logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

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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 should obey, of course. It's the right thing to do. But he sees that green-eyed monster getting away, and he can't let that happen. He reaches out to grab his dagger out of the sinking monster, ready to throw it out at the green-eyed monster, when---

He feels another burst of blessed energy, and he jumps away again, but he's not fast enough. Water hits him in the arm, sizzling and bubbling. Even one drop of holy water is enough to destroy him, and he feels himself going, melting. He cries out in pain, in terror. He drops to the ground, curling up in on himself.

As it was rather busy shooting holy acid at Crowley, the green-eyed hound doesn't move in time to avoid the one that's flung in its direction. The tossed dog slams into it and the two go down together, yelping.

At this point there are only four of the beasts left, and one is mostly sunk in the quicksand. The other one caught in the trap is steadily working on freeing itself, front paws on solid ground, scratching wildly in an attempt to pull its hind legs out.

When the green-eyed one recovers, roughly shoving the other hound aside, it turns its attention on the Soldier. Who will have the strong and sudden feeling of his limbs being gripped by phantom hands, trying to drag him, hold him down.

The Soldier takes the time to put a bullet into the face of the one trying to crawl out of the quicksand, and a second at the green-eyed one and/or the one it just threw at said green-eyes-- though their aim is perhaps not the best, because that's when Crowley screams, so while it will probably hit, it won't be a kill-shot for either hound unless it's very lucky.

They step between the remaining hounds and Crowley, risking a glance down, a crouch to pull at one of the tucked in arms, trying to see if he's been hurt in the chest. He. Doesn't look hurt. Doesn't smell hurt. There's no blood, no seared flesh, just fear. "Crowley-- Crowley, get up--"

Then the invisible hands grab for the Soldier's arms and back, and it surges back to its feet, whirling, trying to throw the multiple grips away, lashing with the knife and snarling in startled fury. No! No surprise touching, no grabbing, and absolutely no getting to Crowley!

Crowley cowers. He imagines his flesh being melted from his bones, imagines turning into a puddle right where he stands----completely obliterated the way he was when he was killed back in Hell. Life over, 100%, never coming back. He imagines it, and his flesh burns and---and----

And he takes a breath. He's still breathing. He hasn't melted yet, there's some part of him still holding on. This is different than it was back in Hell, this is very different somehow. Maybe here, he has a chance to do something to help the human soldier person before he goes completely.

It's a hound. A dog, right? What is it that dogs hate? Well, Crowley hates that mouth of its----so he tries to imagine a muzzle, something wrapped around the green-eyed monster's face, keeping its maw closed. Maybe one attached to a chain leash, with the handle in Crowley's uninjured hand. He has no idea if his abilities will work like that in this place, but he's going to focus, going to try.

He only has seconds before he's liquid, but maybe he can pull the green-eyed hound into the quicksand before he's gone.

The hound trying to free itself from the sand goes down about the same time the other one is entirely buried beneath. Only two left, and one of them gets immediately shot in the side. Unfortunately, it's not that pesky green-eyed one.

That one is busy focusing on tormenting the Soldier, bringing up more and more grasping, clutching hands. Crowley won't see them if he spares a glance, but Bucky sure can. He can feel them, too, fingernails digging into him, arms seeking to wrap around his own. They're unnaturally strong, as if they've matched their power to his and then surpassed it.

But then something strange begins to happen. A chained muzzle flickers in and out of existence over the mouth of the green-eyed hound, and in tandem, the hands around the Soldier flicker in and out as well. The spirit struggles, uncertain as to which enemy it should be focusing on. While the muzzle is tangible, the hound is far too busy trying to get it off, but in a moment of reprieve, it somehow communicates to the other remaining spirit.

Which immediately lunges toward Crowley.

That's wrong. That's wrong, nothing is as strong as the Asset, even when handlers hold it down it takes many of them all working together, often with stun batons to distract it with pain. The Soldier struggles, half its attention on panic and trying to buck the hands off, the other half still on a kind of protective fury-- even if its brain is no longer entirely sure what it's supposed to be protecting, thrown back instead into an episode of handlers and trying to wrestle it back to the Chair. Can't shake what's written in the Soldier's bones, though, and whatever they're supposed to protect, they're gonna fucking protect it.

So the minute the hands let up even a little, its diving for the remaining hound in a full-on tackle before it can get to the target. There's still a knife and a gun in its hands, but the latter is mostly forgotten except as something to hit with, and the former is more going for random stabbing than anything focused. However, having more than two hundred pounds of supersoldier landing on and then randomly stabbing at anything is still pretty effective.

