EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

[inthenightmods]

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?

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Comments

[moderatelymaladjusted]

It's-- yeah.

[A quiet agreement to that, because-] They used to tell me that, too? That magic? It comes from pain. Anyone can have talent, or be smart. But. It's pain that sets us apart in any meaningful kind of way?

[He makes a face, although Vanitas probably can't see it. Not with the low lights and how they're sitting. But Quentin makes it anyway, half disbelief and half terror of this being the truth.] Pain is what makes us great. I think that's bullshit. Why can't it come from love? Or friendship? I mean, why couldn't it run on decaf soy latte and cheesy 80's pop music?

[This is weird. Or, it's getting there. The guy isn't letting go, not really, and Quentin's not about to pull away from the guy he just had both hands shoved in to. But it's still a little weird. The stiff line of Vanitas shoulder under Quentin's hand and the bulky leg still sticking out within easy reach, all lending to the fact that this isn't really as warm or as comforting as Quentin wants it to be, if only he knew how to hug like a normal person.]

Uh, but there is-- where I'm from? We can kill pain. There are pills? Or drugs? Sometimes, if it's bad enough, they'll even pump it in to your veins. I just-- I don't have any. Maybe someone will at the Invincible. Some of those people were crazy prepared for this.

[With a small squeeze, Quentin lets go, patting Vanitas twice on the shoulder as the universal signal for okay, done now before he slides his arm back to cup his elbows in his hands and look for his hoodie.]

[moderatelymaladjusted]

[Quentin makes a are you kidding me face before he pulls himself together and gets his head out of his ass. Because of course it's not obvious. Not with Eliot being who he is and Quentin being who he is.]

Eliot? It's Eliot.

[necromantiae]

Is it?

( oh, ambrose looks delighted by that news. delighted. )

For how long?

[moderatelymaladjusted]

Uh, oh wow. So, that's kind of a long story. But, since we got here? A little after? Things have been kind of weird and, so. You know.

[Half-shrug, but Quentin smiles.]

We've been friends for years. He was the first magician I ever met.

[necromantiae]

You know.

( ambrose snickers but is genuinely pleased by the news. )

That's really good, actually, especially in a place like this. I'm glad for you both. I hope it works out. I mean that.

[antiwhat]

He is cute.

[ She's a very biased source, and she knows it. Half the employees are still scared of the Fuzz. But her view of cute is more along the line of the Soldier's, because she's never had puppies or kittens or anything like that. Just giant moths and bunyips. The bunyip bridges the line of cute, though, since they like to eat people given the chance. ]

I met him on one of my first successful expeditions to find real cases behind urban legends and myths. I was pretty young at the time. No one really knew what to do with me, being out there in the spooky woods and excited about it. [ Ellever's smiling fondly at the memory. ] And then I found... well, I mean, he looked exactly like what the legends described. The Mothman, I mean. But it was really just Fuzz, hatching out of someone. Took a while, too. I do feel bad about the poor guy who had to go through that, he seemed to be mostly alive at the time.

[worthallthis]

[Not what the Soldier expected to hear. Still alive, yikes.]

Did the man survive?

[Not that they have any idea what the "mothman" actually is. Aside from a moth-man, they suppose.]

[song_of_ice]

[The sudden rush into the request, followed close on its heels by her need for him disarms any protests he might have initially. He knew that feeling, having had to spend several days facing that probability while she was asleep and then before with her trip into the woods. He hadn't liked any of it, so he wasn't fool enough to ignore what the sight of him now might do to her.

He let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a sigh and laugh, needing some sort of response and it was better than falling asleep. He already was giving her his blood. What was the difference if she offered some to him? He had eaten worse things, lived in harder conditions and in this place, he couldn't afford a long convalescence.

It's not as if he wasn't compromising his morals almost every day now.]

How much do I have to take?

[song_of_ice]

This isn't the hands appearing in the woods or those other damned visions. I heard the green eyes can be worse.

[He was right though, even Jon felt that his vision could only be trusted so much at this moment. After so much adrenaline being spent and so many hours being forced awake, he was running on little energy.

It was safer to stay where they were.]


We could take shifts? Let one rest and the other keep guard? We might not have much of a chance later.

[moderatelymaladjusted]

Actually--

[Quentin's smile falters, and he grows serious for a minute.]

It's not? It really fucking sucks sometimes, because him being here? That means he died up there. And not too long after I did. I spent almost a year making sure he'd live and he just didn't? We don't even know if any of them are ever going to wake up, but. What if they don't? What if this is how it is now?

[sauntered_downward]

I don't care. I'm just curious.

It bothers you, though.

[necromantiae]

Whatever this is, Quentin, it's a second chance.

( it's giving them something that they might not have had before. )

You know how many people get those? Very few.

[evulsed]

Better you than me.

[ There's no aggressiveness in his tone; just that same incredulous kind of laugh lingering behind. ]

Let me know if your little get together works for you. If you can survive long enough to get back, that is.

[evulsed]

[ There's really no room. They're locked there, frozen, as Vanitas unspools loop over loop of Darkness into the night, bleeding out as much black as what spills over his waist like some macabre stream with it's dam burst free. His armor is so dark and the light is so low that it almost can't be seen— but as it blooms, it colors the blue fabric of his battle skirt darker and darker, the stain spreading like the billowing shape of the Dark Corridor.

