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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A; curiosity
Rowan hadn't expected the doors to lock closed behind them. They'd planned to check it was safe, and then to return inside to try and guide people out, but here they are, trapped outside, while other people are still trapped inside.

Their pacing outside the door doesn't last very long, though. The sleigh has caught their eye, and as they turn to walk past again, they notice that panel on the front that should look out of place, but somehow blends in. Before they even really notice, they're clambering up to take a better look. Anyone who comes by will get a very guilty expression across their soft features as they look up. "I were just seeing how it goes!" They weren't thinking about taking it apart, nope.

B; injury
After sating their curiosity, Rowan takes a seat in the sleigh and starts to access the damage. It's not too bad, really, they could have done worse, but it's weird that the deep scratches on their arm haven't started to heal yet. It's been a while since they had to deal with actually living with injuries.

Shrugging out of their jacket, they roll up their sleeve and untie their bandana, before hesitating. On the one hand, this is what they have the bandana here for (amongst other things), but on the other, when there's a better, hopefully sterile, alternative...

"Sorry, mate, you couldn't pass me that first aid kid, could you?" They ask the person across from them, pointing with their injured arm at the box.

Cat, tongue
[Nyara's lost her breastplate. Her clothes underneath - furs and leathers Need has taught her to tan and stitch, some homespun - are the worse for wear. A few bleached holes eaten into them by acid, some cuts with blood drying. She isn't bleeding now but a swatch of the short sable fur of her right arm's got burned off, exposing her skin. It's dark golden-brown where intact, raw-looking pink where it's Healed.

She wishes she could go back to the tower that's become home. It's been so good to have no one but her teacher around, no one to hurt her or try to control her, but on the positive side she supposes she's truly past Falconsbane's reach here. It's something. Can she trust any of these strangers? What do they want from her? They're probably staring - she's ducking eye contact, so she's not sure, but she's well aware of how visibly malformed she is. If she'd been brought here wearing something with a hood, she'd pull it up over her head and hide her hands.

Looking sidelong at whoever she's standing close to, she starts to speak, falters, and has to make a second attempt to timidly say:]

...Are you well? If you are hurt I can help, a little.

[By which she means the sword she's carrying at her waist can help a little. Need doesn't feel like being known to strangers right now.]

A Friend In Need

[Speaking of Need! If you knew her, you may Hear her soundless, gravelly voice between your ears, whether you're talking to Nyara or a bit of distance away.]

:Hello, child. So you're here too.:

[She may have something to report about Saturday and Guts, for those who were friendly with either.]

Edited 2023-08-11 04:20 (UTC)

[The god she's next to very much isn't well. He's sitting on the ground, bitten leg extended, pale and sweating and shaking. His eyes are closed at first, but they snap open and look in Nyara's direction when she speaks. But not right at her; instead they dart around, looking at things she can't see. They're not real. It must be the poison. They are illusions. Only the voices offering help are real. Focus on those. Repeating that in his mind is just about all that's keeping him from slipping into panicked delirium.

[He swallows and tries to answer.]

I-I- was bitten. [Waving at his leg. The wound, up above the boot, is angry and red and shows the spreading taint, though to his eyes, it looks like it's rotting away.] Poison. I-it is causing- hallucinations, weakness...

[He does look miserable and is throwing off reeling, alarmed feelings. Is he in a state to be a danger to her? Could be. If she helps now she'll look better later. Maybe have allies in this strange place. Nyara doesn't fully let her guard down and crouches close by, still not making direct eye contact.]

I am not sure I can help, but - maybe. Will you let me touch you?

[Need works better with contact. Nyara ignores the sword grumbling in the back of her head, about being taken for granted; she's known her long enough by now to tell that the spirit just really likes complaining.]

[Loki doesn't notice the lack of eye contact. He gets a vague impression of his benefactor as small and feminine and before he can register more she's morphed into Natasha Romanov, and she's staring right into his eyes, full of hate and triumph.]

I- will try not to flinch. ["Good, hold nice and still while we test the weapon on you," the image says. He swallows and closes his eyes again.] Give me- a second's warning.

[Nyara's pretty tall, but she's still undernourished-thin, with such a tendency to shrink back and look submissive that she generally comes off as smaller than she is. Despite Need's work on her vocal chords, giving her control over her tone, her voice is still low and a bit hoarse.]

