snowyyland

For most Nightmarens, collecting things was almost instinctual. They would take bits from each Nightopia they ravaged: any Ideya the dreamer possessed was the first and foremost goal, of course, but they would also take pieces from the world’s landscape, any effects that happened to strike their interests. NiGHTS certainly wasn’t any different— in only a matter of decades the elegant nighttime garden scene that made up their lair had become absolutely trashed, cluttered with anything and everything they could find during their daily searches through Nightopia, the dark grass and cobblestone walkways littered with out-of-place seashells and jewels and stones of all shapes and sizes. Stray feathers and scraps of cloth and linen formed makeshift nests among beds of thorny vines; out-of-place flowers, long since plucked from their original lands, decorated the heads of stone-carved statues. NiGHTS’ things weren’t so much trophies as other Nightmarens claimed their possessions to be, just things that made their lair feel more ‘theirs’— it was the least they could do, a lair and whatever was inside it was the closest any Nightmaren could really get to owning anything, and even so, their lairs could be destroyed by Wizeman just as easily as their bodies could be.

Right next door, however (or at least as ‘next door’ as lairs could be in a world as twisting and turning as Nightmare), was quite a different room: Reala’s. Reala, as far as NiGHTS could remember, had always kept his lair the same way from the very beginning: red and black everywhere, making up a majority of the room from the checkered floor to the backing of Reala’s majestic throne. Jagged spires of rock lined the outside of the ring, but he made sure that not even a pebble strayed out of place if they happened to crumble. The three blue-flame lamps flickered on eternally at a steady pace, keeping a constant, comfortable level of warmth and low light. Reala’s room was always immaculate, and he had prided himself on that fact in those days, had tried to use it as an example of how NiGHTS should have kept their own space. Of course, it never worked.

“It’s so… empty, though,” they would argue, shifting uncomfortably in the seat of Reala’s throne, “You don’t have anything, it’s like you don’t even live here!”  

They would offer their twin some of their own trinkets, or perhaps sneak some in when he wasn’t looking (only to have them promptly returned soon after). And Reala, time and time again, would explain, “Everything we need, Nightmare gives us. All of your… things aren’t necessary.” 

NiGHTS would never admit it, but when they made that sudden decision to leave Nightmare behind, all their things did seem unnecessary. Maybe they had forgotten how fun it was to be able to collect things, living the way they had for so long— wandering between dreams without settling in any one place for too long, residing in the nearest tree or riverbank or warm, grassy field. With no permanent place to come back to, nowhere to keep things after their journeys ended they had learned to travel light, with only their own outfit and their flute, really, and it wasn’t as if that took up much space (none at all, actually, they would simply summon it when they wanted it and wish it away when their performance was through). More important than the lack of storage space, though, was the need to stay hidden, to not leave a single trace or clue as to where they’d been, should Reala be sent looking for them.

Those days, at long last, were far behind both of them now, though. And NiGHTS wasn’t going to be a minimalist ever again.

A majority of their house’s decor were the results of NiGHTS’ newest hobby— traveling to new Nightopias not in search of Ideya, not even in search of food or building materials for the house or anything remotely useful in Reala’s mind, but in search of things. Human things, at that. They had explained the process with a joy Reala couldn’t comprehend, about how they’d found a Nightopia fashioned after some kind of Waking World market, full of different shops, full of various items, empty of any dreamers. They had come home that day with as much stuff as they could carry with only their own two arms, absolutely beaming with delight.

“It almost reminded me of how humans used to dream back when we were still… you know, hunting,” they’d said, offering a vague hand gesture as they spread out their items on the floor to show off to Reala. “Remember? How they were always dreaming about castles and markets and feasts and all that?” 

Reala couldn’t help but smile— perhaps humans were still just as disgustingly greedy even now, but he had to admit that outrageous human desire had always made for fun dreams. The two of them had crashed many a royal banquet in centuries past, made quick work of the dreamer’s Ideya and then spent the rest of their time making even quicker work of tables of dreamed-up food, helping themselves to tastes of the Waking World that simply couldn’t be found in their regular meals of Third-Levels. 

NiGHTS had spun a similar tale of their adventure that day: “It was bigger than a castle, I think, and it had these staircases—“ They were all but flailing their arms about at this point, in a wild attempt to replicate something, “—that were moving! All the shops were inside, and each one had different things… look!” 

They had gone back several times since then, always returning home with arms brimming with whatever piqued their interest: soft and warm things to cover their bed with, small and colorful things to line their windowsills. Anything and everything in-between. Reala had to admit that their room was neater than their lair had been, at the very least. And, knowing Reala’s dislike of trinkets, they only ever brought things home for themself. Except for this particular day, when they’d merrily entered Reala’s room and tossed him… this.

“…What is this?”

“It’s a cat,” NiGHTS told him, like he already should have known. “Well, y’know, a stuffed one. I would have gotten you a red one, but pink was the closest they had.”

Reala stared at the object in his hands, soft plush material looking out of place in his rough, calloused hands and sharp yellow nails. A cat? That was the creature Clawz was supposed to resemble, if he recalled correctly. But this didn’t look anything like Clawz, save for the little triangle-shaped ears and sewn-on whiskers, maybe— and he doubted that, in pretty pink fur and black plastic bead-eyes, it looked much like its Waking World counterpart either.

Reala tried again. “But what is it, what is it for?”  

“Well, it isn’t for anything, really, you just have fun with it. I felt like you needed something like that, y’know.” NiGHTS lightly tossed their own ‘cat’ (theirs was a nice shade of light purple) in the air and caught it again, switching it between hands like a basketball. “But you could use it for a pillow, maybe. Or you could use it like this!”

Reala, too distracted and, admittedly, slightly enchanted by his new acquisition, completely missed NiGHTS winding up across from him, and only looked up just in time to be met with a faceful of stuffed animal. He reacted a second too late, clumsily swiping at nothing but air with an annoyed grumble. NiGHTS hesitantly reached for their cat, gathering it back into their arms with a hint of shame. “…I could keep yours if you really don’t want it, Rere.”

Reala tested the plush again. It would make a nice pillow. And it was soft, easy to hold and squish and knead his claws into. He could see himself becoming used to it, really, just having something for the sake of having it.

“No, I suppose I’ll keep it,” he told them, rubbing the cat’s ear between two fingers. “Just as long as you don’t bring me any more. I don’t need my room ending up looking like yours.” 

NiGHTS grinned, tossing their cat upwards again. “Fine! I’ll only get them for myself, and then I’ll have more to throw at you.”