nightlogs | SLEIGH BELLS RING ❄ MINGLE

SLEIGH BELLS RING ❄ MINGLE

SLEIGH BELLS RING

Those that escape from the theater all seem to come out through the same doors. When they get there, they can see that the theater isn't actually a building. There's only a free-standing set of theater doors on the playground. At the rear side of them is a brick wall.

Those that exit will find they can't re-enter.

None of the humans have seemed to notice the door or them, even those driving by.

Not everyone escapes at the same time. It comes in fits and starts, them filtering of the theater. Some can walk out mostly unharmed, some limp out, some come out supporting each other.

What they find outside is... uncanny. There in the playground is a massive sleigh, but one that looks not-exactly-traditional, with equipment and boosters that look almost like a mix of technology and something magical.

It's been expanded into many carriages, almost like a roller coaster. Harnessed to it are eight massive reindeer, champing slightly at their bits. It appears the people that attacked and created the theater are at least long gone. That means that as people slowly filter out they can check up on each other, provide first aid, and reassure each other.

OOC DETAILS
❅ Status effects: Any injuries or damage that happens to a character will stick when they leave the Multiplex. That means that someone that gets facehugged by a facehugger will have an alien larva problem that may be causing some serious indigestion soon. Anyone that gets Borg-nanited through the neck will start having the nanites take over them. However the myth healing will slow these processes down until they can get to the Pole, and there are magical means at the Pole to help the characters survive this.

❅ First Aid/Other Supplies: The sleigh will have magically anticipated their needs. While it won't have the antivenom for Kaa because only a magical plant that grows at the Pole can cure the bites, it will have plenty of well-stocked general first aid kits. Applying first aid can help the myth healing heal someone more quickly and is important for injured characters that opted out of the myth healing.

❅ Timing: People can bendytime the timing of when their characters have escaped to play in this and "Let's All Go To The Movies" at the same time. People can also intro here late if they need to wrap some things up in the other post first.

❅ Intro: Players can use this post to intro instead if that's their preference. You can just assume your characters had to run from scary things in the theater and either handwave their circumstances, or assume your character found a way out more quickly than others.

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[He's still inside. The T1000 reaches the door, pulls open the inner door. There absolutely is a chance he can possibly still drag him back inside. But as an arm turns into a blade there's a gust of wind and a hand that grabs him by the neck, pulling him back in the Multiplex. He's thrown into a wall so hard it can be heard cracking. Through the frosted glass a floating man can be seen in a familar blue costume.]

[There's a blue glow and then the T1000 fragments. Then it fragments some more. Nanotechnology pulled apart into nanites, nanites pulled apart into components. It takes some doing; it's far more intricate than he's used to taking apart, but it helps when you can harmlessly hold onto something because all it can do is try to stab you.]

[(Whoop de freakin' do.)]

[Intricacy turns out to be easier to handle taking apart than something huge like the Tower during the Crisis. The end result is just a pile of useless alloy dust, tiny nanites reduced to even tinier fragments.]

[Tim's savior pushes through the doors and picks him up in a bridal carry, floating as he carries him through the second set of doors. There's a jawline that's familiar to Tim for two reasons seeing as he knows two people with basically an identical one.]

[ The blue, red, and yellow are hazy through the glass, but instantly recognizable as you're safe. (Because Superman's here).

And for Tim, it's a little more than that. You're safe, because Clark was able to spare 5 minutes and there wasn't a natural disaster anywhere. There's nothing in there that he can't handle, so Tim can breathe a sigh of relief and put his forehead down on the cool tile. Try to manage whatever he’s been hit with and catch his breath in between mumbling suggestions. ]

Freeze and heat. 's weak to temp...shock.

[ Feels like no time later he's being scooped up -

(The plan to manage what's making him sluggish and foggy has failed to launch.)

And Tim can see through heavy eyes and bright sunlight the chiseled jaw and backlight profile. He tries to keep his head up out of some notion of politeness. ]

Thanks, Superman...