I will touch your leg at about the knee. Please...

[don't do anything to her, even with Empathy and Need's guidance everyone here is so strange, and Nyara's experience of strangers is very very mixed.]

...tell me when.

[He grabs for metal bars of the ruined jungle gym, gripping them tightly. Even though his eyes are closed, the poison is still making him hear things. Now, it's the whir of Mjolnir. His fists clench, warping the metal, and tries not to imagine the hammer coming down on his leg. There's no danger here. Whoever this is, she only wants to help.]

I am- ready.

[Nyara lowers one hand to touch him. Her hand is about halfway between human and some kind of cat, in a kind of unpleasant way - her fingers are big and knobbly with distinct pads, though her claws are retracted and there isn't any fur on her palms, and her pads are softer and more sensitive than those of something that walks on them.

Her other hand is half raised as if against a blow because Need is very aware of how close Loki is to treating her girl as a threat and that he's got quite a lot of power. She can counter if he lashes out, physically or with magic; she's defended her bearers against things that called themselves gods before, though they weren't quite like him.

Assuming he doesn't, Need examines him as only an ancient angelic mage-spirit sealed into an enchanted sword can do, taking in his physiology. She's an expert in how the human body works and this is very distinctly not one of those despite its appearance, but many of the same principles apply. A body is a record of fear, joy, sorrow, struggle, long effort, things done to it... an artwork created by the one who owns it, and Need does appreciate art. Even if she does, to extend the metaphor, always quietly want to take a bite of it.

She can't just counter the venom but she can suppress its effects somewhat, while in contact through Nyara. Make the pain less, make the hallucinations less real-feeling.]

Edited 2023-08-11 14:51 (UTC)

[ The suit hid whatever injuries Miguel piled on in the middle of all this - between trying to find the exit himself and guide others out where he could, all the being slammed around and slashed up was starting to accumulate a list of wounds that slowed him down.

He's hugging his side while looking through the horribly antiquated first aid materials. Nyara gets a side glance in the middle of this at her offer. She looked a little roughed up, but not too bad given how ferocious the xenomorphs were. ]

I've been through worse. Missing the regenerative gel back on my world, though.

[ gingerly grabs some gauze and disinfectant instead. Redressing would be in order before he starts to heal over the spider silk.]

[The big intense almost-naked man. His body language and general sense through her Empathy state injury and exhaustion even if that bizarre skin-tight clothing - is it sparkling? - hides it. That's muted him down a little.]

Even if you have survived worse, that doesn't mean you don't deserve help.

[A paraphrase of something Need's told her back at their tower, when Nyara has meant to do something with a fractured arm rather than submit to be healed. The sword fears no retaliation and talks much more casually than she does, and she tenses slightly realizing that after months talking only to her, Nyara might be starting to take that on herself. Certainly that's a presumptive statement to make and he might not like her making it!

:Kitten, most people aren't nearly that touchy about respect,: Need tells her, with that immense confidence that Nyara so envies.]

Let me? At least to look.

Miguel is still suited up in his weird nanotech, except for an exposed forearm with a puncture wound that was slowly oozing blood. The border between skin and suit ended somewhere at the elbow, with the glowing blue tesselation of nanite fabric.

The talons on his exposed hand were out, the long and curved points sitting at the end of his finger pads. He had used them to cut some gauze, but his hand seems to stiffen for a moment once he realizes Rowan was looking. He doesn't know that the company present was a werewolf, and preferred to conceal the more obvious parts of his mutation. So the polished claws fold like little pocket knives into his skin.

"Knock yourself out."

He moves his open box to sit between them, and picks out a daub of cotton he'd prepared to wipe his wound with. Beyond a bit of disinfecting materials and a little wound dressing, he hadn't used too much of it. There was plenty to share.

It's not as bad as it looks.

[ He forewarns this before cracking open the kit. It wouldn't hurt to have some help with some of the lacerations on his back, since he couldn't really see them or reach that well.

The suit pixelates away to reveal half of his torso and the accompanying arm. The deeper cuts over his ribs had been dressed with spider silk, soaking up the bleeding until they had begun to heal over. The skin was a bit discolored, as skin tended to be when adjacent to an open wound.

