logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

EVENT LOG:
ENTER MR. SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

characters: those who signed up as defenders for the event
location: all around Beacon
date/time: november 16-29
content: the defenders attempt to drive off a spirit invasion
warnings: lots of horror! body horror, psychological horror, gore, violence, etc.. please cw all threads where appropriate! mods will do the same

in your closet, in your head.

It all happens in a matter of moments. Your friends, your companions, and even some people you aren't all that fond of; everyone who took so much as a bite of the spirits' feast suddenly collapses into a comatose heap. Which is bad enough already, but the worst, by far, is yet to come.

Before anyone can really figure out what's happened to the sleepers, the woods surrounding the town come alive with sound. Rustling, screeching, clicking, howling, and under it all, the characteristic hoots and whistles of the forest spirit tongue. But these aren't the friendly creatures that set up the banquet in the first place, and they aren't the familiar faces (or masks) from around Beacon. As they begin to emerge, bursting forth from the trees, these spirits reveal themselves as a horrifying army of terrors. And sprinkled among them, distinguishable by the emerald glint in their sockets, are the infamous "green eyes", the dangerous spirits that appeared once before.

Attempting to talk to these spirits is a moot point, made obvious by their immediate assault on anyone they get close to. They attack with claws and teeth, with limbs far stronger than they have any right to be, and the green eyes, as they are wont to do, will try to get into your head. Somehow, they seem to know what it is that scares you most, and they don't seem too hesitant to use it. It's not clear what they want— are they here to eradicate you? To frighten you? To send a message?

Whatever the case, one thing is very clear: you and everyone else, sleeping or waking, are in serious danger. Are you ready to defend Beacon?

QUICKNAV
comms	\|	network • logs • memes • ooc
pages	\|	rules • faq • taken • mod contact • player contact • calendar • setting • exploration • item requests • full nav

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I, uh, right. Thanks? For that picture? I've never had to worry about being spit-roasted before. But I am now.

[He nudges Ambrose with his shoulder, smiling and they set off down the trail. Nothing but darkness and trees all around, and there are too many noises. From their own footsteps and the dragging noises from the travois. The crinkling of fabric and the footsteps echo through the dark, making it impossible to tell if there's anything following them.]

Maybe? I never know what I say that might rub off on people or the other way around? Once, and this was with my friend Julia and it was before I even knew magic existed. But. We were at this party, and she convinced me to dance. That wasn't-- I still feel sorry for everyone else there about that. But. That's not the part about rubbing off on people. So, we were dancing, just doing our thing and suddenly, there's this girl grinding up against me? And- I didn't mind too much. Just a little, because she made it harder to keep up with Julia. And I thought she was just dancing? Turns out, she was trying to remove this acid green glitter from herself? Because it made her break out in hives and I was just the closet person there, wearing a lot of clothes? So, she rubbed off on me alright.

[A tiny pause]

I ended up spending the night trying to calm her down and hose her off with cold water, to get the hives to go down. It was a pretty good party.

It is, and it isn't. Quentin lets the casual contact slide, and looks back over his shoulder towards the sleepers. That's not what they are, but it's the only way he's allowing himself to think about them. Like they're just sleeping, like maybe they'll wake up one day and see all of this. All of the effort and sheer willpower poured in to making them as safe as they possibly can.

Until all the protectors are gone. It's a risk each of them takes, every time they step outside the carefully maintained corridors and the almost safe rooms.

There was a curse like this, Quentin remembers. Kady found it, when they were combing the Brakebills library for clues about battle magic and ways to stop an inhuman Beast. They'd all laughed themselves sick, talking about it. The Sleeping Beauty Curse. Margo had suggested that she'd never be dumb enough to get cursed in the first place and Eliot agreed, suggesting that the only one in the group who'd be really at risk, was Quentin. Because he'd never not help a pretty face if asked, and who could argue with that? It had been fun, until someone read the consequences of letting the curse run its course, which just made everyone look at him with pity and worry.

They tore the pages out and set them on fire in Penny's room.

This isn't it, because he's tried all known counter-spells, all the fairy tale bullshit and nothing is working. So, part of the grinding sensation against his soul, is his complete inability to help.

"I don't know what I'll do if they don't," and by 'they' he means Eliot. And by 'not knowing', Quintin has this strange, almost out-of-body vision of setting the whole forest on fire, burning everything to the ground until who ever is doing this, shows themselves. He shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes with both hands.

"There's only so much we can do to make it last. We need more, even if it is from the river," with the pretty swirling lights and the whispers. Running his hands through his hair again, tugging on the greasy strands to get them to stay behind his ears, Quentin continues, "I can go, but if I go alone, I'm going to jump. It's not-- I don't want to, but. There's something about that river."

He desperately wishes for Alice, to bend the light and make them all invisible.

