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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At first, when the Soldier wakes up sitting on a pew in the church, surrounded by soft candle-glow, it is very confused. Dying usually means lab tables and cryofreeze and being poked by various doctors and technicians to see how well the reanimation took this time. But there's no one here. And it's a church.

Then after a few blinks, memory returns, and oh, right, they're dead-for-real (unless this is a very elaborate coma-dream, they suppose, brought on by mental trauma caused by the Stupid Target) and then blew up their deceased self and now they're... back. This is a much nicer means of reanimation than usual. So the Soldier holds position for several long minutes, just sitting, just digesting the circumstances they find themselves in. It's not something they do much of, but in this case, warranted. Dying is probably a good time to think about circumstances.

But there's still spirits to shoot and demons to keep an eye on and humans to protect. So they pick themselves up, making unhappy faces at the state of their original clothes (largely ruined, now, to the point where there's really no salvaging either the tac vest or the combat pants), the state of their weapons (missing a couple knives, in need of a new clip in the Glock), and the state of Beacon as a whole. Up until they spot the boxes of ammunition and the note, anyway, which turns the scowl into a smile.

Crowley. That wonderful fucking dumbass. They could kiss him for this. So many bullets. This will last a year, even if they're careless. So they reload both guns, decide to tuck the boxes to one side until they have clothes that aren't more burned hole than material or a bag or something, and tuck the note into one of the few surviving pockets for safekeeping.

Then they stride right outside, fully-loaded Sig Sauer in hand, ready to shoot whatever spirit gets between them and a new set of clothes.

Edited 2019-12-07 02:48 (UTC)

Crowley isn't worried.

He isn't pacing, isn't worrying his nails, and isn't fretting over anything. Now that it's just him and a sleeping Aziraphale. Xayah's not speaking to him right now because of his insistence at going to the Lighthouse, and now it's just him. Him and----and knowing that the human soldier person could come back at any moment. Could come back, could die again. Could be lost and confused. Could be having a panic attack out there, alone in the church.

It's what makes Crowley decide he has to go out there, has to go out to the church, that concern about the human soldier person having a flashback and panicking. He can't go in the church, of course. But he can go over to it, stand outside, try to peer in, he supposes. See if he can see if the ammunition is there, if it's been disturbed or picked through.

As he starts towards it, he sees the human soldier person step outside. Alive. The breath that Crowley wasn't aware he'd been holding goes out of him with a woosh.

"Psst!"

The sound has the gun swinging around in the direction of the bonfire square and the Invincible, and they squint against the light of the fire-- their own lantern is shuttered tight, on their back still but held there mostly by the wire that had been threaded through the original braided twine, as said twine is long gone-- until they pick out the form near the building itself. That's a shape and size and kind of twitchy motion they know well. The gun moves aside, pointed at the unknown dark, and Crowley can probably make out the smile in the light of both bonfire and church candles.

They start the trek across the open space towards him, not willing to try shouting that far and bringing every spirit in the area down on them.

It's also pretty clear that they died in an explosion. Their clothes are in burned tatters, the only whole thing being the boots.

"You look a right mess," Crowley says, crossing his arms. "Heard you decided to kamikaze your way through a bunch of spirits? Any particular reason you thought that would turn out well for you?"

It is important to note how Crowley is acting. That is, he is acting aloof, annoyed, and generally like this whole thing is just one huge bother.

It is important to note this because Crowley refuses to act as delighted as he feels about seeing the human soldier person in one piece, alive, and here with them.

Eh. They're fine. Nasty clothes aside, they haven't felt better in days. Not hungry, not smarting from half-healed wounds, not even tired. Death is apparently a nice hard-reset, without requiring cryofreeze. "I was going to go get new clothes," the Soldier points out, but there's a half-smile on their face, anyway. They see right through you most of the time, pal. "But then you were here. Aren't you supposed to be inside. Where it's safer."

"Yeah, we all gotta go sometime. Don't think I'll be taking your method of getting out, though."

He snaps his fingers, hoping that he can do a miracle as simple as repairing the human soldier person's clothing. It's all a gamble, really, he doesn't know what his powers can and can't do anymore.

"Are we planning on death again, or are we going to make a break for cover?"

The tac vest is going to take more than a miracle to repair, it's an absolute disaster of torn kevlar, but that does help the combat pants, which are still pretty awesome, because nothing else has as many pockets. And some of the leather on the single arm does knit back together. The Soldier tilts their arm to examine it, looking bemused but pleased.

Then they look back at Crowley with a small smile. "No, I'm not planning on death again. And I wouldn't have done it before if there was another way."

"If the choice comes between you and other people in this town, you always choose yourself," Crowley chastises, though he knows damn well the human soldier person is too much of a hero to let someone die on their watch.

Something moves in the woods near the church, and Crowley turns around sharply.

"Ready to go?" he says.