[ Bruce is never polite about it. Tim does try. ]

Is Nightwing clear?

Edited 2023-08-13 17:15 (UTC)

[ He is not inclined to reveal himself without reason. But also, if Nyara was going to task herself with patching up that area, she may as well get all of it.

The rest of the suit disappears off his upper body with a wink, stopping at the waist. That leaves her with the very muscled expanse of his back and a face reveal. (Sort of, from behind). He was just a guy! He wasn't a creature at all. The burgundy glancing back over his shoulder was an eye of an unusual color, but that was about it. ]

There's more.

[ Near the nape of his neck and scapulas, there were a few cuts where a Deadite teenager decided to try and stab him with glass. His suit covered most of it, but a few seams in the nanomesh had glitched and allowed a sharp edge to touch him here or there. His own healing had taken care of the worst part, but even a scabbed over wound needed a bit of care.

He unceremoniously starts to pull out and discard the bundles of silk from his side. They didn't look all too different from cotton, dabbed in blood as they were. The bleeding had staunched itself, at least, but hadn't dried out. ]

(closed)

[Once he'd bumped into Steve in the maze, Eddie had remained pretty firmly glued to his side. He stumbles out of the doors right behind him, accidentally stepping on Steve's heels in his eagerness not to be left behind.]

Shit, sorry, I- jesus, shit.

[Now that they're outside and presumably safe, Eddie sags with relief. He lets his guard down probably a little too quickly, but man- he's tired. It's been a long day of finding out monsters are real, fighting them, getting transported to another world, and then escaping from slasher villains.

His butt is on the ground seconds later, and his head hangs between his knees like he's about to be sick.]

Ohhhhh, wow. Gimme a second, man.

(open)

[When he's more on top of things and less all over the floor, Eddie starts poking his head around. He runs his hands over the brick wall on the other side of the doors, and even presses his ear up against it. He mumbles to no one in particular;]

Yeah, okay. Nothing. Because that makes sense.

[If he spots someone with an injury, he zeroes in on them, despite his total lack of medical knowledge. Anyone can shred their shirt into bandages or give a supportive pat on the back!]

Hey, uh, you need a hand? A completely untrained hand, but you know, better than nothing, right?

Miguel designed this suit with the ability to emote, and by god does he use it to express all of his displeasure.

"An undead mother of two with a bad case of food poisoning." he grumbles.

Mercifully, the futuristic weave came with ability to shuck off the evidence of a fight so disgusting that he didn't want to get into the details. So he just wipes over the stab wound with a daub of antiseptic and feels grateful that nothing particularly nasty appears to be complicating things.

"She was a real fan of swinging glass around."

[Nyara ducks her head rather than meet that glance and misses the color. She feels a stab of pain thinking of Darkwind and the gryphons. They had trusted her until she, and they, found how deep her father's hooks were in her. This broad-backed man, he does not trust her like that. Like her father he has confidence in his strength and her weakness, but it's much more impersonal from him. He's just not thinking about it.

She's pretty tall, when she's not cowering back in on herself, so she doesn't have to reach up far. A bigger problem is that with the way her fingertips are built she's not great at precisely pinching small things and if there's any glass embedded in his flesh she might have to claw it out so it's not sealed under new skin. Nyara is mostly just wiping at scabs and dried blood and serving as a channel for Need and her power, and intercepting an increasing degree of the pain of the injuries and the Healing. He's not hurting badly, by her standards. She can bear it without strain.

Is there any remnant of her claw marks, from earlier? Probably at most there's some tearing left in the pale, dead, outer layer of skin, or perhaps he heals quickly enough that that has already sloughed away. Nyara doesn't feel any trace of discomfort from them.

She feels like she should say something.]

Your hair is very short. [wait that's stupid. she keeps her eyes down.] I mean to say. What is your name? I am Nyara.

