logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

Entry tags:

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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"I ought to be trying that - I don't have much talent for the ocarina, and I worry about accidentally offending poor Ivy." Practice becomes a little less than harmless, in their current environment. "How do they refer to us?"

It's a compliment to his baseline cordiality that the chair hardly raises an eyebrow. He hasn't done it before, but it doesn't go against the idea of his politeness that currently resides in her head. Lowering herself into the offered seat, she smiles warmly up at him. "Thank you - someone doing that around you?"

"No. I. Think I remembered it?" The Soldier shakes themselves a little, then moves around the table to sit on the other side. It's a little nice to get off their feet for a few, anyway. "From Before." (It's what you do for a lady. I think.)

The Soldier shakes their head, too, and adds, "And they call us--" He sings the owl-friend's word for Beacon dwellers. It's easier on his voice than the other phrases, being properly in his vocal range.

To say she perks up would be an understatement. Has he mentioned a 'before' before? Not that she's immediately able to recall, and new territory is exciting territory. In all, but especially these mysterious instances. Retaining warmth, her expression takes on a certain earnestness. "That's good, I think. It's polite of course, but I mean the - remembering. Does that happen often? Things cropping up?"

It's a nice sound, despite the lack of translation. "Did you sing, ever?"

Apparently protocols surrounding Misty as a handler have relaxed sufficiently to let them talk about this. About the past. About Before. Or maybe it's just how very relieved they are to see her making it easier. Probably both. "Yes. Not much, but. Yes. Two from Before HYDRA, during the thing. With the smell like dead bodies. Two more from Before, with Aziraphale's help. The rest from after, from nightmares and the hallucinations. Usually I just know things and don't remember why." Like the chair moving, probably.

They reach into the tac vest and pull out their tablet, navigating to their small selection of Queen music, turning it on at a very low volume to "Killer Queen", just loud enough for the two of them to hear it. "I don't know if I sang," they admit, looking at the tablet screen, not Misty. "I'm not. Terrible at it, though. So maybe."

"Makes sense." Her experience with memory loss isn't vast, but still existent. It's not unfamiliar or unusual by any standard she's familiar with - it could quite possibly be fantastic, given whatever made him the way he was upon their first meeting. It can be untangled, then. Good. "That's good - get everything back slowly, pace that won't give you too many headaches. How did Aziraphale-?"

Crossing her arms on the table and nestling her chin atop them, she's content enough - safe enough - to close her eyes a minute. "Could be something to take up, it sounds nice. Where did you get this?"

"He's an angel. Apparently finding good memories is an angel thing." The Soldier hitches a shoulder a little, still focused down on the tablet. Watching the little bar move slowly across the screen as the song progresses makes it easier to talk. "The bad ones followed the good ones, though. So we couldn't do it long."

Tapping the edge of the tablet, they say, "This came from Crowley. He played, the tablet recorded, I kept it." Eyes flick up briefly to Misty's face, then back down. "I thought... maybe sometime. I could try to record your music, too. Then you can have it on your tablet. And then the thing you listen on now won't run out of power." It won't be as good of quality, since she'd have to play it from her headphones, but it'd be something.

Not an ability she would have expected, but clearly utilized to Soldat's benefit. Nothing to worry over, and thus more focus can be given to appreciating the opportunity afforded him. "I'm sorry it stuck with bittersweet, but I'm glad it's - I don't know, progress? I like you, and I'd like to think I'll only like you more the more you there is."

Her friend, Soldat. It's important. The next statements underscore that neatly.

"He's a Queen fan?" Not what she'd have guessed, but her tone isn't disapproving despite the raised brows. It's less important, however, than her own recordings. "I'd - like that, a lot, that's a good idea-- thank you."

The Soldier ducks their head, not sure how to answer the first part. The memories don't always feel like them. Sometimes they feel like the Sergeant. Sometimes they feel like someone else entirely. They all belong to them, but... maybe that person, the one from Before HYDRA, maybe they don't properly exist anymore. It's hard to say.

The music is easier to answer. "He likes Queen. His username. Freddie. After the singer." They smile a little. It's such a dumb name, but cute when you understand it. "When we're not under siege I can do it. Or while we are, I can show you how, and you can do it. While I'm not here." It isn't hard, and it's quiet enough in here that she shouldn't have any trouble. It would at least give her something to do.

"Maybe after this," she agrees, with a small shake of the head. He's out and about more than she is. He knows more people. Opportunities to hang out must be preserved at every opportunity. It's a priority. It can however be justified, "If anything would distract me, that'd be it - should probably stay sharp until everything dies down."

What a username.

