Not two different things. A weird dream that I had last night that I think makes an interesting story.
So I was in London, standing on a street corner, waiting for someone. I didn’t know who. A car pulled up and I got in. The driver asked me if I had the money. I showed him a check for one hundred thousand pounds. He drove off, but another car pulled up beside us. The man in the passenger seat made an allusion to someone I didn’t know, but I gathered he ran the London Mafia. He shot my driver, who was trying to pull out his own pistol. I grabbed it and shot the mobster, and leapt from the car as it crashed. Now I was alone in London. I wandered for a bit and found a rocketship disguised as a tall building. I wandered around it for a while and found a Pip-Boy. On this Pip-Boy was the location of Sian Jones’ house. Lacking a better option, I went there. Turns out she lives in a castle. I somehow ended up in the great hall before anyone noticed me. She looked up at me and said, very sternly, “You’re supposed to be in America.” I replied, “Sorry to disappoint.” She gave me a queenly scowl. “Nicholas.” “That’s my name.” Then she squealed and gave me a tacklehug like she did when she first saw me at the OYAN summer workshops.
After that, the dream sort of faded out, but there was more. Some weird epic stuff. Anyway. That’s my dream.