---
title: 00059
created: Mon, 30 Jan 2023 21:41:56 -0700
updated: Mon, 30 Jan 2023 21:41:56 -0700
public: yes
syndicated: yes
---
### 00059 {#00059}

> Alex procures from a pocket of his trenchcoat a tiny vial. On the
> vial is a small strip of parchment which reads:
> 
> ```
> #!/bin/ash
> sleepy=true
> 
> sleep() {
>         while sleepy; do
>                 sleep(10)
>         done
> }
> 
> trap sleep INT EXIT
> ```
> 
> He empties the vial into a glass of warm milk and hands it to bread.
> 
> "Drink up friend, this'll relax and soothe you. You'll probably have
> the best night's sleep you've ever had"
> 
> Over the radio Alex provides a quick reminder to Marvelo.
> 
> "7, remember, should you need to wake bread to get us out you can
> interrupt or cancel the sleep script, Ctrl + C should work for the
> disruption work. Or if you need to you can set sleepy=false, if it
> gets crazy and you need to modify the metavarbalic properties of the
> enchantment."
> 
> Turning to Inky, "Eight bells and all's well, lets get this show on
> the road" 

Bread smiles and thanks you for the milk. They down the glass, smack
their lips a few times, and wipe their mouth with the back of their
hand. Their eyelids grow heavy and close, and they slump down on the
cushions. They're already asleep by the time their head hits the
pillow.

> Inky nods once at Alex's words and finishes off their own cuppa
> steeped with calea and thyme, and blended into osmanthus matcha.
> Lucida, Protege, Aware, Perfume. A meaningless mantra.
> 
> They glance to their owlish accomplice (who, she will remind you, is
> well-trained and needs no sleeping aid, thank you very much, unlike
> her impish charge) and silently mouth the words "Dude 215R" with a
> wink. Then they settle for a nap, chin pillowed on their forearms,
> which are propped atop drawn-up knees. A walking stick rests on their
> lap. A herb bouquet of pink blooms becomes an owl cushion. 
> 
> Inky dreamforms of a cream noogle. Puko. And Fuko is, well, still
> Fuko.

You light the Nyxmaer. The flame crackles and dances. It smokes
darkly, and the scent it gives off is thick and heady.

You breathe deeply of it and settle down to sleep.

When you open your eyes you are standing on the branch of an enormous
white tree. It's as wide as a narrow street. Its leaves are silver
blades that uncurl in the dappled light from below.

One of the first things you notice is that gravity is reversed here.
The branches below you reach down, grazing an endless sky. Small
iridescent jellyfish medusae drift lazily far, far below, catching
and reflecting the light. And the trunk thickens as it reaches up
overhead, where its roots drill into the ceiling above.

Because of dream logic, you know that in some way this tree
represents Kelsun Peak, Bread's home. And also because of dream
logic, you know that the branches furthest away from you in some way
represent the great dragon Lucin who lives deep in the mountain. And
they are just as dangerous. They sway in the breeze and seem to be
aware of you, and are for now satisfied at the distance you keep from
them.

There is a chipmunk sitting cross-legged before you on the branch. It
looks curiously up at you and says, "The Red Squirrel stole my
acorns! Are you going to get them back for me?"

You can feel a metaphysical tug in your gut as your orient yourself
to dreamspace like the needle of a compass. "Inward" you can feel a
tug toward Bread's deep unconscious. To their core memories.
"Outward" you can feel a tug away from Bread toward the shores of the
Sea of Dreams, where you may continue your journey through the
Collective Unconsciousness to the pocket dimension of the Wandering
Bazaar. You need not move physically to travel in either direction.
It's more a matter of choosing a destination, and letting the winds
blow you in that direction.

"My acorns!" insists the chipmunk, wringing its hands. "The Red
Squirrel has taken them all! Are you going to help me?"

WHAT DO YOU DO
