[ Another strange thing Danse is learning about dreams is the way they can be inconsistent. In some of them, he's lucid enough to feel out of place, to recognize that something isn't right, to know things are different in the waking world even while he's bound by the rules of the sleeping one he's in.
But in others, the seams are much harder to see. He's never been a gambling man, never seen the inside of a casino like this one, but his mind doesn't have trouble supplying a comfortable reason for him to be here. There's good music, after all. He doesn't care if people are throwing their money away on the gaudy things around him; that's their business, and they can do as they please as long as he can still hear the singing over the sound of the slots. Maybe he's come here before, maybe he's only heard about it through word of mouth, but he's dressed like anyone else in the crowd, worn soft jeans and boots and brown checked flannel. He could be a regular.
But he doesn't think he is. He knows the song, but not the singer, and he would remember this singer. He's leaning back against the bar, glass of neat scotch forgotten in his hand as he tilts his head for a better glimpse of the man's face through the fence--there's the faintest whisper of a thought that it's missing something, some feature he's admired curiously before, something he would want to ask about, but it's gone before it even coalesces. There's no space to chase that dissonant little note when he can be soaking in the pleasure of that voice instead, and he switches off his racing thoughts to give himself over to that.
Danse hasn't expected the man to come over once he's finished his song, though of course he probably should have, seeing as how he's at the bar--and he certainly hasn't expected that look that takes the already-present little flutter in his stomach and amps it up. His mouth feels suddenly dry and tongue-tied in a way he doesn't think another sip of scotch will help. ]
I just arrived in town. [ He knows that now, with easy dream-certainty. ] I'm not really one for games of chance, but I heard the music from outside and thought I might come in to listen.
new reno
But in others, the seams are much harder to see. He's never been a gambling man, never seen the inside of a casino like this one, but his mind doesn't have trouble supplying a comfortable reason for him to be here. There's good music, after all. He doesn't care if people are throwing their money away on the gaudy things around him; that's their business, and they can do as they please as long as he can still hear the singing over the sound of the slots. Maybe he's come here before, maybe he's only heard about it through word of mouth, but he's dressed like anyone else in the crowd, worn soft jeans and boots and brown checked flannel. He could be a regular.
But he doesn't think he is. He knows the song, but not the singer, and he would remember this singer. He's leaning back against the bar, glass of neat scotch forgotten in his hand as he tilts his head for a better glimpse of the man's face through the fence--there's the faintest whisper of a thought that it's missing something, some feature he's admired curiously before, something he would want to ask about, but it's gone before it even coalesces. There's no space to chase that dissonant little note when he can be soaking in the pleasure of that voice instead, and he switches off his racing thoughts to give himself over to that.
Danse hasn't expected the man to come over once he's finished his song, though of course he probably should have, seeing as how he's at the bar--and he certainly hasn't expected that look that takes the already-present little flutter in his stomach and amps it up. His mouth feels suddenly dry and tongue-tied in a way he doesn't think another sip of scotch will help. ]
I just arrived in town. [ He knows that now, with easy dream-certainty. ] I'm not really one for games of chance, but I heard the music from outside and thought I might come in to listen.