God of Thunder and Rock'n'Roll (archmage) wrote,
God of Thunder and Rock'n'Roll
archmage

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Odd, detailed dream last night.

I'm standing in line, outside some store, or building, or something. It's dark. I'm there with two high school buddies of mine, Chris and Mark. Mark is, in real life, dark haired, but here it was kinda blond-ish and cut shorter (in a way I've never seen him cut it). Chris is, for some reason, in a wheelchair. Well, that's dreams for you.

Anyway, we're about to go inside and get tickets for something. Dunno what. Anyway, as we're in line, I find out just how much they will be, and count my cash to discover I'm a little light (they'll be $45, I'm carrying $30). Well, this is not good. I turn to Mark, and ask him if he has enough to cover me until I can pay him back, and if not that's OK, I completely understand (I know this is last minute). He says yes, and I'm relieved, but he seems sad. I ask if he's sure, I don't want him hurting or anything, and he says no problem, he can do it, it just means he'll have no extra when he goes to see Zoe later...no clue who that is, but in the dream, I assumed it was someone he was seeing. I tell him not to worry then, that's more important, but he insists, and goes off to make a phone call (presumably to tell Zoe). I feel pretty bad about it, but he won't listen to me.

While he's gone, I squat down next to Chris, and I ask him if he can cover me, figuring that, if he can, I don't have to take money from Mark. He says, yeah, he can cover it, but he'll need it back soon. No problem, I assure him, I just don't have it right that second, and he continues to say something like "if I forget about this, you have to get in my face and remind me." Mark returns from his phone call, looking even more hang-dog than before. I tell him the good news, that he can keep his money, Chris has offered to cover me. Instead of the brightening of mood I expected, Mark gets more agitated, and starts going off on things, seemingly at random. At this point, we all end up sitting on the floor, talking more.

It's still dark, even inside, and the winding line we've been in has left us right next to a bunch of people all seated in rows in front of some long table. As we try to talk this out, Mark gets more and more upset, eventually blurting out something to the effect of "Why do it, anyway, why not take that two hundred and seven dollars and make it so we can finally dance for the first time?" I don't know if Chris knows what he means, I sure don't, but I figure it has something to do with this Zoe chick. Lights turn on above the long table, where there is a panel of people staring at us, making remarks about our loud talking being disturbing. We try to apologize, and one in particular keeping going off on us. I get pissed off, start to respond. He insults Mark, and I announce to the seated mass that he's taken to insulting students, calling him a "real class act" (apparently, at this point, I'd determined he was a professor). He smarted off once more, and I loudly call out for some kind of hearing, which was apparently a big deal at this place. Some kind of institution-wide trial, honour council, etc.

So, I climb into the panel area, sitting next to Mark who is already there (and looking different now, more like a kid named Jay that I went to elementary school with, but not completely). I should note that the lighting is normal now. It looks like some kind of witness box from a courtroom, and I have seen that they are installing another on the far side of the room where there is a stage. Someone is coming along, plugging in microphones in front of the seats. I turn at some point to my right, see the professor that I accused holding some kind of stuffed animal, and jeeringly say "Scared now, Ulric? Gotta hang on to your woobie?" Professor Ulric...who is someone else completely...informs me that the only thing he holds onto is his Glock. I realize my mistake, tell him so, and say that I meant Professor Zapata. Ulric isn't listening, but someone else tells him the mix-up. Mark asks me why I went through all this, why I accused Zapata and started this whole hearing in front of the headmaster. It dawns on me at this point that I don't even know who the headmaster of this place is. I tell him that it is because I don't let people insult my friends, "I don't care if you are Sheik Al-Afaya or Joe the Grocery Man."

Some little old lady appears and then disappears again, and the entire witness box begins to be driven (as if it were on top of a bus) across the large room we're in. There are several crossing-guard-like people, trying to get us to slow down and/or stop, but we don't, we keep right on going. I remark on this to Mark, and we pull up onto the stage, only to find that the other witness box is gone and there are several round tables on stage, ringed by chairs. A podium is at one side, behind which is a young, red-headed woman in a long robe, like a graduation robe, only cream-coloured. She knocks a gavel on the podium and looks over the mass, seated out past the stage, making some comment about coming together for peace. I get angry, asking what the Hell is going on. I say that I have accused Zapata and demanded a full hearing, and I don't understand what this is supposed to be. She looks at me, a little annoyed, and says that we'll get to it, the actual hearing won't be for weeks yet, and I realize that I haven't had a chance to write down what all was said, get proper witnesses, etc. There's no way I'll remember the exact situation for weeks.

Then I woke up.
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