but not touch, possess, or buy. Guns, swords, all the good stuff, from weaponry to luxuries.

Really, in the end, there was nothing to do but return to the bar and wait for the entire crew to finish their impromptu party and follow them back to the ship. With a final regretful look at the silken black scarf that had caught her eye, Demetra wandered out through the walls and passed back into the bar sullenly. No one noticed, as usual.

The newer and less powerful members of the crew never discussed anything remotely interesting outside of their next raid or perhaps the 'pathetic wimps' they had recently beaten up. Demetra stiffly looked around for the first couple minutes before giving into her curiosity and heading towards the captain's table. There was an open seat next to the masked 'Massacre Soldier' Killer, so Demetra slid into it gingerly, every so often shooting a nervous glance at the people around the table, insuring that they could still not see her. Furthermore, Killer never seemed to do any drinking, hence he was perfect to stick around.

"We're reaching Sabaody in another two days, Kidd." Killer suddenly spoke up. Demetra snorted softly- the man's voice was surprisingly clear despite the fact his entire face was blotted out by the blue and white mask. "We'd better not be staying on that place for too long."

The captain shot his first mate a saucy look, encouraged on by the drink. "Please. I'm not scared, you're not scared, hell, the rest of us ain't scared. What are you so worried about?"

"Overconfident much?" Demetra mumbled to herself, almost enviously. "Someone needs to deflate his head a bit. Amazing how that ship of his remains afloat when he's on it." One of the loveliest things about being essentially intangible, invisible, and un-hearable was the fact she could insult someone to their face and they would not- could not- retaliate.

"I'm not doubting anything. But perhaps I can remind you that we'll be practically tapping on the Marine HQ's front door? Not to mention the Tenryuubito will undoubtedly be seen on the archipelago as well. We can't even pick a good fight there, Kidd."

Looking like he had been slapped, Kidd looked away, muttering an almost quiet "Damn" that Demetra- and no doubt Killer, caught. "Alright. We stop long enough to get the ship coated, then we're outta there. No fun in a half-assed place like that."

"Indeed." Killer responded dryly.

The table fell silent once more, leaving Demetra to her own thoughts. Sabaody Archipelago was there next destination, and however long it took a ship to be coated was however long it took for her to be able to explore the next location of interest. Maybe the dream was finally getting interesting.

Conversation did not seem to be returning to the table, so Demetra heaved a disappointed sigh and started to re-analyze the upper tier crewmembers once more. There were two in particular she had yet to hear names of- one man with a slightly uninterested look on his face with a pair of giant horns constructed of hair sticking out of his head. The other simply resembled a giant zombie with long wavy blue hair, stitches, and tattoos.

On the other hand, Demetra turned to observe the masked man besides her. Even when she had dreamed of this world when it was dark, he had retained his mask even in bed. It was somewhat frustrating, since his face was a mystery and mysteries begged to be solved. Given his general demeanor, at least he seemed more cool-headed than his captain. Here, she chanced a look at Eustass 'Captain' Kidd.

By now she understood that unnatural hair color could be natural in this world- yet she didn't really want to find out if his was naturally red. And it was spiky. In her world, he would have made a fine musician in the heavy metal industry, perhaps. He and his entire crew. Demetra snorted again- he acted and dressed worse than most of her former friends. Furthermore, he was almost as pale as she was- but of course, she was even paler still, since she always avoided the sun when she could help it, whereas it had to be difficult avoiding the sun on a ship you were captain of.

The bar doors swung open again and instinctively Demetra turned her head slightly and peered out from the corner of her eye as some no-name swaggered in, seemingly unaware of the semi-hostile glares he was receiving. On her right, she felt Killer tensing up, so she quickly shot out from her chair and strode away from the table, making her way to the doors.

Even if she was intangible, she didn't really want to stick around when the unknown person started picking fights. Pirate brawls could never be fun, and Demetra didn't want to know if they could be fun or not.

Unfortunately, she heard the intruder mutter something and obviously some of the closer crewmembers took offense to whatever he had said and launched themselves at the strange man. Then she quickly snuck a second glance at Kidd and groaned. He was more temperamental than a Gila monster!

He didn't seem to mind that his men were actually losing to one person, but rather, he stood with a wide grin on his face- one, Demetra knew, wasn't kind at all but filled with some form of cruel amusement that even caused her to cringe, despite the fact there was nothing he could do to what he couldn't see, hear, or touch. Without warning, he lashed out with one of his hands and suddenly, kitchen utensils- namely the forks and knives, were sent hurtling at unimaginable speeds towards the intruder, who didn't even have time to blink or rue his fatal blunder.

Demetra slammed her eyes shut before the blood could even start flying- this wasn't what she had wanted to see. The mocking, cruel laughter of the pirates and the possible body on the ground. She wanted to hurl- naturally, for once. Quickly, she stumbled from the suddenly stifling bar and nearly collapsed into the abandoned streets. Numbly, she sank against the wall of the bar and gazed emptily into the sky.

Her lips curled as she wordlessly snarled. Disgusting beasts. How could they so easily…kill? Surely a couple words wasn't worth a man's life! Nothing gave them the right to do as they did, and yet she had no choice but to awaken every night on their ship and watch the things they did.

Her stomach gave a sharp twinge, the only warning she had before bile threatened to rise in her throat and quickly, she swallowed thickly and forced it back down. But it still didn't stop her entire body from heaving as she went to her knees clutching at her clenching throat. Demetra closed her eyes and forced herself to take several deep breaths.

But when she opened her eyes again, trying not to think of the unfortunate cocky moron who had picked out the wrong bar to enter and the wrong occupants to insult, nothing but the faded white ceiling and the stream of sunlight falling through her open window greeted her eyes. Her alarm read 6:48 AM.

Her heart hadn't stopped pounding, however. And her stomach was growling again. Grumbling some half-hearted oaths, Demetra hauled her body to the edge of her bed and eyed the cold leftovers, swallowed up her pride and picked up the fork.

Nothing helps me more than constructive criticism. Flames, or personal rants on 'I hate OCs in fiction' will be used for my personal entertainment.

So please, review, favorite, do something to show me that people are actually reading this. Even if you're just dropping in to say hi. Thank you.