[ Rook is setting on the side-fin of the sleigh, hunched over a bit and watching the others with curiosity. Maybe the style of the uniform is familiar, maybe it isn't - the stoplight colors of the original costume have been replaced with more black and green.

At some point, he slid up the lenses in his mask, and his blue eyes look a little glazed, honestly. He's not doing well, and there's a bloody bandage on his neck already.

When he sees someone (intelligently) start investigating the wall, he focuses on that. If the guy finds something - that would be something.

Eventually, he's noticed. Shakes his head at the question. ]

Thanks.

[ Well, he's not going to be rude about turning down the offer of help. Still turning it down though. ]

It's not going to make sense. Magic doesn't work that way.

“Fucking hell. As if getting shanked with glass weren’t nasty enough.” His displeasure is met with equal amounts of sympathy, and a spark of curiosity. That mask seems to be tracking his features, but from where Rowan’s sitting it doesn’t seem to be anything more than fabric. Is there something very thin between his face and it? Or is it really the fabric itself. Either way, that’s beyond the technology they know, and it makes their fingers itch for a closer look.

Instead, they offer him the bottle back, still open, their grin turning teasing. “You sure you’d not rather a bath in this?” Although that’s another point. His suit seems remarkably clean, unlike their jacket which took the brunt of both blood and grubby water from the sprinklers they set off in one room.

[ Hey, it's the wisest and objectively best choice to just stick close in this situation. Like, at this point Steve absolutely cannot afford the mental strain of losing Eddie in a movie death maze. Never hear the goddamn end of it if Henderson found out.

And also he cares in general. Eddie's first time getting dragged into impossible bullshit was bad enough on the guy. From experience, the second time's not all that much easier. At least not when it's zero to a hundred the way this was.

It's fine. Now it's fine. Munson is here which is like fully impossible but that can be a gift horse thing. Munson is here which means Steve is gonna keep his ass alive and get him back to Hawkins. Done deal. No alternatives.

Point is, Eddie gets away with stepping on his heels complaint-free this one time. Steve will even give him a couple of "good hustle in there" shoulder pats.

He, personally, sticks to pacing back and forth. ]

Munson, take as many seconds as you want. It sucked in there.

Just don't throw up where I'm walking.

I cannot imagine living- in a place of strong magical contamination leads to much consistency.

[He gives her a little but heartfelt smile.] Ah, you are fortunate to have met a familiar face who is also familiar with these places. [He waves a hand weakly.] It is not so hard for me to be uprooted. I had already been banished from my home and lived on the move even before I was taken from my own universe. Indeed, in these places, I do not have the same need to avoid settling down.

What do I do? Whatever I please, within certain bounds. God of Mischief is a title earned by my behavior, not a requirement of my powers. Asgard was never very fond of my trickery, even when I use it in its service.

[It's Santa's sleigh. They were chased by a bunch of monsters that were from...old Earth films maybe? And now they're near the sleigh of an old figure from folklore. Except it's a roller coaster with lots of cars.]

[The mix of horror and whimsy he's dealt with today would be too much even if he hadn't just had his life ruined.]

[Outside the Multi-plex, he looks...bad. Really bad. The damage to his uniform is more obvious outside of the darkness of the theater. There are cuts and slashes, a few places were some small glass fragments are caught in the fabric. And he's filthy. He'd washed most of the blood from the creepy possessed monsters out of his hair and off his face but there's still some dried blood there. And it was harder to wash it out of his uniform, which has brown stains all over. It doesn't look like it seeped from a cut somewhere, it looks...splattered.]

[The nanites are working fast. Over time the Borg have gotten better and better at assimilation and in the place they were taken from, they'd managed to assimilate a solid chunk of the Enterprise crew within a few hours.]

[Even as he's supported over to the sleigh, he cries out as a metallic implant burrows out of the skin of his cheek and splays itself in a star shape there, in the middle of the spiral of blood vessels that look like they're blackened with poison.]