Braveheart crashes into the spirit, and it vanishes into the portal almost immediately. ]

Gauh— [ The sound sucks out of him in the moment the obsidian blade unsheathes itself from his body, going with the spirit. Vanitas sinks to his knees, like he's at prayer behind Riku, standing between him and the darkness he's created. The portal collapses in upon itself like a black star winking out.

Vanitas starts to tip forward. ]

[evulsed]

[ Drugs. Gene had those. And Bruce has them too— he keeps them in a secret place in the museum. But Bruce isn't awake right now, he's deep in a coma that he won't be roused from (just like Ventus) and Riku... well. He wouldn't know, would he? And besides, he has all his stupid little friends to protect back at the Armory.

He realizes he's still holding on to Quentin, so he makes the effort to make his hands open, to pull them back and to himself. He doesn't put them to his lap, but instead places both hands flat on the ground next to his hips. It's difficult to say if this is because he's about to try and get up, or if it's just because he needs something to steady him. That's when he squeezes Vanitas and lets him go, and he feels that queer sensation of both loss and relief. ]

I'm not going back there.

[ Vanitas is still shivering, but it's from shock more than the cold. His eyes flick up to find Quentin without his lifting his chin. It means he watches him from under the shadow of his eyelashes. ]

So you better start running before those spirits show up.

[antiwhat]

[ A pause, then, ]

No... We did try to help him. But an insect coming out from your core and then infesting you for weeks on end is... a lot for the human body to take. That's where the Mothman legend came from, we think. An earlier person. Fuzz didn't just burrow out, he... ate his way through, slowly.

[ Ellever chuckles nervously. ]

Sorry, we're trying to eat and I'm talking about that.

[worthallthis]

[The Soldier shrugs a little, expression ultra-bland.]

I'm an assassin. I have a strong stomach.

[They prove it by having another mouthful of stew. This may be one of their weird attempts at humor. They do add, more seriously,]

It wasn't Fuzz's fault. If he was just a baby.

[shadowsran]

That is noted, and she endeavors not to distract too much.

"You've taken to it real quick, you know."

[shadowsran]

"Nothing that'll kill anybody here, if it's something you'd have to go to some extra trouble for - I'm sure there's people stranded around that might be needing it more." She, the spirit of 'can make do', says nearly on pure reflex.

"Have I been missing snow?"

[moderatelymaladjusted]

What?

[It's not that he didn't hear, because Quentin did, even if he doesn't believe it. Something went wrong at the feast and there's the total lack of Eliot that's more than a little worrying. He should be down here by now. He should be standing there, vest and all, overlooking the mess in front of the cabin they chose and make a witty quip about bloody neighbors or something like it.

But the room behind him is empty and Quentin frowns, hands clenching at his sides as he turns back around, eyes on M.K. and his kind of cool, kind of disturbing black eyes.]

What do you mean, went wrong? Wrong how? And-- the spirits? It didn't seem all that unusual to me? Except for how it wanted to, uh, eat my face?

[worthallthis]

They tilt their head just a little, not looking up from their paper but showing signs that they're paying attention. "It's soothing," they answer after a moment, halfway done with the crane. It doesn't seem particularly impressive that they learned how to fold paper into shapes easily. They've mastered much more complicated skills in the past, under much less pleasant conditions.

[worthallthis]

The Soldier manages an expression, and that expression is "you are being stupid if you think I won't go to all the trouble in the world for you". Or something like that, anyway. Besides, there's not really that many people stranded. A couple in the village, no more, and they're fairly well fortified. The handful in the museum who refuse actual help beyond the occasional supply drop. A bunch who left for the armory, but there's no way the Soldier is trekking all the way out there and leaving the Invincible undefended for that long. "There is some snow," they say. "Mostly it's just cold and damp."

[moderatelymaladjusted]

Quentin snorts and raises his eyebrow at Riku before he heads out the door. "Uh huh, because I'd do that? Leave without you-- jesus. I won't. I'll wait."

The rope is in the pile of supplies near the weapons, and there's a plastic bucket, too. Quentin brings both, poking his head in to the room of the sleepers on his way there. And on his way back. Making sure the chests are raising and falling, that the flames are still burning brightly.

He's got the bow over his shoulder and the quiver on his back once he reaches the exit, the rope is coiled around his waist, holding the bucket and his lantern is still swinging from his belt-hoop where Riku put it months ago.

Until Riku gets there, Quentin is going to stay by the wall, hands moving through the best spells, the defensive ones and the ones to help others. He's gotten better at healing? So, there's that. Like the shield spell, he's been doing the tuts so often in the past weeks, that it's almost automatic, the way his fingers twist against each other. He's humming softly under his breath.

[moderatelymaladjusted]

I know. It's-- yeah, I know. I know I'm fucking lucky to get this.

[Lucky beyond his wildest dreams, that Eliot wanted him back. That everything that Quentin had to give up and sacrifice was enough to get Eliot his life back, even if this place pulled him here soon after. At least Quentin had bought him a chance.

He's been trying to do that same thing here. Searching through every lead that comes his way, to find a way to get Eliot out of here. He tries very hard to think about what he'd do, if Eliot refused to leave. Coughing, Quentin changes the subject inelegantly and he raises his eyebrow at Ambrose, lips twitching in to a small smile.]

I'm just naturally worried, I guess. I mean, right now? I'm kind of worried about what kind of bag you think will go with your face?

[shadowsran]

It's a very good expression, though not one she's practiced meeting. It gives some pause.

"You're alright running around in it?" Coats become the next worry, however many layers it's fairly evident he's bound in most of the time. Must she also foist soup on you, Soldat?