Over the palisade, morning will break

[callada]

characters: Rosinante, Mary, Will, but OTA also really
location: The Invincible
date/time: Nov. 30
content: Spirits go home, comas come to an end. This is a catchall for anyone who wants to talk to Rosi on the 30th after the Sandman event.
warnings: Mentions of violence/injury/etc plus whatever the dreamers got up to, will edit as needed.

For the last two weeks, The Invincible has turned from a pleasant tavern to a fortified bunker. People are spread out across the floor, some injured, some very asleep. They've tried to keep the place clean but with injured defenders dragging themselves in and out and with at least one temporary clinic for treating more serious problems, the room has seen its share of blood.

In one corner sits an exhausted, bruised, stitched and bandaged, makeup-free Rosinante, head and shoulders slumped low over Mary, who he has kept close in his bag of supplies the whole time out of sheer paranoia. It's a good thing he's well-practiced at getting around rugged landscapes while porting a child with him. Beside the two of them is Will, set carefully along the wall with a blanket and pillow, glasses set inside a drinking glass on the table above so they don't get stepped on by anyone.

As he's just moving to reach for his cigarettes, he notices movement. Whether you've just woken up or are walking over with injuries comparable to his own, you have his attention.

Comments

[paletteswap]

Kuai emerges from the kitchen with two bowls of oatmeal, spoons sticking out the side. They're plain, only hot water with no toppings or anything because they don't have much, but they're nice and hot and it's not like any of them are awake enough to really be able to taste much. He sits across from Rosinante setting one of the bowls in front of him.

He doesn't say anything yet, because at this point they've pretty much ran out of words. They both look worse for wear, Kuai with a bandage taped to the side of his head and another around his arm, he's dirty and tired and bloody and could use a nice shower and then to sleep for a week.

It doesn't look like an opportunity for that is going to come up any time soon.

[callada]

It takes him a half second to react as initially he simply watches Kuai, then sighs and slumps forward to take the food. It's hot and it's very much appreciated, he's just drained both physically and mentally from the events of the past two weeks.

He passes a few moments just eating slowly before speaking. "Thanks. Are you... You holding up all right?"

[paletteswap]

He takes a minute to think about it, because it's clear none of them are doing well, but as for holding up he honestly isn't sure.

"I've been better. But still going." He's not doing well, things are not fine, and Kuai is not one to lie. He'll keep fighting because he has to, because it's what he trained to do - but that doesn't mean he's enjoying himself.

"Surviving is a feat in itself, so I suppose I am doing better than others."

[callada]

Isn't that the truth. Rosinante has seen far more death in his life than most people should have to, but while it's not too hard to become jaded to fallen enemies, lost comrades always leave a mark behind. Here, there's a chance some will return - he's done it himself, so he knows. But not everyone comes back. So far in his time here, most haven't.

"I'm glad you're here," he admits. "I was starting to worry they wouldn't let up."

[paletteswap]

"I'd been concerned this was a feint, that they were regrouping for a more focused attack. But the more time that passes the more likely I think that they've stopped the assault," his voice is tired, and the "for now" is practically tangible. He's optimistic, he's not naive, and these past two weeks have stretched his patience and his calm demeanor to the breaking point.

"Do you know about the casualties? How many have we lost?"

It's easier to ask that than respond to the sentiment that Rosinante is glad to see him. He doesn't know what to do with compliments, even basic ones like being happy someone isn't dead.

[withsadness]

Mary stirs. Barely, at first, just a twitch of her fingers. But then her head rolls toward one shoulder and she gives a murmur of protest, her hands coming up instinctively to cover her eyes. "Too bright...it's too bright."

Her voice is slow and heavy, thick like she's choking on syrup.

[callada]

Not just movement but speech has him briefly in shock as he stares down at Mary, eyes wide. Too bright?

"Mary?" he whispers, voice hushed, half convinced he'd hallucinated that but no, her hands are still held up to his face. He grabs one of the nearby blankets from their accumulated pile and drapes it over his shoulders and around the both of them to block out the surrounding lantern light, ignoring the sharp pangs of pain in his back from the movement, then gives her shoulder a tentative squeeze.