"And if the people includes you?" the Soldier asks pointedly, but they do start walking, switching the gun to their flesh hand so they can use the metal one to protect Crowley if need be, making sure to walk close and keep their ears sharp. "You know I'm not going to let anything hurt you. If I can stop it. And those spirits could have plowed right through the Invincible walls."

"Did I stutter?" Crowley says. "I don't need you blowing yourself up to save me. You might get some of yourself on my jacket, and that's the sort of stain you can't ever get out."

Cause that, of course, is the reason why Crowley can't fathom the idea of the human soldier person dying for him. He's already certain that if Aziraphale were awake, he'd die for Crowley which is just as unfathomable and horrific. People need to just let Crowley do his own stupid things on his own.

The Soldier glances aside at him, eyes narrowed but expression calm. "I'm back. I'm fine. It didn't even hurt, really." Explosions are fast. If they're going to go out, that's the easiest way they've ever done it. "Keep close, please." They'll reach over and grab him to pull him closer, if they have to.

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" Crowley says, glaring at the human soldier person through his sunglasses. "Painful or not painful, you still died."

Not that Crowley cares, he reminds himself. He has other things to worry about, other things to focus on. Getting Aziraphale awake, figuring out a way to stop the monsters attacking them, maybe getting Xayah to talk to him again. Definitely not focusing on the gnawing upset of losing the human soldier person in such a sudden way.

They can feel that glare. The usual desire to duck and soothe wars with the need to keep the gun ready and senses alert. The latter impulse wins, narrowly. Can't shut down in the middle of a potential war zone, and it's still a ways across the square to get to the Invincible.

They look away, so at least they can't see Crowley's expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't see another way."

Crowley softens. Which, he supposes, is what's gotten him into this situation. He's so incredibly soft. He doesn't want to scold the human soldier person, he doesn't want him to apologize. He just wants him to be safe.

"Just don't go blowing yourself up again," he says, sniffing. "Or putting yourself in ridiculous danger like that. They'll all come back as well as you will, no need to go dying to save them."

"I only have two more grenades, anyway," the Soldier says. "Have to save them for emergencies." They look at him sidelong, but he looks a little less glare-y. So they tell the truth: "But you know I can't stop protecting people. Protecting you. Even if it's dangerous."

Crowley lets out his longest, most put-upon sigh.

"Great, so now I have to protect you from protecting me? Do you understand how much work that's going to be? And protecting you from yourself?"

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't flattered. There aren't many people----just one, really----that Crowley thinks would actively protect him if needed. And sometimes Crowley really does need protecting, if he's honest with himself. Not as much as Aziraphale, of course, but the angel is currently comatose, and they have no idea for how long.

"It's my job, Crowley," the Soldier says blandly. The kind of bland that Crowley would recognize by now that means they're not being entirely serious. "Protecting you. If you're going to pick up that job, too, we might have a problem." This is much better than Crowley being pissed off at them.

"We could flip for it," Crowley says, producing a coin from his pocket.

"Heads I get to protect you, tails you get to protect me."

The human soldier person doesn't need to know the coin has two heads.

The Soldier is not stupid, Crowley, come on. And the "trickster" role is pretty clearly yours in all things, even friendship. "Uh-uh. You won't make a bet unless you're rigging the result. Either you'll use your magic on that. Or it's a fake coin."

"What, you don't trust me?" Crowley says, blinking at him through his sunglasses, all innocently.

"Not when you look at me like that, I don't." They're just about back at the Invincible, now. "No deal."

They stop at the steps up, turning to face Crowley. Their expression is blank, but more in an "I'm not sure how to express what I feel" way than an "I am hiding what I'm feeling" way. It's been a weird half an hour since waking up from being dead. "I know what you want, Crowley. I appreciate it. But I'm built for this. Even. Even Before HYDRA, I think I was built for this. Protecting. The past week has been easier than the past three months."

"I'm not built for this."

Crowley doesn't protect. He doesn't know how to protect. He barely knows how to fight, though the knows he must have done in the past. But demons don't protect people. They hurt people, they disrupt their lives and lurk in the background, ready to pull them into Hell whenever possible.

And yet here he is, protecting. Trying to, at least.

"I'm still not going to let anything happen to you."

Considering how few people have ever actually wanted to keep the Soldier safe... it's still strange to hear that he wants to. Being cared about, worried about even, is still new and not quite pleasant. It doesn't feel deserved.

So they sigh, half-smile, meet Crowley's eyes for a beat, then motion with the gun to the Invincible door. "Inside, Crowley. I need to get a new jacket. And to ask around for what happened while I was gone. Maybe once this is over, I can show you how a few ways you can help keep me safe, too." It's not like he's useless; the fight with the dogs proved that. He's just erratic, and the Soldier doesn't know enough about his abilities to work well enough with him. It's like everything else: it will take practice.

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EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

5. Nov 27, Wildcard for post-death

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