logsinthenight | 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?

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[Crowley scrunches up his face]

Oh, shut it. I didn't know where you'd be and I didn't need someone else wandering around not finding you. If you just came with everybody else I wouldn't have had to do this.

[Yes, that's definitely it, Crowley. He definitely doesn't give a shit. Absolutely.]

Leave your things, we can come back for them later. There are too many things in the woods to risk not being able to travel light.

Crowley, you are looking at the entirety of my work to get us out of here. Do you truly want to risk damage to that?

[Not that she can take her whole lab with her. But at least a piece.

[And all Crowley wants in the whole wide universe is to leave this place. Especially now.

But he doesn't even hesitate when he responds:]

And none of it, none of it will matter if you don't survive to use it.

The woods are swarming with those creatures. We need to be quick if we're to get you somewhere safe.

[Still she hesitates, just for a moment . . . and finally grabs one thing, a small metal device, and a few idle tools. All fit in a small rucksack, and then she nods.]

All right.

[She doesn't look back, though she wants to . . . but he's right. Rosalind sighs as she steps carefully over the tripwire.]

Come out. I've one last trap to set should anyone disturb the place.

[He gingerly steps over the trip wire and waits for her.

He snaps a finger and a small bud of a camera appears. Were he at anything resembling his full power, it would be a beautiful, multidimensional GoPro camera. As it is, it's just a tiny, black-and-white thing that's going to send absolutely terrible images to his mobile phone. He sticks it on the side of the wall nearest him so he doesn't have to go over any of her trip wires.

He turns the phone towards her to show off the image]

You see? You can keep an eye on it.

[Well. Rosalind stares for a few seconds, that bizarre feeling rising up in her, torn between calling him out on his sentiment and being too pleased to bother. She steps in towards him, compromising by not expressing either, but rather managing a brief smile, pleased.]

Now there's a decent trick. Why didn't you--

[A long, low whistle, followed by a series of awful clicking noises, cuts her off, and Rosalind grimaces.]

Come on.

[Crowley would, of course, argue against sentiment from here to Hell and back. But he doesn't even have time for that, because there's something coming. Crowley has seen what these things can do, and he knows how they can kill him easier than they can probably kill other people in this place.

Holy water. Holy beings? He has no idea, and the one person he would ask about this is in a coma.

He reaches out to take her hand]

This way.

[She grips his hand tightly, her thin fingers cold, and keeps herself quiet as they start down the path. She can hear footsteps too near, crunching in the leaves and the wind tugging at her hair, but there's nothing for it but to move fast and hope they aren't noticed.

And if they are . . . she grips her dagger.]

Tell me . . . how do you imagine you'll fare against one of these creatures?

[Crowley's fought quite a few of these creatures now already, and there is only one way to describe how he fares against them: Badly. He's not strong, he's not clever, and he barely has any powers here at all.

Not that he's about to tell the woman any of this, of course.]

We can try to fly back. Would make us more vulnerable for a short amount of time, but we'd move a lot faster.

No. No flying.

[She refuses. Each person she's seen flying has met a gristly end, and she doesn't trust the spirits not to pick out an easy target.]

We'll walk.

Flying's served me well so far.

[He's not going to argue, though. He picks up the pace, though.]

Have you done any research to figure out why the people fell asleep in the first place?

With my berth of scientific supplies?

[Dry, even now.]

No. I suspect some kind of benzodiazepine locally administered. It's not difficult to send people to sleep-- artificial comas aren't unheard of, and if you care for the body, the mind can successfully thrive even while unconscious.

[Crowley hasn't the faintest idea what kind of drug she's referencing, it's something way out of his wheelhouse. But she has some kind of an answer, which is miles better than anyone else in the town has had so far.]

So how would we get them out of this? Is there an anti-benzodizewhatever you said? Demonic magic doesn't budge this sleep.

Not at hand. Nothing I can make easily, before you ask.

[. . .]

Who are you worried over?

Wouldn't you like to know. [It's not that Crowley doesn't trust her except----well, he definitely doesn't trust her. And he supposes it wouldn't be any fun at all if he did.

There's the sound of something nearby, and Crowley turns, a large cricket bat appearing in his hand.]

We're going to need to move just a little bit faster.

EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

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