[Boimler is completely out of it as he winds up sliding down to sit with his back against one of the weird roller coaster-like cars of the sleigh. He's starting to get pal and clammy, his breathing coming harder.]

[He's also silent. Not panicking like he normally would over something alarming.]

[Boimler, like Mariner, is rarely ever silent. He may not be the most outgoing of the four of them, he's definitely the most reserved, but their whole group of friends is pretty talkative and rambunctious.]

[Cringing slightly in pain, with the discomfort of what's burning through his veins, he knocks his head backwards against the sleigh, muscles involuntarily jerking as some of them are altered, as his spine starts to feel like the nerves are being twanged like the strings of a banjo. He draws his knees up to his chest to try to still the involuntary jerking.]

[Then he stares straight ahead.]

[This is a fear almost all Starfleet officers have. They all know about how horrible the Borg are, have heard the reports of whole ships gone missing. He doesn't know how this will work if the Borg were...constructs or something, but the nanites in his blood feel very real. Even if there is no collective locally it won't stop them from rewriting his brain.]

[That might even be worse, being rewritten to be a Borg but one that's aimless. Forever trying to reach out for other voices that aren't there. Remade into something that isn't a person, that's a cog in a machine that he can't even snap into place with. Just a...part that can't suffer existing alone in its own head anymore.]

[But that also can't feel actual love or acceptance or the kind of belonging that's real. That isn't forced. The kind he knows he has. One thing he can be secure in is the knowledge of how this will affect the people that love him. Especially his friends.]

[Knowing what it will do to them makes all this worse.]

[It takes some doing to get Mariner up and moving and distracted. Ultimately Boimler has to point out other people need help, and that he needs things to be as normal as possible. What's normal is that they'd be helping the injured here, checking in with them. He feels too shaky to do it but she's not.]

[He...isn't doing so good. Anyone that ran into him in the Multiplex will find an entirely different person. Inside, yes, he'd occasionally been shrieking, but he'd been fairly competent. Reliable. Trying to look out for others. Sometimes in trouble but trying his best to keep others out of it.]

[In short, there had been some fight in him, even though he's been terrified.]

[Outside, he looks completely defeated as he sits against the sleigh, his knees drawn up. His uniform is a mess at this point, covered in grime and gashes, but whatever caused it isn't the reason he's staring ahead at nothing, looking like he thinks his life is over].

[It's all because of whatever's causing some of the blood vessels of his neck and face to blacken like they're filled with poison. In the center of some clustered veins on his right cheek there's now a metal implant that's spread itself over his skin. He's pale now, pale like someone close to death and his skin is clammy. There are now heavy bags under his eyes.]

[As far as he knows his life is over. Most people don't come back from this. Maybe if he was back home, where the Cerritos could put out a call for someone like the EMH to come and help handle the crisis. But not here.]

[Even with being alive at the end of the process, he won't be himself anymore. Bradward Boimler will be dead and all that will be left is Droid # of #.]

[If he looks like he thinks he's a condemned man...he does. Because he thinks he is.]

Edited 2023-08-14 04:34 (UTC)

Ordinary people do not settle in such places, no. Even if they clear the land, their livestock - their children - are often misborn.

[that's all she wants to say about why she looks Like This to a sick stranger right now.

A timid return smile!]

She is very wise, and has traversed the worlds herself before coming to me. [:Flatterer,: Need tells her.] It sounds a difficult way to live. How long have you gone on like this, cast from one to another?

I mean no disrespect, but - why do you advertise this, this mischief? [Her first thought, when it comes to deception and trickery, is sabotage, assassination, and mind-twisting, things her father enjoys.]

[ Drift is... not in a good mood. He'd been in the middle of processing some major grief, then wound up in this whole mess that seemed like something out of Swerve's deranged nightmares. There'd been a mess of fighting with more strange alien creatures that popped right out of a vidscreen, a lot of screaming and running, along with some weird shenanigans involving mass shifting and...