"There will be an after-this," the Soldier tells her, maybe an attempt at reassurance. "Even if we just have to kill them all. But I. Don't think we will have to. The hallucinations lasted two weeks. The gravestones lasted a set time. It may be like that. It may not, but it's a solid assumption."

And it's a hope, anyway. If it turns out to be a false hope, then they will recalculate their odds and make new plans. There's still a week and change to go before then.

"I don't think they want to kill us, anyway," they add. "Or not just kill us. Otherwise they would try harder to kill the sleepers."

"They're not attacking them?" Peculiar. Confusing, really. "But they're attacking you?"

It is, again, something of a subtle compliment to his ability she's asking this out of curiosity and not unease. She does trust that she'll be safe, by her own hands or his.

"Anyone awake. But I do put myself in their path. A lot," the Soldier admits, maybe a tiny bit sheepishly, only because they know Misty wouldn't really like how often they do in fact seek out trouble. "But I found people a day after the feast, untouched in their homes. If the spirits just wanted to kill all of us. Why leave the easiest targets alive?"

Less fond. Bad.

"Why?

Spirits and him, but primarily the latter.

"Because I am stronger and faster than almost everyone here," the Soldier shrugs. "I heal more quickly. I have better training. I can stay alive and help others stay alive." It's a simple equation, really: everyone else, vs the Asset. Everyone else wins. (Unless they're HYDRA. He would probably let HYDRA burn.) "Not everyone still awake has guns, a kevlar jacket, battle training, or magical moving furniture."

Because yes, he hasn't forgotten that, even if he's not directly asking about it.

Her dislike is being firmly, lovingly maintained, but there's at least reasoning he can rattle off about it. It's a choice. The notion of magical moving furniture also goes directly responded to -- she's more than happy to play that game.

"Don't get killed."

"I can't protect anyone if I get killed," they point out with half a smile. "So I will do my best." The song changes over to "Play the Game", basically just going in alphabetical order.

They look back down at the tablet. "Misty. I finally feel like. I can use all this programming. All this training. For something good."

"I understand that." And this is achingly gentle. "Which is something terrific, and something you need. I don't want it to get you killed. Nothing's gonna stop me from worrying. I'd hate for some new bout of bad association setting you back."

Leaning across the table, she places one hand carefully on his forearm to emphasize the sentiment. Everything at this table stems from a good place.

She does it slowly enough that they're not surprised, and don't twitch. It's not even bad, just a little weird, edging slightly into okay. Not quite "nice" but they're getting there.

So with only a brief hesitation, they turn their hand over to clasp at the bottom of her wrist, fingers curling lightly around the delicate bones. They look at their hands, rather than her face. "Like I can't help worrying about you. I understand. I'll be careful." Which can only go so far, in the moment. But they'll at least try.

"Thank you." Because it's more than some manage, and it's nothing to shake a stick at. "I hate to break it to you, but friendship's a lot of this. Worrying and worrying about worrying, and doing dumb things anyway."

There's that word. The Soldier tilts their head a little, down at the tablet but keeping her face in their field of vision. "Handlers aren't generally friends," they say, hesitantly. "I can like a handler." And they do, very much. "But I can't always. Say or do what I would to someone who is only a friend. There are protocols. Even if I've broken half of them with you, anyway."

"Nothing saying you can't just keep breaking them, y'know. I'm not about to up and change my opinion about it." And the change in title, rank, feels more meaningful left to his decision making than hers. It's glaringly obvious that she could raise the possibility, and with effort she refrains. Friend is holy ground, and she would rather reach it for his having asked than her.

Edited 2019-12-01 23:08 (UTC)

Left up to them, it's probably not going to happen any time soon. The Soldier focuses now on their hand still wrapped carefully around her wrist. "I know. It's. Hard, though. You're the best handler." They don't want to lose that. Javert is good, provides comforting structure and authority, but Misty is in a class all her own. (And Eve is just awful, but it's too late now.)

Well she'd better be. She squeezes his arm, little, and carefully. "How does that change if the only difference is breaking more rules than you already have, exactly?"

Technically, it wouldn't. She's not a real handler. Not really. Even if she is the best one, the only one who regularly gives them things to do.

It feels cowardly to keep this up, but they aren't really that brave, anyway. After everything, even now, there are still things to be afraid of, and this is one of them. Backing down from the unknown, they shake their head. "I can't. The Asset still needs handlers. What would I even do without you."

It's a remarkably casual shrug she meets that with.

"Patrol, talk to all your other friends, check on me twice daily, help garden, origami, cook..." Seen or no, the eyebrows waggle. "Less changes than you might think."

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