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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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.

"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."

"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.

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.)

He points toward one of the windows along the side of the room, near the jukebox. "Quarter of a mile that way. Was just making my way back, past the church. They were in the trees."

An annoying spot, since it meant they'd crept in behind him or someone else at some point, like they had been keeping an eye on The Invincible and its comatose guests themselves - but probably lots of them do that and he just happened to come across them. Some luck, then, that he was able to drive them off, at least temporarily, but he knows they and more will be back.

Since Soldat seems to have finished fussing with his ankle, he carefully lowers it back to the floor and makes to stand. "Anyway, I'll see to that shower."

The Soldier nods. They'll have to investigate the space, see what they can find, and tracks or signs of other spirits watching. For now, they offer their metal arm and shoulder in case Rosinante needs support at a better height than the table, to help him stand with.

And says, haltingly and maybe actually a little shyly, gaze fixed at the wall rather than on Rosi, "I might. Have a different shirt you can wear. That might fit. While you wash and fix the tears in that one."

The metal arm is nice and sturdy, thanks, as he carefully stands back up and tries not to put too much weight on the sore ankle. Before he can hobble upstairs, though, he does actually have to take his bag full of Mary off and leave her here. The people awake and defending have done well enough that he'll trust their watchful eyes, so he goes to lay her down a couple feet away, next to Will.

Soldat's offer takes him by mildly confused surprise, and he fixes him with a flat look for a moment before shaking his head and making his way toward the stairs. "I have other clothing," he responds. He'll have to walk all the way to his room to get it, but he can manage that.

Not that the Soldier had been expecting much at sharing they'd found (or in this case, remade) a new item of clothing for Rosinante, but being completely rebuffed had been a fairly small possibility, in their calculations. (Should've just left the damn thing in his room without saying anything. Like with Eleven's birds. Maybe.) "Okay," they say, slipping back into their usual perfectly neutral expression, and decide that maybe they misunderstood their role here. They never did exchange the word "friend", after all.

They let Rosinante do whatever he needs to on his own, this time, and just head off to carefully retrieve the ice bucket from outside the inn door, smashing the solid ice into usable bits with the metal fist and setting it beside Rosinante's usual table so it's ready when the guy is done showering and needs to ice his ankle. With a pillowcase to wrap it in, and everything. Then retreat to the kitchen for refueling. Gonna just... let him be, for now.

EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

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