Dreamhoppers Roleplay

Santiago squared his shoulders, determined not to look afraid despite the fact that he was speaking through a boulder-sized lump in his throat. Have some self-control. Panic won't help anybody.

"W... Welcome to your humble abode," he began slowly, stumbling over the last word without having any idea how to properly pronounce it. "I have gathered you here today because you hold a unique set of skills that can be used for the greater good. By having you hone and direct your abilities, you will be set on the right path to reaching your... your full potential. You will be known as the Dreamhoppers, a group of elite agents to the FBI that will be able to uncover crimes by entering the minds of suspects in their dreams. The information on your training will be sent tonight, as well as the case file of your first mission. In the kitchen safe, you will find your new passports, ID, and the stories of your lives that you will strictly abide by from this day forward. You are not to tell anyone about your new job." A pause, mouth going dry before he spoke. "It would be... most unfortunate if you did. We will remain in contact. Expect my messages. Sincerely... The Director."

Elle slunk around the screen, narrowing her eyes (A motion that had basically become her default expression over the past few hours) at the black leather Eames chairs around the table. There was a stalk lavender attached to the head of each. "Somehow, I don't think so," she murmured in response to Ishmael. "I don't want to believe this Director person, but it doesn't look like we really have a choice. And all of this tech, this is legit. It's not something that any weirdo off of the street could pick up- especially four of the Eames chairs. These things are expensive." She whipped around suddenly, throwing the shade glare at the corner. "What if this is all an experiment? It could very well be the FBI or whatever, but they still might be lying about us solving crimes or whatever. I think we should scan the house for surveillance stuff."

Ishmael let out a breath as the reality of all this finally hit them. Never again would they see their parents, or Bubbeh and her tales of WWII with her father in Poland. She would always tell them to eat; that they were too skinny. Never again would Ishmael be able to run through the streets of Jerusalem and piss off the various religious officials. Hell, they might never see Israel again, stuck in this stupid land of grass and cows. Maybe exaggeration wasn't the best way to cope... "Bummer, isn't it?" they sighed.

"Do you think we can send mail? I mean, we're in Montana- people live here not against their will. There's bound to be a town somewhere, right? They can stop us from leaving for good but they'll at least let us go out, right? We need things that we can't grow here and if we're really going to be here that long we need seasonal clothes and hardware, right?" Elle bit her lip, retaining her dignity as she stared icily at the touch screen, still displaying the letter. "We're not going to be captives."

Santiago traced his eyes over each detail of his hand, every callous from the harp strings, feeling Ishamel's eyes on him. His head was swimming, distracted for only a moment from the present situation as he realized again how long it had been since he'd been around someone his age, let alone four others. He had liked to think that he was intuitive enough to pick up on people's emotions, but now he wasn't so sure. Do they want me to say something? Or am I reading into it to much? Maybe they thought I'd say something and was surprised when I didn't. Maybe they aren't even looking at me and I'm just trying to distract myself from the real problem here.

"The letter says that there are aliases in the kitchen safe. I'm going to go grab them!"

Sita hadn't spoken since they had found the message, and felt a little uncomfortable. They all seemed to know what to make of it, so all she could do was listen to their theorising and nod after each point. Now, however, they had reached a more hands-on discussion. "Is there anything I can do?" She asked.

Santiago glanced at both of them with only the barest hint of hesitation before leaving the room, suddenly feeling rather gangly and unsure of himself. How am I supposed to find any cameras? I'm sure they'd be too cleverly hidden for some teenager to find.

Santiago smiled from where he could hear her voice, drifting from the kitchen. I wonder what identity this Director gave me. His smile faded as it slowly dawned on him that eventually, if this job became permanent... somehow his parents would have to become an issue. And from what the letter had said, telling them anything seemed out of the question. At the mere thought of his family's reaction, Santiago felt his entire body tense, preparing for a blow and head lowering in a quick show of submission to an imagined shadow of a father that was not there.