originally posted on my bishop labrador RP blog on tumblr. i'll probably be posting these there as i come up with them, and then publish them here to share with everyone else.
Dreams
Labrador never liked reminiscing about the time he was called Ilyusha, or the fact his life had been one large game until his time as a Ghost. The flowers could always sense this mood, and they would dance and sing in their little language, in attempts to get him to smile, or fall asleep, or to ignore the horrible thoughts of the past and the numerous things he would dwell on.
Sometimes it worked, and the flowers restless behavior would catch someone's attention, which would then lead a sister or one of the other Ghosts to find him. Other times the flowers would cover him in a dome, protecting him from the outside world as he lost himself in visions of the past and future, his sight dropping, and he would be surrounded by darkness and the comforting embrace of his babies.
And there were times the visions would be of pain, and sadness, and death, and memories of a time before Ghosts. He would remember Verloren, and Eve, and the Chief of Heaven's decree. He would remember the flowers, and the way the Flower of Eden flourished under the flow of his blood, the roots making their way under his skin, the feeling of being split open, of his body no longer being just his, the cognizant plant making itself comfortable in his body, in his skin, in his brain. He would remember that servant girl who only wanted to help and was devoured with his own hands, his own mouth, the blood soaked up and helping him grow and live longer.
Those dreams he would wake up, his hands covering his mouth, muffling the screams and the cries he wished he could give. Those dreams haunted him, and he knew more than anyone that if he could brush them off he would. But his dreams were always the truth, always spoke the truth. And no matter how much he wished he wouldn't remember, Profe would always remember: All the people who visited, all the people who prayed, all those who asked for guidance, Profe remembered every one. Every child who got lost in the flowers and listened to their incomprehensible ramblings. Every elder who was set in their ways but still wished for happiness. Every adult who needed that little push to help them set things right.
But the dreams of peace, though few and far between, did visit here and there. Dreams about the Ghosts not being needed anymore. Dreams of peaceful relaxation amongst his babies without a care. And dreams about Teito, Frau, and Castor being happy. Those were the best dreams of all. Those dreams comforted him, more than the hugs from Castor, more than the joking calls of Labrador-'kaasan/'neechan, more than the bright smiles he'd see on Teito's face, more than the whispers of comfort of the flowers. With those he'd awake with a smile, singing and entertaining the flowers for hours, not even bothering trying to see, bumbling about the garden blindly, a bright smile as bright as the sun for all to see.
It was those tiny dreams, thin and rare and highly unlikely, that kept Ilyusha Krat going, and made him grateful to be Profe, at least one more day.