capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

WHO:

sdrawkcabcigam
WHERE: Zatanna's house. Ish.
WHEN: June 20th, late at night.
WARNINGS: TBA. Idk.
SUMMARY: Arthur's worried about Zee and she is... frustrated and going to bed. Naturally, he decides to invade her dreams. :|
FORMAT: Whatever you feel like!

The last thing that Zatanna had needed was a heart-to-heart. Or, maybe, it was the first. It was one of those things she might say that didn't want but deep down did. No one else had asked how she was holding up. No one else asked about Lassiter. It was like he hadn't even existed. In some ways, it was easier. She was coping fairly well with him leaving. In reality, the problem was more that everyone else kept leaving. Or avoiding her. Or... whatever.

It was all of it together that had left her feeling as she did and the only person that had even bothered to ask her about it was the last person she had expected to. He'd been calm and patient and part of her had really wanted to talk with him about it, but... as always, she held herself back. Like the problems would just dissolve if she ignored them long enough. It never did, though.

The conversation that they'd had ended up leaving her feeling emotionally and physically drained. She couldn't even wrap her head around how she might feel if she'd discussed her life with him. Going to bed early felt like it was the only option to shake that feeling off -- you know, that one where you feel like your stomach is impossibly tight and it spreads to your chest and to your eyes, where an invisible pressure remains until you cry.

She'd changed into her pajamas and had half a cup of tea before climbing the stairs to her room, leaving the door cracked just a little before making her way to her bed and collapsing on it. Within a short while, Zatanna was asleep and dreaming.

Threaded | Flat

Arthur doesn't like to worry about people. It's not that it's an unknown emotion - after all he had spent two years worrying endlessly about the Cobbs, both living and dead, but it's something uncomfortable. Worry implies that there's nothing he can do, and Arthur is, if nothing, a doer. So while this may be a terrible idea, he does it anyway.

In his hotel room in London, he gets comfortable in a chair; lucid dreaming happens in chairs, not in beds, in beds he doesn't dream at all. He pockets his totem and rubs the track marks on the inside of his wrist - old scars, hidden by a watch, but the signal to his body is familiar and warm. Time to go under. Time to dream.

He finds Zatanna's dream quickly enough, and watches for a moment, taking time to walk through the streets of a city he's never seen before. Where is Zatanna, here? Is she in an apartment? The dreamer appears wherever the subject is, usually, and he adjusts his tie with secure fingers and begins to look for her.