[The thing about working late into the night with more caffeine in your system than food was that once your body finally gave out and fell asleep, the resulting dreams were really, really weird. They usually involved more rolling fields and giant alien cows than tropical beaches, and the horrific plane crash was a gruesome new addition, but Peter Walter the Sixth assumed that the whole thing was a subconscious response to overworking and stress, and possibly too many late-night action movies. The plane was probably a metaphor for that small mountain of paperwork that he hadn't gotten around to sorting yet.
... Come to think of it, his dreams weren't usually realistic enough to include waves lapping at his bare feet, or the textured, gritty feeling of sand against his jaw. He frowned underneath the mask and rolled onto his back, staring up at the sky and absently dusting away some sand. This was getting weird, it was definitely time to wake up.]
Okay... three, two, one, awake!
... Awake!
[...If he kept trying, it would eventually work, right?]
no subject
... Come to think of it, his dreams weren't usually realistic enough to include waves lapping at his bare feet, or the textured, gritty feeling of sand against his jaw. He frowned underneath the mask and rolled onto his back, staring up at the sky and absently dusting away some sand. This was getting weird, it was definitely time to wake up.]
Okay... three, two, one, awake!
... Awake!
[...If he kept trying, it would eventually work, right?]