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[Yes, the Once-ler had that dream too. No, he's not talking about it. It was just a dream, just a stupid, dumb, terrifying dream with a monster and the moon going out like a broken lightbulb and obviously none of it was real. Or at least, he doesn't want any of it to be real.

So, he's stress-knitting.

He's taken up one of the tea rooms for the day so that he has a little more space to work (plus it gets him out of his room, and that's probably a good thing). He's already got a colorful pile of completed things tossed on one of the chairs - scarfs, mittens, absolutely no thneeds. The Once-ler himself is sitting on the floor in front of one of the armchairs with his knees up, using the chair as a backrest as he knits. His piglet Boris is keeping him company, and he can be seen running around in a dark green pig-sized sweater.]

So, uh. Since I'm knitting anyway and winter's coming up...does anyone want anything?

[And wow, he sure is knitting. Even while he talks, even while wearing his trademark green gloves, his needles move incredibly fast. He shrugs though, like offering to make people stuff for free isn't an enormous step forward for him.]

I mean, it's just something to do, and it's not like I have anything else to do with them.

[That's all he really wanted to say, because he's definitely not acknowledging that Jabberwocky dream. He leans forward a bit and uses the end of one of his knitting needles to jab at his network device until it shuts off. If anyone would rather meet up with him in person, he's in one of the tea rooms on the tenth floor with a small mountain of yarn.]

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Is that pig wearing a sweater?

[ Because that's clearly the most important thing going on in wonderland right now. Clearly. ]

Yeah. Boris likes running around outside, and it's getting cold.

[Yes, his wild boar piglet is named Boris. Because he's a boar. And because puns are wonderful.]

Why? Jealous you don't have a little bird-sweater?

I guess that make sense.

[ She's definitely one to judge, but in this case she doesn't. It's a pretty nice gesture to the pig, even if it's weird. Also she can appreciate the pun. ]

What? No. Why would I even need a bird-sweater? It's not like I have arms or fingers or--whatever.

Well, no, but you've got wings and those are kinda like arms?

[He makes a sort of vague gesture with his knitting needles that's apparently supposed to be wings flapping. Then he dramatically shrugs.]

But whatever! I get it. You're too cool for a bird sweater, that's fine. Maybe I'll just knit sweaters for woodland critters that would actually appreciate it.

[ She's squinting so hard right now, trying to figure out if she's supposed to be insulted or not by this. It sounds like she should be, but--

Yeah, she'll just play it safe and fluff her feathers in irritation. ]

I'm not too cool for anything, I just don't need one! [ She's also pretty sure she would look kind of stupid in a sweater. How would she even fly? ] Besides, those other 'woodland critters' wouldn't be able to appreciate a sweater anyway. They wouldn't even know what was going on.

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[ No sleep, no dreams, no clue. That's on the menu for Philip today. But hey, here's somebody who's overdue for a bit of catching up! ]

Any chance you're in the market for earmuffs? The rest of the network is going mad, and I'm starting to think I don't actually want to find out what it is I've been missing.

[ Or when it's coming for him, because Wonderland's Choice Terrors of the Day don't make much of a habit of sparing him. ]

[The last time the Once-er saw Phil, Phil was squeezing the life out of him, literally, via the neck. It wasn't a good day.

He hasn't made a huge effort to go check on him since then, because that's sort of what got him killed in first place. That event is long over now, but he stares at the text for a long time. Everyone was hallucinating in that event (or at least, everyone who died was. The Once-ler learned that first hand when he came back to life) but the text is much friendlier and less awkward than he would have expected. ...Does he not know what happened?

Privately, the Once-ler is kind of grateful this is happening over text and not in person, because he's not sure he'd be able to hide his reaction on his face. Via the network though, he can totally pretend that nothing weird happened at all. The text function is a wonderful thing, a magical tool he can use to act like Philip definitely didn't murder him last event. Nope. If Phil's not going to act like it happened, then neither is he.]

Yeah, you probably don't wanna know. It's not anything good because it's never anything good here. Creepy collective dreaming stuff, things like that. New ominous things, same as the old ominous things.

But yeah I can make earmuffs. What color?

[ Philip remembers the event in fragments, in coming up for breath during desperate days of drowning. Gasps of clarity, muffled by a sea of nightmares come all too vividly to life. He doesn't quite remember which memories are which. An aching hand, finger broken and now pressed into a cast, Dr Meyers be thanked, now that is reality for sure, cuffs he must have placed on himself for fear of repeating history.