Crowley's powers aren't strong here, but they're doing something. He can see the muzzle, he can feel the leash in his hands. When it flickers into existence, he's going to pull at it, try to get a hold on the creature, try to get it closer.

Maybe not the brightest idea, but he has the human soldier person here, and the human soldier person is strong and fierce and---

Oh holy shit the human soldier person is all but diving on the hound barreling at him, the one Crowley was completely oblivious to because he was focusing on the green eyed spirit.

"Yeah, that's right, you can do it!" Crowley says, half-heartedly. He's never been much of a cheerleader, but he's trying.

The monster headed for Crowley is suddenly on the ground, and then it's being stabbed and beaten and it sure isn't happy about any of those things. In what seems to be a desperate bid to get the Soldier to stop, it latches onto his fleshy arm and clamps down while it continues to struggle and wriggle beneath him.

The green-eyed spirit appears to be furious, but more than that, it seems... disappointed. An emotion that can be heard in the sudden, garbled voice that echoes in both Crowley and the Soldier's heads.

Why fight? Why hurt? Want help. H E L P.

The last word is a painful screech, like microphone feedback directly to the brain. The instant it rings out, the green-eyed hound stops fighting against Crowley's sometimes-there leash and throws itself at him, jaws wide. It leaps high enough that it's probably aiming for his face, but it'll take whatever parts it can get.

Look, you threw the Soldier into a flashback of a very early time in its captivity, doggo, you're going to have to deal with the consequences of that flashback. Those consequences include a terror-fueled rage blocking out coherent thought let alone understanding of telepathic messages, getting the last foot-soldier torn off the flesh arm regardless of injury and torn leather from the tac vest, and then having said foot-soldier thrown at it mid-leap. With the actual Soldier surging up in the creature's wake to grab whatever part of the green-eyed one it can and use that part to hurl it against the ground. Multiple times, if possible. No finesse, just brute strength.

Crowley sees the creature leap at him and immediately ducks. Right, there are better things he could do right now, more cohesive things he can do, but this thing can spit holy water----

Wait, the holy water. He looks down at his arm, which stings but isn't melted off. What the hell happened there? He should be dead right now. Dead as he was when he originally died. That should've been it, it should've been all over. How did that----

He sees the human soldier person leap into the fray and decides now is not the time to think about it. He grips the leash again and pulls downwards, to see if he can get the creature off-footing.

The green-eyed hound's jaws fill Crowley's vision entirely, snapping shut— mere centimeters before they would've reached him. The creature manages to dodge its tossed companion, but the Soldier nabs its rear leg and jerks it out of the air.

The hands come back, this time with faces attached, the forms of past handlers, of the ones who shocked him and dragged him to the chair. The hound fights for all it's worth, thrashing and snarling and biting at anything it can reach as it tries to regain control of the Soldier's panic-stricken mind. It mostly ignores Crowley's leash, apparently having bigger problems on its plate.

But the other hound doesn't have any problems, aside from a few stab wounds. It picks up where the green-eyed one left off, trying to eat Crowley's face.

They're really just juggling monsters at this point, huh?

The hound is fighting something as strong as it is, and that already has a grip on it. Hound teeth mostly hit torn leather on the flesh arm, kevlar on the chest and neck, some flesh on the right hand, claws scoring on the Soldier's face.

But hands and handlers just mean that the Soldier thinks the thing it has is one of them. The mind doesn't clearly remember what the Chair does, but the body knows it means pain and terror and burningblindingnothingness, and there isn't enough familiarity yet to make it sit down willingly. It is not letting that happen again, even if it has to tear the hound's/handler's throat right out with its bare hands. Even if it has to tear them in half. And that's what it's trying to do, with the hound/hands/handlers coming right up into its face: dig the metal fingers in tight around the offered throat, with the hind leg still in the flesh hand, and rip.

Crowley's on his own for the moment, though. At least his assailant is damaged from pummeling and knife wounds, right?

"Shit!" Crowley cries out as the other creature leaps at him, jaws snapping. He imagines a cricket bat in his hand and takes a swing at it, aiming for those teeth.

But that's not effective, is it? Just a bat, just a weapon. He thinks about how the muzzle worked, how it stopped the monster in its tracks. If he can think creatively, maybe he can throw this dog off, too.

He thinks about what he knows about dogs. They're large and smelly and generally annoying, but Crowley knows they can be tamed. Tamed how? By treats. He looks at the cricket bat and imagines it as a large bone instead.

Something to tempt the hound, perhaps?

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EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

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apologies for the delay