He disinfects his hands first, with an extra alcohol spritzing to the first two talons of his exposed fingers. He uses them to very gingerly start to undo the seal and remove the dressing. When in need of some finer tools, their razor-thin profile worked rather well. He does his best to avoid too much direct contact, anyway, trying to mostly poke at the dressing. ]

[he really doesn't like people to see his face, she thinks, if he can just strip the clothing with a thought but keeps that glaring eyeless mask on. It reminds her of a trophy helmet she's seen. The expanse of stained white silk - so much! - is more startling to her than the injuries themselves, even considering that it seems they're already starting to heal.

Wow, that alcohol smells awful, a bit like strong spirits but even harsher, intensely bitter. Nyara blinks a lot and tries to huff the stink back out of her sensitive nose, and does not gag or back away. Need, who knows everything, mutters an explanation for her. It kills disease and prevents infection? That would kill anything! The only mercy is how much of the smell evaporates quickly!

Need thinks it's a good idea for her to try it too, so with a look of dismay she puts some of the reeking, cold fluid on her own palms and when prompted rubs them together. Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. The things she does just because she's told! She does not anoint her claws, they will just slide back into their folds of skin and any virtue of this quick-fading poison will be gone.]

I am going to touch you.

[In case he's going to startle or something. Nyara lays a careful hand on an exposed part of his back, covering a red wheal. The pads on her fingers and at the front of her palm are softer and more sensitive than than those of something that walks on such pads. With the direct contact she can feel him better, even more so than through clothing, and can start to tug on the aura of pain, taking some of it on herself.

:You don't have to do that,: Need complains. :I'm the Healer here. You don't have to hurt yourself.:

I want to, she argues back, even as she sets her jaw against the feeling. I want to feel like I do something.]

[He does flinch a little when she touches him, the small sting of pain momentarily magnified to feel like lightning. But the pain isn't excruciating, and it quickly returns to its normal level, and he reminds himself that there's no enemy here to torture him.

[He's not sure what she's doing, but he does notice the mocking voices become less solid, more easy to dismiss as his imaginings. He opens his eyes, and while he can still see them, they're imperfect illusions now.

[He also finally gets a decent look at who's helping him. The feline aspects stand out and jog a name in his memory.]

Catra?

[She settles back a bit, lowering the defensive arm, keeping her other hand in place so Need can work through her.]

My name is Nyara. Are you still seeing things?

[Nyara's a little bit... the ratio of feline to human is weird. Slightly disquieting. She's more feline than Catra, with a cleft in her upper lip and an almost-cat nose, but not feline enough to be in the 'anthropomorphic cat' category, and her ears are more on the elfin but furry side.]

[He doesn't notice the small details, but the voice and her whole demeanor- that's not at all like Catra. He's not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that she's a stranger after all.]

Ah, no. Well, I am, but it is no longer- overwhelming. Thank you. You remind me of- someone I know.

Are you from- [what was their realm called?] ...Etheria?

a. introverts at a party be like

[ Step one: escape theater alive. Check. Aziraphale's right hand and forearm are what could be very politely described as a burnt mess, no gory details to be added, but it's still attached and hasn't gotten worse with time, so. Small victories are all victories.

Step two: immediately get distracted from whatever his real step two was by the massive reindeer. ]

Oh! Hello. Don't you cut quite the striking figure. I don't think you're one of the models I remember rolling out, but, um. That's hardly a mark against you. Quite the opposite. You're a delight.

Very kind of you to wait on us, in any event.

[ He already loves them. Of course, in theory, he technically already loves everyone here. It's just he got out here and noticed the reindeer first. ]

b. oh wait right there's stuff going on

[ Okay he won't stay in the reindeer zone for all that long, really. People of varying levels of confused and injured are trickling out through the door, and any angel worth their salt ought to be...

Assisting.

Shepherding.

After getting his own arm bandaged up and whatnot. There's only so long he could feasibly girlboss through that one and also maintain dignity.

Aziraphale uhhhhh doesn't know all that much about cool modern first aid, personally, but he can get a good grade in following instructions for the assist, and he'll be trying to offer Minor Heals.

or idk maybe your character is mad cursed in a way that getting blessed would help, because he can do that too. ]

[Boimler is... not doing well. His skin is pale and clammy and something mechanical is now protruding from his cheek. Dark veins are spiraling over his face on both sides, spiraling out from the left side of his neck - the place where whatever's poisoned him clearly started.]

