I'm going to Whitby - with a family that isn't my own, who've been before, as have I. Mainly I'm there to look after an eight year old boy with white blond hair - the last time he went he caused chaos, apparently.
Whitby isn't Whitby. It's more a cross between Disneyworld and Hogwarts. It's glorious, and we get there and the entrance is in a castle, and it's all just wonderful. I have a nice talk with the kid over the roast potatoes, and then I wake up. Late! Late because I'm going to Whitby and I was dreaming about Whitby and I've nearly missed the lift up that I am for some reason getting from sheridanwilde with _nicolai_ and cutietrol. (Well, I could comment, but I think I won't.)
So we arrive at Whitby. Which isn't actually Whitby, again, it's a small town but it's more reminiscent of the ghost town at the end of John Carpenter's Vampires - all dust tracks and disused buildings. And stairs. Lots and lots of stairs, everywhere - rather than the hills which Whitby actually has, I guess.
I get to my accomodation - a displaced Cambridge college with a *soaking* lawn in front of it that I can't walk across without slipping over - and collapse exhausted. I'll deal with everything tomorrow - it's late and that was a lot of walking and falling over.
The next day. I wake up. Get up. Get dressed - random black stuff, obviously, mostly crocheted wool things (which I don't own). I hike my way to the Elsinore (in this dream a huge warehouse with a collapsing corrugated iron roof and three floors and no lighting except sunlight through the cracks). I look around - don't really see anyone I recognise. So - as you do - I decide to go back to where I'm staying and sulk. This is November Whitby, this year, and so it's basically my first break from this course I've been on. And as I'm fighting my way out of the Elsinore I suddenly think -
It's Whitby. Oh my god, I could see Vince! Vince is here somewhere! He must be!
I stop trying to fight my way out and run around searching through three levels of goths for half an hour before I concede that he's not there and I may as well give up. Just then, a bunch of people come past and strap rollerskates to the feet of certain random goths, myself included. I can't rollerskate in real life, but I'm quite good in the dream, so I roller-disco to the music for a while and then skate out. Along the deserted street, stopping neatly in front of a flight of yellowish stone steps. Unstrapping the skates, I walk down the stairs in my high heels (no, I don't know either) - there's about twenty stairs and then there's a ledge which is one of those viewing points you get at tourist-heavy places - it looks out onto miles of baking hot French countryside and vineyards. I sit on the bench there and look out, crying a little because I hadn't managed to find Vince.
Suddenly, there's a movement in the bushes lower down the hill from my bench, beyond the safety railing. I look closer - it's scathe and another goth, both with hair backcombed up to *here*, and they've got a pile of large cloth objects between them. They look up directly at me and somehow I suddenly know that this is *their* seat at Whitby, *always*. And I've taken it. So now they're going to attack me.
The cloth objects are rotting scarecrow heads. They start to throw them at me and I know that if one hits me I will be covered in all the things that make me scream and cry and terrified. So I kick in the back of the bench and use a piece from it as a bat, swiping at the scarecrow heads as they come toward me. I get them all away. Eventually scathe and his friend give up. Exhausted, I collapse on the bench for a moment before getting up to run away, as I do brushing past two more people who've come to see the view - a tiny girl who looks familiar (someone from my prep school, I think) and a tall boy. I don't see them more than out of the corner of my eye, and I'm already on edge from being attacked with scarecrow heads, so I scream when I feel arms go around me from behind.
"Well, I thought you'd be more pleased to see me than that," says the voice that the arms belong to. I spin round - it's Vince. Of course it is. I apologise - a lot - and explain. He looks sympathetic. The girl with him has gone - he says he doesn't know who she is. I tell him I spent half an hour looking for him in the Elsinore and figured he wasn't coming. He says his car broke down and so he was late. He has to go for now, but he'll see me later in the marquee, right? Then he disappears with almost moomintroll-like suddenness.
Slightly shaken, I begin the hike back to my accomodation which is where the marquee is - on the slippery grass of doom outside the college. I eventually get there and make my way in to find that there's some kind of fancy dress thing going on - boxes and boxes of random goth and period clothes (just like at nursery school or what-have-you) lying around, and people picking things out and dressing up. There's a long black table covered in styrofoam cups of tea and coffee. Tea suddenly seems like a good idea. I wander over, pick up a cup of tea, and turn around to find myself standing between Vince, and someone who looks like Vince but more 'built' - slightly wider shoulders, so the hair doesn't look quite right, but the features are almost the same. Vince smiles and says "This is my brother Robert - I don't think you knew I had a brother, did you?" I laugh and say I had no idea, ask after his sister - she couldn't make it this year.
And then we're outside again. Out the back of the marquee is a cobbled street which runs between the backs of two lots of shops, and everything's closed anyway, and I'm walking with Vince and talking about how the course has been and how Cambridge has survived without me and somewhere I say something self-deprecating (surely not) and he takes my hand, and I look up and smile and he kisses me - once, gently, like he really has once before. And then I knock against a lamppost - a lamppost for god's sake, this is suddenly Victorian London, how many places can this dream go through while still being in Whitby? - and trip on the cobbles and land with my back to a shop wall and he's there to check that I'm all right. I try to laughingly reassure him that I didn't fall over just because he kissed me.
And he says "I'll have to try harder then."
And then I wake up.
I'm sort of glad I woke up then, or it would have been even more awful. But, god, Morpheus, give me a break! I think about him half the goddamn time I'm awake, could I not get some respite in sleep?
I miss him so much.
It's days like this I wish I couldn't remember my dreams.