He nearly thought he did, too. He remembers his own face, gasps for breath quite literal, darker and more desperate; the Mirror he choked, when not a single Mirror crossed in those days. He remembered Ned, and he didn't remember how their visit ended. The connection terrified him, and to ask the question was a kind of pain, broken fingers several times over. Ned did die. Killed. But not by Philip's hands.

That relief rang hollow, for many reasons. But there was nobody else? But there was nobody else, nobody whose face Philip remembered, no matter how briefly. Nobody's blood on his hands, except for Faraday. Whoever he thought he killed-- Whatever he thought he did, it was no more real than the arctic ice, the howling dogs, the insatiable maws of worms lurking in the darkness. And that - darkness - is where he's shoved his doubts by now, where he's long ready to forget them, along with the rest of the event.

That his occasional chance encounters with the Once-ler have increasingly decreased since around that time is not a connection he allows himself to make. ]

Collective dreaming? [ Now that rings a much louder bell, anyway. And as suspected Philip really doesn't like its sound. ] As in 'walking other people's dreams'? Or as in 'one monster walking everyone's dream?

[ Been there, done both. Wouldn't subscribe, but when was that ever voluntary here? He smiles instead, at the bad joke taken literally. ]

Is there a palette I get to pick from?

[The guess is a little too specific to really be a random guess. It gives him pause.]

Uh. One monster walking everyone's dream. Is that something that's actually happened before?

[Though, much like Phil a moment ago, the Once-ler is suddenly not sure he wants to know the piece of the story he's missing. It was creepy enough that they all had a dream about the same monster, but if it's not the first time it's happened, then it's probably not the last either. Needing to keep some normalcy though, he gladly answers about the earmuffs.]

Well, I can get pretty much any color from the closet, so your choices are basically "any color that exists in yarn form".

[So, any color. Go wild.]

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[ it takes alayne an hour to work up the courage. the dream has shaken her so deeply that it stirred an old fear that belonged to sansa, the nights in winterfell, huddling under heavy blankets in fear of old nan's tales of ancient horrors.

but she is not a child. she wipes her tears, ties a ribbon in her hair to match the her dress ( good cotton in dark blue ) and heads out.

his words remain with her, winter is coming, indeed she had wanted to say but he would not have understood and she could not explain.

winter is coming in the shape of a terrible beast and - ]

good day to you, Once-ler.

[ she is at the doorway now, her sewing held close to her chest. ]

May I join you?

[The Once-ler looks up and actually grins when he sees who it is. Boris is pretty excited too, and runs a couple of circles around her as soon as she enters the room.]

Oh, hey Alayne!

[He would wave, but his hands are occupied with his rapid knitting.]

Yeah, of course you can! Uh, make yourself at home.

[It occurs to him then that it's probably really weird that he's sitting on the floor, but he's comfortable so he doesn't move to sit properly in a chair. With anyone else he might feel a little weird about letting them join in, but with Alayne it just reminds him of everything good they had in that Storybrooke event. Of course she can join him.]

[ for a moment, she almost wishes she could just be catelyn with her simple life and simple problems and with hope and dreams that alayne could never have again. cat has never seen the things sansa and alayne had seen, cat was happy and alayne.

alayne fears she may never be happy again.

she smiles still, takes a stool and curtsies. ]

with your permission.

[ she works on a shawl of good cotton, makes an embroidery of silver flowers around the edges. ]

[He's learned by now not to question her politeness, and not to tell her she doesn't need to be so formal with him. She will be formal either way, so there's no sense in trying to stop her.

He stays sitting where he is, but he puts his legs down and sits up straight in a lazy effort to seem a little more like an actual adult. Then, he looks over at her curiously. She seems...he can't put his finger on it. Sad, maybe? He wants to ask about it, and see if maybe there's something he can do, but when he opens his mouth a different question comes out instead.]

So, what are you working on?

[Maybe it's better that way, just keeping everything normal and light, and not talking about that terrifying dream they all shared.]

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[Kaneki is used to dreams about things that want to eat him. The Jabberwocky is a new thing of that type, sure, but the genre is not new.]

Can I ask why you're knitting so many...things? when you don't have anything to do with them?

[He shrugs. To be honest, he doesn't really have a good reason.]

It's just something to do, and someone will probably use them if I offer them up anyway, so I might as well.

It seems like a nervous habit, sort of.

[Because please, there is no way that dream didn't bother him at least a little.]

What? [He laughs a very nervous laugh at that.] No way. I've been knitting my whole life. It's not a nervous thing. Why would it be a nervous thing? Aha...ha.

[Probably because of that dream he refuses to acknowledge, but he'd rather just assume this kid is nosy and makes a lot of completely wrong assumptions.]

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