"Is that better?" Is she really awake? He's practically holding his breath, hoping this is more than a brief bout of talking in her sleep. "Please... wake up."

[withsadness]

Mary groans, louder this time, but doesn't complain about the brightness again. She starts to realize that she doesn't see it anymore. Her eyes don't hurt, and she hears a voice. Mary doesn't catch the words, but her fingers splay, and her big blue eyes crack blearily open, halfway unseeing. "I think I was dreaming."

[callada]

She's awake. She's really awake, and despite his injuries screaming in protest he pulls her partway out of his bag and crushes her close in a big hug. He can hear other indications of movement around the room, too - similar gasps of surprise. He tunes it all out because right now Mary matters most to him.

"Mary... I'm so glad," he begins, tears already welling at the corners of his eyes from stress and joy all combining at once. "You were asleep for two weeks. I couldn't wake you up."

[withsadness]

"You're crying...don't cry."

Mary reaches up to touch his face, to catch his tears with her small fingers before they can truly fall. She blinks heavily a few times, too tired to look anywhere else other than him. "But I wasn't dreaming for very long...it was only..."

She's not sure. An hour? Two hours? It didn't feel like she and Midge and Jo had really gone far or done much. Just the sunlight...the sunshine. And now Mary wants to cry, too, because it wasn't real, it wasn't real at all, it was just a big lie.

[donttalktome]

Waking up is very disorienting when you haven't slept in over a year. At first, Will isn't even sure what just happened. Did he pass out? Did someone hit him over the head? Oh god, did he die?

But he's not in the church, he's in the bar. He thinks. Everything's a little indistinct, but he's been here long enough that he can recognize it from hazy shapes. He's already sitting up straight, instinctive panic having taken over before he was even fully conscious. His fingers search the floor for his glasses while he tries to puzzle out what in the world just happened.

Before he can make much headway on that particular problem, there's another one: someone is sitting right next to him, and he didn't even notice. But even without being able to see clearly, there's no mistaking the huge blonde man with the tattered feathers.

"What's going on?"

God, his voice is hoarse, and there's more caution in it than he would've preferred. He trusts Rosinante more than most people here, but more than "not at all" still isn't that much. He doesn't know where he's been or why he would've fallen asleep in the first place. It just makes sense to be wary, doesn't it?

[callada]

One by one, people are starting to wake up, and now it's less of a shock when Will finally sits up - but still unexpected. Still an enormous, welcome relief. His eyes look the shorter man up and down, and despite his injuries and exhaustion and the stress of everything that has happened over the past two weeks, he lets out a breath. Smiles, almost, for a second. Reaches slowly, instead, for the glass on the table nearby with those glasses in it and offers them to Will.

"Welcome back. You missed two weeks. Slept through another near-massacre, but I think it's finally over." Okay but as soon as that glass is out of his hand he's going for a cigarette, and then tips the pack toward Will in case he wants one. He's never seen the man smoke, but if there's ever been a time, it's now.

"Had to drag you off the table. Something in the food, I think."

[donttalktome]

Two weeks. Two weeks. He'd almost believe it was his body suddenly rebelling and forcing him to make up some of the sleep he's been avoiding, but that's never happened to anyone before. Although, he supposes, he doesn't know of anyone else that's held off as long as he has.

Will reaches out to take his glasses, trying to process the rest of that statement through the fog of prolonged unconsciousness. Another near-massacre. Something in the food. Oh, of course it would be the one time in his nearly two years in this place that he trusted the god-damned food. Lesson firmly learned.

Of course, the near-massacre concerns him, too, and not just because of the obvious. This is the second time the spirits have tried to murder them all outside of a reset. The first time could be chalked up to their attempt to reach the lighthouse. This time? Not so much. Is whatever holds the spirits back from their murderous programming falling apart? Is someone or something else gaining access to the controls that cause the resets?

This definitely calls for a cigarette, and he will absolutely take one, assuming Rosi has a light. He'll also get a better look at him finally.