Looking up, Riku looks as bad as Quentin does. Face haggard and weary, the bags under his eyes large enough and dark enough to look like greasepaint in his pale face, and even his silver hair looks dull and dirty. The clothes he's managed to find or wear, are hanging off of him, like they're a size too large but Quentin doesn't know him well enough to know if it's from weight-loss or from just pulling whatever was closest on to keep warm.

"With the rationing and with the sleepers getting their share, we're down to a few days before we run out. We'll all die within a week, if we can't get anymore. I've tried to get someone on the network to respond, but. I haven't heard from the Invincible since yesterday morning."

He braces himself with his hands on the table as Soldat pulls off his boot, and slowly exhales through his nose as he fights against the pain of his ankle being handled - though yes, he does appreciate that he's being careful this time around.

"I saw six. Sounded like more but the others fled. They didn't seem as coordinated as some of them, just a group looking for easy pickings." And he made sure that he wasn't that. Might've taken a few blows but nothing compared to what the spirits suffered - not that suffering was his goal, and he was glad several of them ran. Better to intimidate a bunch of them into running than to have to kill more than he needs to, but he'll do whatever it takes to keep the others safe, and he doesn't feel an ounce of guilt for the deaths of a few spirits when it's a matter of their survival.

Crowley lifts the sandwich up and takes a bite. Around the bite---polite as ever---he says, "I'm not sleeping again until we work out a way to wake up Aziraphale. He can sleep for both of us."

Will they ever be able to wake up Aziraphale? Will he stay asleep forever?

Crowley has never seen the spirits like this before. They've always been creepy but harmless, sitting back and letting them do their---well, their thing in this town without bothering them. He's always said he thought they were up to no good, but he's had no real indication of it, not until now. Now, it's obvious that they were just out to hurt them. That they've always been out to hurt them.

He deposits the second person onto the ground with a graceless flop and heads back outside. The human soldier person is drawing all of the spirits to him, which is good, he supposes----for a while. Eventually, he'll be overwhelmed. Can't have that happen.

"Need any help?" he calls back, flying over him and heading towards more sleeping people.

Crowley looks at the lad's weapon and his own empty hands. Crowley is far from a fighter, never has been, and all of his attempts to fight the creatures coming at them now have turned out less than stellar.

Still, he can cause a little chaos. And the lad's weapon is definitely interesting.

"What should I wield, then?" he asks, offering him a smile. "You pick."

Hand dropping back to her side, she hums and tips her head, considering.

"Whatever it is, it is powerful. But even the most powerful of spells can be undone," she offers, before her gaze drifts back to his face, her expression growing more serious.

"Absolutely. My dear friend, Ignis, once told me that she mentioned to him being able to have some control over the ghosts and spirits that dwell here. If that does not scream 'guilty', I don't know what does. But right now... I suppose we have only speculation."

"No green-eyes," the Soldier guesses from that, gingerly feeling around Rosinante's ankle to feel for a break or dislocation, but if it really is just a sprain, all it will need is wrapping for support and some ice. There's water out in a bucket beyond the relative warmth of the inn's walls left outside for freezing, that the Soldier can smash to make pieces small enough to use on swollen ankles. "They never run if there's a green-eyes."

Not yet, but maybe in a little bit. The Soldier doesn't bother to say as much, too busy ducking and rolling, punching and slashing, throwing spirits away from itself, from the table. Sometimes they're almost a blur, but the spirits are fast, too. It's collecting injuries, but so far they're all small and easily ignorable.

"Keep going," they call instead, following the order up with a bullet point-blank in a gangly spirit's chest.

They can't stop all of us if we go through together.

[Hopefully.

He thinks.

Worth trying, in his opinion.]

"He'll wake up," the Soldier says, with certainty. They're not sure how much certainty they actually feel, but sometimes an inability to think clearly beyond the next four or five days is a benefit. "This won't last forever. And then the two of us can sleep for a week, instead. Preferably without any spirits interrupting."

They put the cheese and bread back in the cupboard, then tuck into their own sandwich like a starving wolf. (Fucking finally. All that chatter. Now we finally get to eat.)

Crowley watches them eat, and takes a careful bite of his own sandwich. He wishes he felt as confident about it as they do. Aziraphale hasn't shown any sign of life---nothing since they picked him up from that feast. Just asleep. Completely comatose. Crowley let him to to the feast, telling him he was just being stupid, that it couldn't possibly be that bad. Hell, if they poisoned Aziraphale, he'd just come back to life, right?

Not this. No, like this, he's still here. Not even dead.

"How long do we wait? Before we take it up with our captors?" Ever single-minded, Crowley is. "Or start trying other things? I don't know----killing them, see if they wake up in the church?"

