Dreamed I was watching the opening credits for an episode in late season five of Angel--no spoilers in comments, please. I told someone that I knew I shouldn't be watching, but couldn't resist--the credits and opening action were a sitcom spoof. Andy Dick was one of the cast members, and he'd been given a character makeover that included a mop of curly hair. He was talking fast and animatedly with Cordelia and Gunn--quips flying back and forth between the three, repartee. The high concept was that reality had shifted, their memories altered. They'd been displaced from the others, established in some alter-ego office. The arrival of the others would cause the wacky. Illyria was a blue presence, but I don't remember much else, except my sense of delight.
In a perhaps unrelated story, several people from the Jossverse and otherverses had been marooned together in desert-island fashion: Spike, Angel, and Wesley, Sarah Forbes from Odyssey 5, and Worf, I think, from Star Trek--some odd combination. They were stranded alone for a long time in some claustrophobic place--a large, dark house? A spaceship? Tunnels and caves? I'm not sure. Eventually they began pairing off for casual sex, combining and recombining as the whim took them. Then they decided, as a group: why not have an orgy? It seemed the thing to do. Previous social mores had become meaningless.
James T. Kirk arrived with some crew members to rescue everyone. Spock went into pon farr in response to a Mary Sue's presence (dark-haired, very much me) and they had to trap him by closing off the ends of a bus. Kirk then died, but I can't recall the reason; I think he may have just been very old--I remember thinking that they were never going to film the movie where he dies, they'd just leave him mid-heroic story.
After his death my dream altered.
We held a wake for Kirk. There'd been a train ride bringing us to a retreat, on the edge of a forest, near an ocean bay. People got off the train, or bus, and sat with their legs dangling around a watering hole. Everyone was drinking, but they had only celebratory beer and champagne shots, and I wanted something harder. I wandered around looking for whiskey, trying to buy some from people I knew.
In the middle of this convivial atmosphere, an army approached. We climbed into a huge tree en masse to hide, shimmying up long vines with no good handholds--I can remember these very well, how we all worked our way up the ropes into the leaves. The army arrived led by their king. His people were scattered across from ours on the grassy plain below. In the very front of the enemy forces a young boy, rather dim, stared up into the tree, smiling. He saw us up there. Specifically, he saw me, hanging onto a vine as it swung wildly from a branch.
Meanwhile, his king was preparing to wed one of our women, but we knew they were going to betray us.
The boy's glimpse of me precipitated action. I fired an arrow and hit their king, and we all fired, arrows raining down from the tree-top, and I could see the enemy's men and horses, fallen bodies bristling with arrows, far below us on the ground.
As the fight was dying down, my king came to me and, with his sword, pricked an artery in my leg, condemning me to bleed to death because I'd been seen by the enemy and had drawn first blood. I remember the feel of the warm blood spurting from my body, my leg--it was horrible, and woke me up, and it was hard to shake the grotesque sensation.
There was much more to these interwoven threads of dream that I can't remember, something happening in a city, cities. I keep grabbing through the fog for a detail or two, but my hand comes back empty. Regret.