"You look like hell. How many people are dead?"

[callada]

"Hard to say," he replies as he sets his lantern between them and unscrews the top to expose the flame. He's always got a light. Wouldn't survive this place if he had to go without for too long.

After a deep inhale of the smoke, he continues. "People got spread out so some of the missing might still be out there. Maybe eight, ten dead. Fewer than last time but a lot of close calls. Might still lose some to their injuries. We did everything we could."

And it wasn't enough, but it was something. Organization needs improving on but he's too worn out to keep beating himself up over it for the moment.

"Are you okay?" By whatever metric of okay seems reasonable after two weeks of sleep. Mary had struggled to walk at first, had trouble seeing, but Will seems more alert already.

AT LAST I didn't make this icon for nothing

[donttalktome]

Not everyone's willing to just uncover their lantern for others, but sure, it works. Will takes a long drag off the cigarette and manages not to cough, despite it having been a long time since he's had one of these. It's useful for calming the nerves, and he needs it.

His level of awareness is probably unusual, but adrenaline is a hell of a drug. There are reasons he refuses to sleep, old fears he can't let go of, and wouldn't even know how to if he tried. Though now that he thinks about it, nothing especially unpleasant happened while he was asleep (to him, anyway). There were no nightmares, just a very boring dream about the town having sunlight.

He sort of takes in Rosi's words as background noise while he's thinking.

"Shouldn't have spread out." It's a useless suggestion now, but he's rarely good at keeping his thoughts to himself. And then that last question reaches him and he looks over in mild surprise.

Are you okay? When was the last time someone asked him that?

"I'll be fine." He says it dismissively. "Did you drag me all the way in here?" And then, thinking better of that question, "You're not one of the dying ones, are you?"

[sunborne]

There's a knock on the door.

Well- Not a knock but, rather, a series of knocks. Sharp and obvious, echoing in the quiet hours of the day. If nobody attempts to answer or react to the knocking, it will continue on for a few more minutes - Insistent and loud, clearly trying to get the attention of someone, anyone inside the Invincible.

When it becomes crystal clear that there will be no voluntary response from the inside, the person behind the annoying knocking finally speaks up, their voice concerned and pleading: "Is anyone in there? Hello? I heard you guys were hiding out here and I wanted to make sure you guys are okay!"

It sounds like Daylight.

[callada]

The others must be too exhausted, or still asleep, perhaps. Or have cleared out, seeking space now that things seem to be safe outside, or becoming that way. Rosinante himself hears the knocking through some sort of hazy half-awake state and it takes a second to realize he's not dreaming it. But finally the noise clicks and he shakes off the drowsiness to hobble over to the door. Thankfully, it doesn't sound like an emergency.

Spirits don't mimic voices, right? Not well, anyway. He pauses, hand on the doorknob, and decides this sounds too accurately like Daylight. And the attacks really have stopped, at least for now.

He opens the door and is glad to confirm it's the robot, then steps back, looking particularly haggard in the dim lighting thrown on him from the lanterns, with two weeks worth of unshaved stubble and his bandaged brow. But he's alive, and livelier than some in here.

"Daylight. Hey. Yeah, we're... We've been better, but we're here."

[sunborne]

Daylight clearly needs to bite down on his glossa, visibly surprised by how haggard Rosinante is. He had a feeling something had gone down while he and the others were deep in the weird dreamscape — The fortifications were clearly built for endurance and judging by how his friend looks...

"What exactly happened while you were here?" Daylight makes a gesture towards his tablet and his troubled expression comes back. "I read most of what you guys had sent and what was posted..." He stops here, realising that, perhaps, it isn't the wisest of decisions to have this conversation with the door outside. "Can we talk inside? There are some things I think you should know but better to try and keep it from preying ears."

He feels bad for the little sliver of suspicioun he feels toward the spirits now. He knows most of them weren't involved in this but better safe than sorry?