Okay wow, that story took a turn that I was not expecting and that's a good thing. Seems like you were there for her in her moment of need. Hopefully you made a friend or something afterward?

( that seems like a great meet cute story for the start of a friendship at least. )

Even if it didn't, at least it's a great thing to tell people at parties and...in the middle of attacks by supernatural creatures.

"Didn't see one. It might have goaded them toward me and then switched targets and left them behind. Or maybe they're starting to feel the losses."

But he kind of doubts that latter possibility. The spirits probably aren't infinite in number but there are so goddamned many of them that it's hard to imagine they've put a dent in their numbers. If a week and a half or so of fighting back was all it took to make them worry for their own lives, a reset wouldn't be nearly so much of a threat.

The Soldier, unlike Crowley, waits until they've swallowed to speak. "We wait until we can't fight anymore. Or until it's longer than the last time terrible shit happened here and then stopped without warning." Because they might not be great at thinking about the future, but they do have crystal-clear memories of the past in this place, since their death. And these things keep happening for no damn reason.

Except there has to be a reason, they just don't know what it is, yet. When the other spirits return, when Robin starts replying again, they need to ask more. Stop being shy and nervous and just ask things.

"We're not there yet," they say, and have more sandwich.

Luna's got her eye on the spirit too, she watches as it stalks them through the trees, following after them making shrill shrieks and hisses. Luna tries to ignore them, at least for the moment; opting instead to focus on Ignis and dodging through other, lesser spirits that want to charge.

The end is in sight; or rather, it will be. Because they're moving past the Bonfire and back towards the Invincible. She doesn't know what awaits them there, for all she knows it's just as overrun.

She looks up, and there are no eyes in the trees anymore, and it sets her on edge. She knows that thing is still around, knows it's following them -- except it's not following them anymore. It doesn't have to, because it swings down from the trees with a wild scream; Lunafreya barely as time to duck down with wide eyes. "Watch out!"

"When is there, then?" Crowley's voice has an edge to it. He feels like he could handle a few days of this---but this long? Not knowing what's going on with Aziraphale, not knowing when the assault will end...

He drops the sandwich back on the plate and waves a hand dismissively.

"It doesn't matter. We won't run out of ammunition, i can make sure of that. We could do this literally forever."

There may be lots of spirits, but not all of them are here fighting. Maybe not even most of them are here fighting. The Soldier shakes their head a little, dropping their hand from Rosinante's ankle. "Not broken. Once you're clean, I can get you ice." Then: "Where did the attack happen?" If it was near one of the other fortified places, the Soldier might cut their break short, even if Crowley might worry more, to check on them.

(After lunch. Yes, Sergeant, I'll eat first. Quickly.)

Lucky for him, she does not, in fact, know Russian.

At his grin, she smiles slightly as well, nodding. Scarlett does like her nicknames.

"Maybe I'll just call you that too." She's teasing, but she might very well do it anyway. It's easy to remember. She gestures with her chin to the likely reason for that nickname. "So, what's with the arm?"

Oh, that's not something the Soldier knew. They look down at the gun strapped to their thigh and frowns a little, thoughtfully. They'd been saving their bullets, but if Crowley can replace them... hmm. "When we can't fight anymore. Even I'll get too tired or injured eventually. So no, we can't do this forever." They look back up at Crowley. "But we can last a little while longer. Another week, maybe two, if the food holds and we're lucky. If the spirits don't change their tactics. And you don't do something stupid."

They love you, Crowley, but you have stupid ideas sometimes.

Crowley looks at them innocently.

"Something stupid? You mean like firebomb the Lighthouse to get that woman to wake up everyone here and stop the assault?"

"It doesn't have to be speculation," Crowley says. "The spirits are all here, attacking us. We can go there, now. We can confront her."

After all, the Lighthouse person has been very silent throughout all of this. If that doesn't tell Crowley who to blame, he doesn't know what else would.

Flying spirits? That's news to Crowley. Changes how he would prepare an assault on the Lighthouse, but it definitely doesn't rule one out. He's handled flying demons before.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Besides dying, waking up in a church, and then dying all over again because he can't live in a holy place?

"We can go there, yes. Do you think those that remain here will be able to hold their own, if we leave?"

She agrees, and she's hardly afraid of the woman who calls herself the 'Keeper'. Robin. She is, however, afraid for their loved ones, should they just leave. But there's only one way to find out.

"If you wish to go, then I will accompany you."

Crowley spares a look over his shoulder. This is going to infuriate the human soldier person and Xayah. They told him to stay put. But, then again, when has Crowley ever done what he's supposed to do? Aziraphale is still asleep, and there's no way to rouse him. This could be their only way out.

"Let's go, then," he says, nodding towards the door. "We can fly. I'll carry you."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 38 of 65

EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

... so sorry about Q being a dork!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

hahahaha it's so adorable.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject