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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Oh, right, the Soldier has a couple of those, too. They've just been mentally off-limits, because they only have three, and nothing has been enough of an emergency to consider using one. This technically isn't, either, but if Rosinante wants to use his, he can absolutely use his.

The Soldier can also grab and hurl, which they use the flesh arm to do, while punching a few more back with the metal arm, which hopefully is doing a little more damage than the knife and bullet did. Kicking with steel-toed boots might not do a lot of good in stopping the little rock-monsters, but it doesn't hurt as much as it could, and should at least give them both some room to roll back and out of the way of whatever explosion is coming next.

There's already another plan forming up in the back of their brain, in case the grenade doesn't do as much as they want it to. But let's try this first. He leaps free at last with maybe more spring than most humans can manage, lands clear, and spins to face whatever Rosinante's grenade might do.

Well, luckily for these two, it seems the little critters don't know what the word "grenade" means. Though even if they did, it's unclear whether or not they'd back off. Several of them rush at Rosinante's legs, wrapping their short-but-solid arms around when he tries to move. Of course, that won't stop him from picking one of them up, and pick them up he can. They do indeed weigh as much as they look like they would, but someone strong enough could definitely heft one.

Tossing it is a bit like tossing a struggling bowling ball. It doesn't go all that far, but when it lands, it definitely leaves a mark. Both the little rock monster Rosi throws and the one it smacks into go tumbling, the impact chipping large chunks from each. And the fallout only repeats itself when the Soldier does the same.

The punching with the metal arm certainly knocks the spirits back, and maybe a little further than the kicking, but it still only chips them, like a chisel and hammer. It scuffs the knuckles of the metal arm, too.

The Soldier isn't getting away so easily, either. The little spirits have clustered around him as well, and try to hug-crush him in place by wrapping around his knees.

Meanwhile, the Big One is close enough that those riding on top of it can throw stones and sharpened sticks. And the larger one can reach down, pry up an old log from the forest floor, and start swinging it around like a club. Better duck fast.

Okay, so the problem with the grenade is quickly going to be getting far enough away to even get it out. He'd hoped to clear the little spirits but they're persistent, and he's clumsy. Even at his most determined there's a risk he'll utterly fail and this is one of those times, as he throws the small spirit and then topples heavily to the ground at the shift in weight and the creatures grappling his legs.

So that's not great. But he fights to at least get up onto his hands and knees quickly, trying to keep Mary out of their reach, then hears the whistle of a rock go flying past his ear. It takes all his strength just to force little hands off his arms and stand back up, and he's quite strong, too. He underestimated these spirits from the beginning.

"Let go," he snarls as he tries to kick the spirits off and keep moving, and this time stoops to grab one by the hands and try to swing it as his own sort of club at its fellow little rock people. There's another whoosh of movement and one of those sharpened sticks plunges javelin-like into his back, though the layers of cold-weather clothing keep it from driving too deep. He'll ignore it for now - not much else he can do, occupied as he is. There will probably be more, too. Someone his size isn't exactly a hard target to hit.

No more punching, when the arm has to go towards defending from more projectiles. Looks like they're out of time. If Rosinante isn't able to use his grenade, the Soldier will have to enact plan B-- somehow; unless they can get clear to run to lure the stone spirits away, that plan won't be of much use, either-- or use one of its own. And if they could get free to lure the spirits away, they could use Rosinante's grenade.

Maybe the spirits are learning what kind of threats the Beaconites have to offer and sending something to counter them, or maybe they're just unlucky to have stumbled on the group most impervious to regular damage. "Fuck," the Soldier growls, and settles on dragging themselves a step to one side and grabbing two spirits off Rosinante, instead, giving him a shove with one elbow. They're not getting away unless one of them stays behind, and only one of them is carrying a sleeping child. "Get Mary clear."

And as soon as the rock spirits are hurled-- at the big one, in an attempt to stall it a few more seconds, maybe even knock it over-- the Soldier does pull out its own grenade from a hook at its hip, and wades towards the big spirit instead, dragging little ones as they go if need be. They keep the metal arm up, not wanting to get stopped be a rock to the head before reaching their goal.

Edited 2019-11-30 08:04 (UTC)

There are indeed more of the little makeshift spears, some slapping uselessly against Rosinante on their sides, while others stab into his clothes. He does manage to knock some of the spirits away using one of their own, and the Soldier helps by dragging two more off of him. If Rosi wants to go, now is the time, before another wave of the annoying things comes to replace them.

The big spirit is staggered by having two smaller ones chucked directly at its... face? The center of it, anyway. It stumbles back a few steps, teeters, but ultimately retains its balance using the log it's been wielding.

Once they realize that the Soldier isn't trying to escape, the confused little spirits don't try to drag him as much, but instead focus on pelting him with rocks, much like their counterparts on top of the juggernaut.]

Goddamnit this is not okay with him, but what choice does he have now? Because as he lunges forward out of reach of the rock spirits and turns to re-assess the situation, what he sees isn't an opening to get all three of them to safety, to maybe find cover, to blow up these living stones without any of them having to take unnecessary risks now that they know how tough these creatures truly are. No, he sees Soldat take a grenade in hand and wade in.

"Soldat, you asshole!" he shouts, more out of frustration than actual anger at the guy. He's stared death in the face to protect others behind him so many times that he understands the action all too well. Pisses him the hell off, though.

Rosinante doesn't waste any more time than that. Grenades are one of his preferred weapons and he's familiar with how many seconds he has to get to cover, and how far he needs to go to get himself and Mary out of the blast radius. He wheels and sprints for the building they were standing against not long ago and rounds the corner, ducking behind the far wall. He can't leave entirely until he knows if the rock spirits are even harmed by explosions, because if they're not, if they keep coming toward all the sleeping Beaconites at The Invincible not too far away, then he still has to work out something else to try. If he were a religious man he might say a prayer for Soldat; instead, he clenches his jaw, wraps his arms around Mary to shelter her from any possible debris, and waits.

(Ain't the first time we've been called that. Shut up shut up Sergeant.) Clearly, trying to escape would just mean more of the rock spirits following them. This distracts them and gives them a target, as evidenced by their reaction to the Soldier now, and lets Rosinante get Mary away. Hopefully it will take enough of them out that they won't come plowing through the walls of the Invincible to get at the injured, the other defenders, and the sleepers. The Soldier's grenades have taken out quinjets before. A bunch of dirt shouldn't stand a chance, right?

Fuck, they hope a bunch of dirt doesn't stand a chance, or they're going to feel really dumb if and when they come back from this.

So the Soldier keeps the projectiles off their face and torso with the metal arm, ignoring ones to their legs. It takes advantage of the spirits loosening their hold to run at the big one. It ducks under the big and unwieldy log, digs the metal hand into whatever bit of earth it can find so it can't be dislodged, presses the grenade against the spirit's center of mass, and hits the instant trigger.

There's a colossal explosion.

It's made all the more dangerous not only because of the incendiary material within the grenade, but due to the large amount of shrapnel created when the towering giant blows apart and the force of the blast turns a good number of the smaller spirits into flying shards of rock. This, in turn, damages even more of the little ones. Apparently, their primary weakness was each other.

And explosives.

Of course, a blast strong enough to destroy an army of stone is certainly strong enough to destroy flesh— armored or not.

As the deafening sound echoes out into the forest and the burning debris begins to fall, the juggernaut, missing its top half, falls to its knees and then collapses into a pile of granite. Most of the smaller spirits lie motionless, many in pieces, but the few who remain animate seem uninterested in sticking around. Gathering up those without legs but still moving, they retreat into the trees.

And in the center of what's become a crater of rocks and dirt, is a large amount of blood and charred fragments of metal.

The Soldier is dead.

Judging by the sound of that explosion and how badly it shook the building, that grenade was far more powerful than any Rosinante has ever encountered. If anything at all survived, he'll be surprised.

He doesn't really want to look.

But he has to, of course. Has to confirm the spirits won't tail him back to the tavern and pose a threat to everyone stationed there. He takes a moment to let the dust settle, and to brush some of those small javelins out of where they've stuck through clothing and in some cases skin. Checks Mary just to be sure none of the debris clipped her, but they had remained safely behind the wall.

So he swings his lantern wide and looks. Is glad Mary can't see. Doesn't have to get close to know nothing will be following them. He trudges back to The Invincible, unenthusiastic to announce they're down a defender, but he knows it's important.

"Soldat is gone," he states once inside, voice uncharacteristically flat.

Crowley is standing over Aziraphale, giving him another wave of healing. Healing doesn't wake him, it doesn't help, it doesn't do anything. It's just there. Just like Aziraphale. He's just there.

The man Crowley has met before steps inside, and Crowley turns to face him.

"Gone where?" he demands, moving to his feet. Where would the human soldier person go? They haven't got anywhere to go, except to the Lighthouse, but they don't think that's the right place to go, they've made that very clear.

That sounds like concern. Somehow it almost surprises him. He knew Soldat considered Crowley a "handler" of sorts, in this place, but were they actually close? Perhaps so.

He's too tired to spend much time analyzing relationships even when it's what his mind leaps to straightaway. He wants to go sit down and drink. Maybe have several cigarettes in a row. Job first, though.

"We ran into a pack of spirits made of solid stone and couldn't fight them with the usual weapons. There were too many, and too hard to bring down. Kept trying to restrain us. He freed the ones holding me down and then went straight for their leader with a grenade in his hand. There's... not much there now."

Crowley gapes. "So, what? They just blew themselves up?"

Something hits him hard at that. It shouldn't, he tells himself. It shouldn't because humans die all of the time. If it isn't violence that takes them, then time does. Not even a lot of time, and suddenly they're gone. He shouldn't even let himself think about it because it doesn't matter---it doesn't matter.

Except it does. And the human soldier person has become Crowley's friend. One of the only people he's come to truly like in this horrible, miserable little dark town. Someone who really wanted to make sure he stayed alive.

And they ran off into a group of spirits with a grenade. "That's---well, actually that sounds exactly like something they'd fucking do, and they're always after me for being reckless."

The pronoun choice throws him for a second. The spirits are the only plural in the situation he knows of, and no, the spirits didn't blow themselves up, Soldat blew them up.

But. Hm. Maybe it's an Earth thing. Maybe it's just a Soldat thing. The guy is strange enough and keeps strange company.

"Well, I owe him. I guess we all do. I wouldn't have wanted those things to make it here. Not sure how else we would ever have dealt with them. I just hope he makes it back."

"From the church," Crowley says, looking over the man's shoulder. Right, of course. The one place in the whole town Crowley absolutely cannot go. He can't even go and check to see if the human soldier person is back. Can't help get them back in one piece. They're on their own.

It doesn't seem right. The human soldier person would be there for him.

"Can you make it to the church?" he asks. "Leave something for them? If they make it back, they'll need ammunition, something to make sure they can get back to us."

"Yes, I can," he responds, despite the fact that he's cautious and tired. Yes, this is something that absolutely should be done and as the person who was out with him when he died, he feels entirely responsible.

"He won't be back for a few days. I'll get it done before then." And he'll go alone. Quieter that way. Well - alone except possibly for Mary. Is it riskier to bring her or to leave her? He has time to decide.

"I... Sorry if this is a strange question," he says, because he just has to know. "Why 'they'? I've never heard that, for a person."

"Gender neutral," Crowley replies. "They prefer it." A pause. "Preferred it."

He doesn't need to say it was an alternative to the human soldier person calling themselves 'it'. Or that it's the human soldier person's way of distancing themselves from being a person. Because, as Crowley had said before, he doesn't have to understand it, or try to rationalize it. It isn't about him.

He reaches into his pockets and begins producing boxes and boxes of ammunition, far more than his coat pockets should be able to hold. "I'm from 2019, and that sort of thing is all over the place where I'm from. Wish we had it back when I was picking a gender, would've made things a lot less complicated."

A lot of that sort of flies right over Rosinante's head, but he shrugs. All right. Good to know, he figures. For later, when Soldat comes back. When. Or so he hopes.

Way more preferable to think about than that abrupt and jarring death is the sudden production of large amounts of ammunition from those pockets. He'll take the distraction. "That's one hell of a stockpile," he comments. "Did you get all of that from Rastus?"

"Let's just say I have my ways," Crowley says, pushing the ammunition in the direction of the man. "Think that's enough to get them back here?"

He doesn't have any real concept of how much ammunition they might need. He could pull and pull ammunition out of his pockets until his powers were completely drained and he collapsed on he floor in exhaustion if the thought it would be enough. He just doesn't know.

He just needs to make sure that the human soldier person gets back in one piece. Too many of them have already died over all of this.

"We can leave it for them with a note, let them know it's from us and we want them back as soon as possible. Or at least to message us on the network so we know they're alive."

Rosinante sure does want in on those ways, but now isn't the time to ask. Instead, he nods. "More than enough by far."

And he'll have to move Mary after all, most likely. At least has to take her out of his pack to add the ammunition. Hopefully she'll be all right in his very short absence. He can make it quick.

"Why don't you write your note, then. I need to rest up before I go back out there." And idly he wonders why Crowley won't just go himself if he's so insistent, but again, he feels a little too much guilt to really barter for anything here. Things fell apart too quickly and Soldat shouldn't have had to die as a result of it.

Crowley scrambles behind the bar for a bit of paper and pencil, and scratches together a note for the human soldier person.

These are for you. I'll be waiting back at the Invincible when you're back. Don't die again. -C

Ugh. He cringes at how sentimental he sounds. He really needs to spend some time alone after all this to try to be less freaking soft.

He folds it up and hands it over to the man.

"What's in the bag?" he asks.

Rosinante pockets the folded note for later, then swings the bag around to his chest, making the top of Mary's blond head more visible.

"Dunno if you've met Mary. She's asleep. Easy enough to keep her with me."

Which Soldat hadn't been happy about, but there are risks everywhere here. With the number of healthy defenders at the inn declining daily, any moment could be the time when a wave of spirits breaks in and he has to just flee into the silence and the darkness on his own. At least he knows where she always is.

"She's one of the children, isn't she?" he asks, peering at the small head. Crowley fumes. "Children are always vulnerable to things like this. They're hungry, they eat, they don't know any better. The spirits had to have known that when they set this all up."

He nods to the floor.

"Do you want to leave her here while you go?" he asks. "I'll watch her."

There's a brief moment for which he's not sure whether Crowley is angry at Mary or the spirits, but his jab at them, not her, becomes clear. Yeah, they took advantage of a lot of the people here, but it's especially unfair to the youngest among them. Kids shouldn't have to live not trusting those around them, doubting whether even food is safe. He'd know.

"I'll decide when I leave," he replies. "He won't be back for at least a couple days. I need to eat."

Needs time for more than just that, too. Time to clear his head, re-bandage some of his injuries after the fight. Clean his gun, sharpen his sabre.

"Those bullets you provided - would you be able to make some for my gun as well? I'll need them in order to deliver your gift." He withdraws the flintlock from its holster - not quite the same as his Marine-issue one at home, but familiar enough - so that Crowley can see. Probably needs to know some sort of details to come up with bullets and powder for it.

"Should be able to," Crowley says, waving a hand over the gun to get a feel for it. He snaps a finger, and a box of bullets with a small bag of gunpowder appears in his hand. He offers them over.

"Were we back in my home world, I could create all sorts of weapons, definitely keep these things at bay," he says. "Here, I'm reduced to making bullets."

He supposes it's something, more than they had. But it still doesn't feel like enough, particularly when he knows he should be able to do more. He's a demon, for somebody's sake. His flat was three times larger than the space it occupied, and he just did that with an idle thought. Now he can barely hold together basic miracles.

"You're not the first who's mentioned having trouble with powers that aren't fire," he acknowledges as he opens up the box to look at its contents. He picks one up and turns it in his fingers, finding it's honestly nicer than most he's seen at home. Hm.

"I suppose death must strip us of some of the things we could do in life. I thought I could crush those rock spirits with a good hard kick, but all it did was hurt me." Immensely frustrating.

EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

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cw: character death, exploding

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