[callada]

He's been awake long enough to read up? Good. It's hard for him to fully track the passage of time today, it seems. He's suffering from the sort of deep exhaustion that comes with more than missing a few days of sleep in this place. Too much work, too much to do, and now that there's a chance to really rest, his brain hasn't fully caught up.

"Of course, come in," he says as he opens the door wider. "Sorry, little out of it. If we need real quiet we can go upstairs." Though given how he looks, going up the stairs might be something of an ordeal. Maybe the stockroom behind the bar is better.

"Or there," he says, pointing. "I don't think the spirits who normally live here are back yet." And it's isolated from view to avoid lip-reading unless someone comes in or something comes through the wall - and he hates that he has to think about that, now, but he saw it happen at least once. Unpleasant.

[sunborne]

It's embarrassing to admit but after he woke up - besides making sure the others on him were okay since he had turned into a bed for the others - was reach for his tablet and see if anything had happened while he was out. Because there's a difference between sleeping in for a day and sleeping in for weeks. His poor joints and his poor, poor winglets can see it.

But complaints of his winglets aside, Daylight tries to be serious for once and quietly enters the Invincible, mindful of his size now that he's aware that others are here and they're probably just as tired as poor Rosinante here. With that in mind-

"We can go to the stockroom. I think that'll be a better place for the conversation." Far away from the others to not disturb their sleep but close enough to help, if needed. (Day hopes no help is needed. He wants to think the coast is clear after everything that went down.) He heads to the back, rubbing his neck cables the entire time. As if to make sure they were still there. Huh. "Well- I guess I should get this out of the way: I dreamed. I dreamed and it was a very freaky and weird dream because it wasn't just me in the dream."

Nov 27 - return from death time!

[worthallthis]

It's late-ish in the "day" on the 27th when the Soldier shows up at the Invincible, does a prowl around it to find (with relief) nothing tore through any walls there, and then comes up to the door to rap on it for someone to unlock and let them in.

They might be bouncing a little on the balls of their feet while they wait, impatient and nervous. Because even if the Invincible is okay, it's possible Rosinante isn't. Also, their tac vest is in singed tatters, because even kevlar can't withstand grenades, but they've at least taken a moment at the general store to grab a fresh jacket, covering at least most of the remains of the vest, and some jeans. Because nobody wants them to come to the Invincible in the ruined remains of the combat pants.

The metal arm is completely undamaged. Even the scuff marks from the rocks are gone. It's great. Full reset without even having to go into cryo.

[callada]

Pants are a good choice.

Anyway. Rosinante has seen better days, but to his credit, hasn't really taken on additional injuries worth noting since their last outing. As the numbers of the defenders dwindle, he's stayed closer to home, intending to reduce risks to himself and therefore reduce risks to the rest of them. So far, so good.

He hobbles over, one leg still hard to walk on after the spirits got to it, but otherwise healthy enough, and takes the doorknob in hand, but doesn't open it right away. Spirits could knock on doors too, you know.

"Who is it?"

[worthallthis]

That's Rosinante's voice, his long stride, albeit with a definite limp. He survived. Which means Mary had to have survived, too. A great part of the weight of anxiety lifts, let's them settle on their heels again, and say calmly, "Soldat."

[callada]

Relief floods through him instantly and he wastes no more time in opening the door and standing back to let him in. That said, he makes sure it shuts quickly. Don't want any spirits creeping in behind him.

"You made it back," he says with a grateful sigh. And he wants to ask if he's all right, if the death left its mark as he knows it can, but one thing at a time. He'll let Soldat settle in first and take in the state of the room, which has only accumulated more injured defenders in his few days of absence. It's likely a few people went missing, also, but the days have begun to blur together for Rosinante after so much time spent trying to fend off their attackers.

[worthallthis]

The Soldier even throws the lock, too. Absolutely no spirits sneaking in. "I did. That was a much better way to wake up after dying."

They look around, frown at the different people dealing with injuries... frown at Rosinante's slightly different injuries. They don't register people being missing just yet, since they could just be sleeping upstairs or out on patrol. But even then, it's easy to tell it's been more than a couple hours. "How long was I gone."