Dreamhoppers Roleplay

Santiago glanced down at his watch. "Subtracting three hours from Argentina's time, it's about nine in the morning here. The same time my plane landed in the dream, actually."

"Until we receive further instruction, at least. Or news. Whoever brought us here, they mean business. We might as well get some sort of breakfast while we wait."

Elle peered over their shoulder from where she was standing in the pantry's doorway. "Somebody really wants to make sure we stay here. They've really outdone themselves." She gravitated towards the dining room, squinting suspiciously at everything in her path. "There has to be a note or something. They wouldn't just lock us in here with no purpose, what with trying so hard to keep us here. So far though, we've been drugged, manipulated, and shipped across the country without so much as a word of explanation. We deserve answers!"

"I'll be taking a look around the house, in case our mysterious contact decided to leave some sort of note. Perhaps there's something they want us to do while we're here."

Humming quietly to soothe his frazzled nerves, Santiago slowly made his way down the halls of the home. Bright sunlight was streaming through the windows, revealing a large, open field outside, dotted by small patches of forest. In the distance, mountains towered into the sky. The sight made his head ache-- it looked disturbingly like the scenery of Argentina, but the furnishing and rustic, American style of the house definitely determined that he was somewhere in Montana. The tables, chairs, everything looked well-worn and used, but had a distinctly new feel to it, as if the appearances were altered for the sake of an illusion of homeliness. He paused by the bedrooms, four doors in a wide, carpeted hallway. He hadn't noticed it when he left the room, but each door handle was made of a different color and type of metal, the only distinctly clean and brand-new looking parts of the house-- his, he could gather, was a pristine titanium. Three of the doors had been left slightly ajar, his included, but one remained tightly closed. The girl from the airport. I don't think she's awake yet.

Santiago felt his breath catch in his throat as he heard footsteps inside the girl's room. Quickly, he tumbled back from his own door, wondering if she knew that he was out there. She'll probably be afraid when she comes out. What do I say to calm her down? Only now was it beginning to occur to him just how much time had passed since he'd spoken to someone else his age. Certainly many months before the day-- or rather, night-- before. He had his lessons and schooling done at home, and no one in his family was very close to his age.

Santiago hesitated before stepping out of his own room. "I'm here. You scared me, coming outside so suddenly."

"Santiago Romero," he said with a small nod. "And... well, none of us are exactly sure. The airport thing was just a dream. Now all four of us woke up in this house together. We're hoping to find a message of some sort in the house. It seems that whoever sent the letters gathered us here."

"Er... Ishmael's in the kitchen making breakfast, and I'm pretty sure that Elle is still on the couch trying to make sense of it all." His tongue stumbled slightly on their names, still too foreign and unfamiliar. "I'm just looking for any sign of communication from our... employer, I guess is a correct English term."