He wasn't a fan. But even battered, scraped, and weary he looked like he was probably having a better time than this poor sadsack of a human sitting next to the sleigh. He meanders closer with a few clanging steps and then hunches down, fairly looming over Boimler with a concerned frown. ]

...Are you okay?

[ He tilts his head. ]

Need me to grab a first-aid kit from the sleigh?

[ His voice has a distinctly electronic sound to it, though he also manages to sound like he's from the UK. Somehow. That's just how aliens work. ]

[Boimler is still looking in the middle distance, mentally checked out, even as someone looms over him.]

It won't help. Some of the things in there were from a species from back home. They spread a nanite infection in organics, with uh, some pretty bad end results. There's no cure.

[He looks up, his eyes finally seeming to focus a little.]

[And up...]

[His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. That is...a giant robotic lifeform.]

Are you...a fully synthetic lifeform?

[Possibilities started crowding his head, pushing some of the fear and nauseous anxiety aside. Human-made artificial intelligence from another dimension? Alien-creature-altered piece of technology turned sentient? Alien-made artificial lifeform? Completely independently evolving synthetic lifeform, maybe silicon-based like the Horta?]

[Mariner wishes she was having a nightmare. She wishes that she would just wake up in her bunk and then roll out to the sonic showers to wash the bad dream off of her.

The odd mildewy stench of the Borg and the rankness of the blood and effluvia and everything else splattered all over her means it's real. The heart-in-her-throat fear means it's real. The anger at herself for not being quick enough means it's real.]

Hey, hey, hey hey hey hey hey, c'mon, stay with me, Boimler. We got this. We got this.

[She fights the urge to rip that new implant directly out of his face, and only manages because she knows it won't help. She can fight drones or a cube or the Borg Queen herself but she can't fight the nanites, the essential building block, she can't go in there with her phaser and bat'leth and break everything that's turning her friend into something he's not.]

We can fix this. We can fix this. Just hang on.

...If Ratchet was here he'd probably tell you not to think like that and try anyway. Unfortunately I don't have any of his medical experience.

[ Drift gives a small, sad little smile. ]

Uh. Yes. I'm a fully synthetic lifeform. Cybertronian, to be precise. I'm Drift.

[ One metallic eyebrow arches. Are things gonna get weird? ]

[He lets the mention of not thinking like that go without comment. That is the problem isn't it? Any people with the right medical experience to help him are probably worlds away.]

[So he focuses on his curiosity instead.]

[It'll get a little weird but probably not in any way Drift is expecting.]

[Boimler briefly holds his hands steepled over his mouth and nose but when he draws them away, he's actually smiling, eyes sparkling. It's clearly a gesture of being overwhelmed with excitement.]

Were you made by organics or are you from a species that evolved independently?

[Both...actually are amazing prospects, each in their own way.]

Edited 2023-08-14 06:06 (UTC)

No one made us.

[ The answer is probably a little sharper than might be expected, but there's some old wounds to be poked at with that assumption. ]

We evolved on our own on Cybertron, as far as we know.

[ The little guy seems really interested in this part of Cybertronian existence, though. His expression, a little pinched, shifts into something more like a smile. ]

[The way he's quiet even after her saying that is...not good. It's almost like he's buried down in some deep pit, where it takes ages for her words to echo down and reach him, and ages more for him to dig down in the muck at the bottom to find his own words and send them back up to the surface.]

[Right now, all he can do is re-excavate himself each time he responds.]

Maybe if we were back home. Dr. T'Ana could find some way to slow it down. They could get me to Starfleet Medical, put a call into the EMH.

[After all the Borg nonsense in the Delta quadrant and dealing with a Borg crew member's health needs, he's one of the most qualified doctors in Starfleet when it comes to dealing with Borg assimilation.]

[But they're all over there. He and Mariner are here, in some alternate dimension, where no specialist in de-assimilating someone can be found.]

[He digs up words he knows Mariner won't want to hear. They still need to be said.]

