COMM: shifted_prompts - morpheus
VERSE: realityshifted
WORD COUNT: 1011
NOTES: WELL... now we kind of know when this is all set I guess.




It wasn't often he was possessed by his own creativity. Sure, he was a man who could ooze it, but he could never say he had a 'muse' of sorts. That was bullshit, people didn't have those sorts of things; they just either got things done or didn't. A lot of his days were like that- he either was brimming with the need or desire to write or just completely dead in that department. It was turning out to be one of his more creative days.

Ever since leaving Charles' office, his thoughts had turned to sitting down somewhere and just banging out lyrics. It was early, but fuck if he could tell himself to not write. He wouldn't be interrupted for a few hours; no one else would be up for a while. At least there was that.

He had a room to himself where he went to write. Nobody except himself and Charles had the key - he made sure of that. He didn't want to be interrupted when he retreated to there, and that was about the only way to do it. Lock everybody else out; lock himself in.

On the desk was a book. Physics of the Impossible. He, Toki, and the Doctor had picked it up but it seemed to be completely useless. It was blank, cover to cover, with almost nothing of note to it. He had idly flipped through the pages, seeing if there was anything to read or look at. When there was nothing, well, he had decided the only thing to do was to write in it. Things from space were pretty fucking bizarre, so maybe that was how to get it to work. After all, the letter that they had gotten mentioned both books, both of them being important somehow...

It didn't matter. He pulled out the chair, then sat down in front of it. He pulled out his glasses and grabbed a pen. Nathan flipped open the book to a blank pages, passing by Toki's scribbles and some of his own half-assed attempts at writing lyrics. There were some gems in there, but he wasn't sure he'd be expanding on any of them now. It wasn't the right time for those ones.

As soon as he pressed his pen to paper, he wrote like a dervish.




And when he was done, light was blaring in through the window; the torches and candles had long since died out. He squinted over his glasses and out said window, trying to see if he could gage the time from it. All he could gather was, well, there was the fucking sun, and there were some clouds. Either way, it was deeper into the morning than he could probably guess. Nathan flipped the book closed and pushed himself away from the desk.

Fuck, he needed some breakfast.

So he walked back to where he had started this morning: the kitchen, where he was promptly greeted by Pickles. He was only half dressed, having managed to put on pants it seemed. And he had a sandwich. Nathan silently cursed Pickles and his entire existence because man, he was hungry, and it was simply uncool for Pickles to be eating in the kitchen right now.

"Hey, Nate'n. Where were you? You missed breakfast."

It was definitely later than he would have guessed. "I was, uh, writing."

"What, really? But we already got everythin written fer da record, don't we? Charles hasn't said anythin about it fer like, a week."

He yanked the fridge open. "Yeah. We already got all that fucking shit done. I just felt like writing, you know?" He pulled out something left over from dinner. "And I thought, hey, maybe if I write all this shit now, in like, a year when Charles is complaining about us not working, bam. Already got a whole bunch of songs... that I wrote like, ages ago. At that point."

Armed with some degree of food, he stepped over to the table to eat. Pickles nodded his head a little, seeming to agree or get what Nathan was talking about. "Oh, hey, was dat dream last night yers? We were all talkin about it. It was pretty weird, like, kinda not a normal one fer you, ya know?"

"Uh, yeah, that was me."

"Dude, what da hell was dat all about? Like all of a sudden it just stahped. It wasn't a wakin up sorta stahp, I know what those are like."

Nathan shrugged. "Okay, it's gonna sound weird? But like, I know when I'm asleep now."

"Well yeah, you kinda know dat from layin down..."

"Not like that. It's like, I'm totally sleeping hard and shit, and caught up in dreams, then someone takes a baseball bat to my head and I know it's a dream. And I'm still asleep... while knowing it's a dream."

Pickles put down his sandwich to vaguely scrutinize Nathan. "You doin drugs without me, Nate? You've been actin kinda weird since you, ya know, went trippin balls and thought you were in space'n shit. Like not all da time, but like, every once in a while."

He sighed rough and quick. "I'm not, okay? Fuck, I know it sounds like I'm high, but I'm not. Trust me on that, alright, Pickles."

"You gotta admit, it's kinda hard ta believe yer hangin out in space, Nate'n..."

"That's why I don't fucking talk about it. Except to you. Sometimes. Like now. I'm talking about it now, and you know, I've been having fucked up sleep like that since a fucking space scavenger hunt."

"So, what, it's been happenin fer a while?"

"Yeah."

"So dat's why you kinda just disappear for a while, huh? Yer wakin up early?"

He nodded. "Seriously, it's like, as soon as I know I'm asleep? I get fucking kicked out! It's fucking gay."

Pickles finished up his sandwich and stood up, scratching at his side. "I dunno what ta tell you, Nate, but, ya know, you might wanna talk ta somebody about that. Like, get some drugs fer dat sorta thing. Sleepin pills, I dunno."

He stared down at his plate. "Yeah." Maybe Pickles was right. If anything, that shit might just make sure he'd stay asleep.