Peter Kristall groaned softly, twisting a bit on the bench, then awoke with a gasp, drenched in sweat - not from his dream, but from the sultry air in the Kiva. He groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position.
"Whew. Bit of a wild ride. Mal, don't suppose you have any water down here...?" The young pope frowned. He very rarely remembered his dreams, but snatches of this one still impinged on his consciousness - one of them, a memory of a -very- old recording which had been his favorite for about a month in his childhood, caught him and wouldn't let him go. Particularly because, in the dream, -he- had been the character in the recording...
"Hey Mal...d'you suppose Peter Pan would make a good Discordian?"