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UPDATES:
OOC: Currently, it's smack-dab in the middle of allergy season for Juri, so replies might be a touch on the slow side while dealing with that. Once winter-proper hits, it'll be much better.

IC: Foxx is excited to have a new friend, and curious about what's going on around him. Who are all these people? What is he doing here? What's he supposed to be? How is he supposed to find his own individuality among all these unique people?

Current RPs:
[RP] Those With Issues Must Meet {Abandoned?}

Done RPs:
[RP] Playground Shenanigans

Point Tallies
* New Person RP - 3 Pages - 7 pts

Running...

--Don't think, just run. Fueled by fear, adrenaline racing through ice-coated veins as the sounds get closer, closer, closer. Something is breathing down his neck, but he doesn't dare turn around. Making the most of a bad situation, he continues his mantra. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Don't stop, no matter what. Jump over logs, wade through water. Don't mind the trees. Run. Run. Behind him is what he dares not to name, fear itself in physical flesh, pounding hard after him like his heart. Don't look, don't think, don't stop, just run. Over and over in his head as he follows his own footsteps deeper and deeper into the dark and creepy woods. Light choked out by wide and spreading branches. Air thick with dread and the presence watching him, eyes in the dark, following and judging, breaking him down to atoms and scattering them. Eyes upon him, around him, through him, surrounding him, hidden in the trees.

Water, ice cold, up to his knees. Wade through it. Push through it. Just run. Run. What's behind him? He can only feel its cold breath, icy fingers down his neck as the shadows grow longer and streak through the very recesses of his mind. Calling, taunting, haunting him as he tries to escape. Nothing to hear but his own breaths, dying frozen in his throat, tearing his lungs apart, Push it aside. Don't think. Run. Legs churning and churning, a wild mustang kicking up the dirt. Feet to hooves, hooves to feet. Race as though his life depends on it. It very well might. Behind him, he hears it, tearing through the brush after him, glowing, glowing eyes searching the darkness for him.

Out of the water, back on land, legs stumbling to get a better hold. Run again, heedless of branches whipping against face, heedless of head pounding. Heedless of the cold creeping into his toes, his feet, his legs, his fingers and arms. He's freezing from the inside, and nothing is going to stop the biting wind as it aches in his throat, and screams down into his lungs. Run, run, run, run, run!--

Starting awake, Foxx sat up in his bed, leaning forward, and rubbing his eyes, scrubbing his hands through sweat-soaked hair. That was the fourth time he'd had that dream. Always running through that same swamp, that same monster chasing him. His thoughts always disjointed, telling him to keep running no matter what. And always cold, always biting, freezing cold. Speaking of which... It was cold in his room.

He swung his legs out of the bed, and headed over to the space-heater to flick it on automatic, wrapping his arms around his body and shivering as he went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. The chill of the water was different than the cold in his dreams, and jarred him out of the half-awake stupor. He patted his face dry on the nearby towel, flicking the switch to turn on the light in the bathroom at the same time.

"That damn dream again." he said, mostly to dispel the remainder of the nightmare, and not so much to actually speak.

Still a bit shaky, he walked to the fridge, and pulled it open, grabbing some milk, some nacho-cheese dip, and some ground beef. Nachos at three in the morning? Why the hell not.

He got out the pots and pans, and started to cook, heart still slightly racing. What had he been running from? And more importantly, why? Something seemed important about it. But he was never able to take control of the dream enough to actually turn around and see what was behind him, what it was he was so afraid of. All he had to go on was the fact that there was crashing bush, and crushing cold. He needed to research this.

He finished cooking the Nachos, and assembled them on a plate, before leaving them to cool off a bit, and sitting down on his bed. Scrubbing his hand through his hair again, he went to pull on some clothing that wasn't pajamas. Granted, most of the compound would be asleep at this point in the evening... but the library ought to still be open, and there was always his computer if he couldn't find anything in the way of written word.

Whatever the case, he had to pull up a dream dictionary. Either online or at the library. Once he'd pulled on his jeans, and a t-shirt that simply read: "My Other Shirt is X-Ray", he scarfed down the nachos, and grabbed his set of keys from the counter in the kitchen. Locking his door was important - just as much as bringing his sketchpad, mechanical pencil, and eraser.. which he now shoved into his pack. Slinging that over his shoulder, he headed out the door, locking it behind him. Time to find out what the dream meant. After all - he'd had it more than ten times now... it HAD to mean something.