A/N: Based on a prompt on the RoTG Kinkmeme
Full summary:
Kozmotis Pitchiner is retired from the military, and now he just wants to spend the time he can with his teenaged daughter, while making a living as the occasional local handyman, and a bestseller author on books about military history. At the same time, he has his more eccentric neighbors to deal with, teenaged boys flirting with his daughter, and a lovely teashop owner and her sisters.
But things start to get strange. Kozmotis has strange dreams about black horses, of a woman who may or may not be his daughter, and a strange feeling that things in reality are not quite as they should be.
Prologue
We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
~The Tempest (4.1.168-170)
He dreams of wild horses, black as the night with pelts that seem to shimmer like star dust in the right light, while their eyes glow gold like lanterns.
Their bodies seem ethereal, their manes like wisps of smoke, but they are solid and the massive creatures that bite and kick, rearing above him as they scream, their shrieks echoing through the dark as their hooves flail. He tries to cry out himself, covering himself protectively with his arms, but he knows it is a hopeless task somehow...
Something startles the horses, something that makes them tear off, shrieking as they do so and leaving him alone on the ground. He is bleeding and gasping, his breath coming off as wet and rattling in his chest, and every part of his body feels as if it is on fire. 'How strange,' a part of him thinks. 'You shouldn't be able to feel pain in your dreams.'
She emerges out of the shadows, tall and strong and proud, clad in flowing emerald, her hair long and wild like a mass of storm clouds. With her is a small and round figure, and he somehow knows that this is the reason that the horses fled.
Her storm grey eyes narrow harshly as they look at the smaller figure, her expression one of cold anger.
"This is what you have reduced him to," she says coldly, her voice sounding like the far away rumble of thunder. "You know what you have to do, to make up for your mistakes."
The smaller figure seems to try to object, but she will hear none of it.
"You OWE me, Mansnoozie!" She snarls, her teeth bared like fangs. The golden figure seems to slump in defeat.
With a curt nod, she kneels down and moves to pick him up, her grip amazingly gentle as she straightens up. He hisses in pain, as the move jars a broken rib, and she adjusts her grip so that he rests comfortably in her arms.
"Dream." She tells him gently, her voice now soft and soothing, like a summer breeze through the trees. "And when you wake, I will be with you."
The golden figure seems to sigh, but he can't figure out if it is from defeat or annoyance. The figure tosses a solid handful of golden dust in his direction, and he feels as if it invades every part of him, every sense, every bit of visible skin... his body feels heavy, and he senses himself slump in her embrace, sinking into a soft, warm darkness...
"The day the squirrel went buzzerk in the
First Self-Righteous Church in that sleepy little
Town of Pascagoula. It was a fight for survival
That broke out in revival. They were jumpin' pews
And shoutin' "Hallelujah!"~"
"And Hallelujah and gooood morning to all you wonderful listeners in Burgess, from all of us here at Good Morning Burgess! That was Ray Stevens with The Mississippi Squirrel Revival, and if that squirrel didn't wake you up then don't fret! We got ourselves plenty of more music to wake you up on this beautiful Saturday morning! But first the weather-"
The radio was silenced with a sharp snap, as Kozmotis Pitchiner smacked his hand down on top of it, muttering a string of curses to himself as he rolled over to turn his back to said radio. He was so certain that he had turned off the damn machinery, since he had planned on sleeping in this morning. Bah, he had probably left it on out of sheer habit; When you had been in the military long enough, some habits were hard to break, even though a couple of years of retirement had allowed him to at least get rid of the habit of jumping straight out of bed when it wasn't necessary, like on a Saturday morning.
'I really should write them down in that dream journal, like Sanderson suggested.' Kozmotis thought idly to himself. 'Before I forget it or something...' But the bed was so very comfortable, and it wasn't as if it had been very important. Even now, as he was slowly dozing off again, he could only remember vaguely that there had been something with horses, and something green...
"Papa, it's time to get up!" A voice called at sudden, breaking into the sleepy haze of his mind. Kozmotis groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. While it muffled the sounds of the outside world, he could still hear his daughter give an exasperated snort of amusement.
"I thought you military people were all about getting up, the moment your alarm went off." She chuckled.
"Not when 'us military people' are retired." Her father grumbled from under the blankets. "And especially not when it's Saturday!"
Seraphina let out a snort of amusement, before she could be heard walking over to the bed, and sitting down on the edge of it. "Come on, sleepy head." She said. "Did you forget, that you promised to meet Miss Haroom later today?"
Kozmotis grumbled something, but sighed before he sat up. She was right, of course. He had promised Miss Toothiana Haroom just yesterday, that he would come by and help at the tea shop, because they needed to get some new shelves put up.
"Alright, alright." He sighed, "I'm up." Seraphina just chuckled, before she gave him a light peck on the forehead.
"I'll put some bread in the toaster." She said, before she got up and walked out of the room. Kozmotis just shook his head and took a moment to stretch out, before he climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom to get himself washed and shaved. It wouldn't do if he looked like some kind of hairy barbarian when he showed up at the tea shop.