I have three just-in-case holocubes in my bunk storage. I recorded them after William...

[The words drop off. He hadn't thought to record them before then. A life in Starfleet is dangerous but when you're young and starting out, you don't worry a whole lot about your mortality at first.]

[Until something makes you confront it.]

One's for the crew as a whole. [He isn't super close to everyone but he has plenty of friendly acquaintances at this point. Has had moments of solidarity with the command crew that have built better relationships over time. He has reasons for gratitude to some of them, especially as they've given him more and more encouragement.] One's for my parents.

[His eyes finally tear up but it's not when talking about the one for his folks.] And one's for you, Rutherford, and Tendi.

[He's standing in a random completely empty field in all of them. Very tasteful.]

[ His hair was short, huh? ]

Miguel O'Hara. Mind explaining what the massage is about?

[ He can count being kneaded by leathery cat pads as a strange form of first aid, even for him. But it clearly had some kind of magical effect going on, because there is a pain-numbing that wasn't just his imagination. He stops to turn the rest of his body around, pausing the silk-picking to draw her attention. As Nyara had learned 2 seconds into meeting him, he didn't really do 'avoidant'.

Well, with a little more of his side in view it was easier to see that the scratches were... mostly taken care of, it looks like. The wounds hadn't been serious and by now it had been a few hours. At least Need's disinfecting had done its job. The scarring was still a brighter color on his skin. It would fade with a little more time. So for now, there was a little evidence. ]

[Far from seeming like he doesn't like that answer, he looks thrilled to hear they evolved independently.]

Okay, I am just... totally freaking out right now.

[He finally remembers his manners and tries to explain. He has to be diplomatic here because this is a moment that calls for an actual diplomatic. There is no captain to take over here.]

Sorry, it's just, back home, we have a massive alliance of planets, with hundreds of member worlds called the Federation. I'm from an organization based out of it called Starfleet. I'm stationed on a support ship - we do a lot of maintenance of infrastructure, check up on worlds we made first contact with, new Federation members, and see how they're doing - but the main purpose of Starfleet is space exploration.

In between studying stellar phenomena, we make contact with new species. Learn about them, learn from them, engage in cultural and scientific exchange.

Starfleet scientists used to theorize that naturally-evolving inorganic silicon-based lifeforms could exist but it was only a little over 110 years ago that we made first contact with a silicon-based species. And there have also been theories that naturally-evolving synthetic lifeforms who were more mechanically complex could evolve, too - and you're it!

We haven't met any others yet.

[This is genuine excitement in making first contact - first contact! - with his species.]

[Nyara immediately drops her gaze and lowers her hands so she's not touching his bare chest. She picked up on that sense of being weirded out and immediately comes to the conclusion that it's about her touching him, not out of unfamiliarity with contact-healing and the fact that it's hard for her to touch someone without it being at least a little like being kneaded by a large cat.

Need doesn't correct her. This isn't terribly high stakes and Nyara isn't so upset that she's about to go into a panic, and for all that Need does want to smooth her way a little she doesn't want to micromanage her girl. She's too close to dependence as it is.

Nyara tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice, to make it soft and meek, but it's there.]

This is what I was made into. It was a work of years. I am not - contagious.

[No, no, no, no, no. Hell no. 'Cause if he starts crying then she might start crying and she cannot start crying. The only time she'll let herself cry is when she truly believes there is no hope left.]

Thanks for the info, but I'm not gonna need it, [she says, a little more bluntly than she means to.] Because you are making it through this. We carved our names in that shitty dive bar on Starbase 25, we made a promise--!

[Her voice cracks.]

You're gonna be my first officer one day, okay? So no quitter talk.

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Page 2 of 12

SLEIGH BELLS RING ❄ MINGLE

Re: Kon

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eddie munson

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BRAD BOIMLER

closed to Mariner, cw: body horror

OTA, cw: mild body horror

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Re: OTA, cw: mild body horror

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