"Are we there yet?"

"No. By definition. Because we don't have anywhere we're going."

"Are we at somewhere interesting yet?"

"I don't know, are you interested by it?"

There’s a wide area of landscape—larger than a city, probably—which looks to be controlled by a powerful dreamer of its own. Most of it is wilderness (here tundra, there forest, there plains), but paths snake through it, leading to houses, farms, portals to the nether world. In the center, the beating heart of the dream is a building floating atop water; the walls on the outside are brick, but inside they are aquariums swimming with tropical fish. There is a man there in a green cloak and a smiling mask (if it is a mask).

Off to the side, there’s a field and lake walled off with the strange black brick of another world. Inside is a van, three teenagers, a fox-man, and two people who look to be in their early twenties. 

"This interesting enough for you?"

"Potentially."

“Hello! Who are you?” (This is addressed to both of them.)

"I am Randolph Carter, traveler, bearer of the silver key, friend of cats and ghouls, former king of Ilek-Vad, and lover of She Who Is No More, who has journeyed to unknown Kadath in the far wastes and sailed the sunless skies and been taught the secrets of time and space by Yog-Sothoth who is the Key and the Gate. I request hospitality and guest-friendship."

"I didn't know you were her lover. Should I be jealous?"

"Shut up."

(Quiet giggle.) “Honored stranger, you are welcome to stay here as long as you want. You may call me Dream.”

That name is a hell of a brag. He wonders if this Dream can back it up. "What is this place called?"

“It doesn’t have a name, it’s just— mine. My dream. Wilbur might have a more specific name for it, I’m not sure, but I’ve never seen the need.”

Dream, who built the city of Dream, in the Dreamlands, which you go to by dreaming. He can sense that this Dream is a powerful dreamer but he can't imagine how. 

"We need a place to sit down. And food. And art supplies." 

“I can provide those.” And here they are. 

"I'm a ghoul," Pickman says. "I eat corpses. Human by preference but if pig's what you got I'll settle."

“No human, I’m sorry. I can go searching for corpses later.” A pig should wander by— Dream stabs it, it should die quickly and cleanly—

Pickman makes a face. "Is there somewhere we can put it for a couple days until it's nice and rotten?"

"It's fine, ghouls only need to eat once a week or so."

“Of course. I’ve never met a ghoul before, sorry if I’ve been rude.”

"Mostly we live in the lower Dreamlands where you can easily cross over to Earth, where people have the dignity to leave corpses when they die. But here I am stuck following around this asshole--"

"I love you too."

Snort. “Are you looking for anything or just wandering?”