I Dreamt I was Four Irish Lads...

Okay so I had this crazy long dream this morning. It was one of those dreams that have a fairly coherent storyline and I thought it was cool so I wrote it up.

I dreamt I was four Irish lads fighting in the American civil war (they/we/I was also the band Flogging Molly at the same time, for no reason. This never impacted any part of the story. It was just how things were). We were chased into and through a library by soldiers of the other side and we ducked into a back section that was like a maze. I don’t know what side they were fighting for and it doesn’t really matter. There were something like ten of them and four of us, so we ran.
One of me ran out the back of the library and through a forest and when he came out of the forest he ran into a whole big group of the enemy but he/I managed to talk our way out of being shot. Somehow.
And then I was a different person. I had a gun and I was a badass and I single-handedly took out the group that had been hunting us down, and I walked out the front door.
And I was a third guy, still in the library, except that this guy had managed to lose the enemy outside the library beforehand and he was hiding in the maze in the back hoping they wouldn’t look there. He/I met a pretty librarian who had Parley(of Gunnerkrigg Court)’s powers and we made a good impression on her before the enemy soldiers showed up and she took us in her arms and we were on a tropical beach at night. All the stars were shining and some kind of moon must have been out because the night was bright as day. There were tourists a ways down the beach but we paid them no attention. We splashed into the warm water and suddenly the concept of undertow took on a whole unpleasant new meaning as my feet were knocked out from under me. Somehow in the fraction of a  second it took for the waves cover me I noticed that the angle of the sand under the water and on the beach itself wasn’t nearly steep enough for this kind of undertow. For undertow at all, really. It was nearly flat. And the water was over my head and I was standing back on dry sand. I had never gone in to the water in the first place. The librarian was laughing and beckoning me forward. She went farther and farther out, in the direction of the other island [it wasn’t very far away and there was a dormant volcano on it, steep sides covered in plant life], but the water only went up to her knees. And then she and I both looked to my right and there we saw a colossal wave gathering force and momentum. I knew, somehow, that if she were to teleport away without me she couldn’t come back. So I ran toward her, through the knee deep water and she ran toward me and we fell into each others arms just as the wave hit. We were on top of a building in London and he/I watched the sun rise and held hands with the librarian.
And I was the fourth Irish dude, the youngest, back in the library, and I had just woken up in the maze-like section in the back (I guess I had been napping??) and I was a little freaked because none of my three friends were here. I heard footsteps. I swung my rifle up (no more bullets but I still had my bayonet) and peeked around the edge of the bookshelf. There was a lady walking toward me, about my age, dressed in something beautiful and expensive. I lowered my rifle, stepped out in front of her, in all my war-torn glory. She was not surprised, and that surprised me. “Hello,” she said, “What’s your name?”
And I said, “Shawn, ma’am, um, lady?” And I wondered why I would get to learn the fourth soldier’s name, but not the other three. I wondered this, and Shawn wondered it, and then we wondered why we were wondering that? I think she must have told me her name, but the next I knew we were outside the library walking together and I was trying to flirt with her and she was flirting back. [Worth noting here that I had come out of the front of the library but it looked completely different than the building I had entered a few hours earlier; that had been small and rough and made of pine logs in the country. This was all marble and sandstone, and the moonlight made everything bright and white and beautiful, the paved streets of the city, the rooftops, the water in the fountain across the way.] She loaded me into her father’s hansom cab and off we went; her, her father, her father, her grandmother, and me. The grandmother didn’t want me coming back with them. The family was unfathomably rich and, let’s call her Kate, Kate wanted to take me home and clean me up and have sex with me, and keep me around for a weekend or so, because she wanted to gain some sexual experience and thought I was handsome and interesting. I thought this was a pretty good plan. So did her father, and that was that. It didn’t stop grandma making pointed comments about my unsuitability and the importance of female virginity, though. Kate and Shawn/I kissed each other most of the way back to her house, with her father looking on benignly and her grandmother making little clucking sounds behind her teeth.
With no transition we were at the house, wearing fancy bathrobes and chasing each other around all over the place, giggling, and there was nothing more important to me than catching up to her and kissing her neck and telling her what an unlikely and beautiful person she was and how she had probably saved my life. [The room was big and white, a cube with a balcony looking into it, about halfway up the walls. The center of the room was an enormous square pillar, also white. It and the outside walls were filled with all kind of strangely shaped display areas, which in turn held all sorts of expensive and beautiful art from all over the world. The walls of the ground floor also featured an assortment of intentionally broken or unuseful stairways. Some led up to the solid ceiling, or to a tiny room walled in with glass, nowhere to go but back down. Some had a great chunk in the middle cut out, had purposefully been built that way. Kate ran to one of these now and jumped the gap in the middle, like a cat, and kept on going up, to a big cushy white bed, and there she waited for me. I knew if I tried to jump that gap I would make a great fool of myself, and possibly break something, so I turned to Kate’s father and asked if there was a better way to get to the second floor. He twinkled his eyes at me [He also was smoking a pipe in his bathrobe and pajamas and house slippers, and he had a bit of a paunch; he was greying at the temples and wore an abstracted look, as if contemplating the mysteries of life. Seriously, he was the most fatherly dad I can imagine, it was nuts.] and pointed to a stairway behind a display of Chihuly glassware. The stairs started about two thirds of the way up but there was a slipper chair with low arms pulled up against the sheer wall and I figured I could use it like a stepladder to get to the stairs proper. The father winked at me. I looked at him for a moment and I thought that he should be a lot less comfortable with this whole situation than he was. I mean I was about to go and maybe/probably have sex with his daughter and he had just shown me the way up to her. It was like an invitation; it was a little creepy. But I clambered carefully over the priceless display of glass anyway and scrambled up onto the chair, tipped it over, and fell on my back. I stood up, tried again and this time I made it. I walked over and sat next to Kate on the dangerously comfortable bed. The mood between us had changed from the giggling abandon of earlier into something more contemplative, so we lay down on the bed side by side and she told me some about her father’s art collection.
And then I woke up.