[He at least hasn't been left alone but he's insisted that the people keeping him company help other people that need it.]

[It is partly just wanting the space to exist in his own head, with his own thoughts, while they're his own. It is also partly because he's dangerously close to crying and doesn't want them to notice if a few tears fall.]

[He knows they probably won't judge but he's still clinging to the idea of what he is - an officer. A professional. Someone composed. While he still can.]

[This one can't be healed, even if a minor heal might help him fight the infection better. This one maybe needs some shepherding - because he's staring ahead at nothing with the obvious gaze of someone that thinks they're about to die - or suffer some worse fate.]

[After all, what's worse? Death or ego death? Death or losing every inch of yourself?]

Edited 2023-08-12 11:54 (UTC)

[ Toplevels upon request! Tim will be feeling the Borg nanites effects, so he's going to be grumpy and say he's fine. You know. While shivering like crazy from the fever. ]

[ The fight's gone on for what feels like ages. How many Borg can there be? He's run into them at least 4 times and now? He's just running, because there is an all-too-familiar motorcycle cop chasing him, and Tim hasn't seen anyone else in at least 4 minutes. He can finally leave, right? They're all clear?

Elle and Loki and the little blue guy and Dick was somewhere in this mess, but Tim's lost track of him. They have to be out by now. He's already running sluggishly, and the pressure bandage he slapped on his neck feels like it's on fire. He can't... he can't keep looking for more people in the theater alone.

He needs to find someone else for the T-1000 so they can do one last sweep of the movie theater. It's okay that he's weaving - helps make sure the terminator misses him.

Rook makes it as far as the front doors before his vision starts swimming. The first glass door feels like it weighs 300 pounds, and he has to throw his whole weight into pulling it open. The momentum wrecks him, sends the whole world offkilter. Tim staggers another 2, 3 steps and collapses in the vestibule. ]

The claws don't even register until Miguel retracts them, and even then they're not in the brain space to remember that most humans don't have claws. Besides, they're not going to draw attention to them if he doesn't. It's kind of relaxing, knowing that there are other folk around who aren't human, and Rowan's slim shoulders release some small amount of tension that they hadn't realised they were holding.

"Ain't what I was planning, but we'll see how it goes." They chuckle, pulling the box the rest of the way to their side. Hmm. Have they ever even had to do more than put on a plaster before? They eye the contents, subconsciously rubbing their cheek. Well, that bottle which might be a disinfectant has been opened, and he just picked out a bit of cotton, so that's probably a good place to start. A moment's rummaging and they pull out a pair of scissors to snip a piece off so they can start dabbing cautiously at what's clearly claw marks from something like a wolf, wincing each time.

"What got you?" They ask to distract themself, glancing away from their wound to look at Miguel with large, grey eyes and an open, friendly smile. "They weren't pulling no punches, was they."

They talk? [There's a curious look on Rowan's face as they lean over the front of the sleigh to take a better look. They didn't even think about talking to the reindeer when they hauled arse out of the theatre, but then again their immediate distraction was the control panel of the sleigh that their slim figure is half draped over. Maybe they should have stopped to introduce themself.]

[Nyara stirs, not sure if being a reminder is good. Well, he didn't speak the name with hatred, anyway.

Need has given her a summation of other realities after they found themselves in a strange city, before the fearling situation manifested. It's still a strange thought.]

No. The world is called Velgarth. I... am from a region known as the Pelagirs, which is poorly settled. The magical contamination is too great for most folk to risk. And you?

[He wouldn't call Catra a friend- they were too similar to really get along- but he doesn't wish harm on her. And this place has been nothing but raining harm on the new arrivals and will probably keep doing so with only slight respites.

[He shakes his head slowly.] I have not heard of that realm. It sounds- like you are used to strangeness- and danger? [He tries at a weak smile.]

I- am Loki. God of Mischief. [A long pause.] Once Prince of Asgard. [There's pain in saying that.] Lately I have been taken from- one universe to another. This will be my- fourth new home, presuming I survive. [He gives a small rueful chuckle; how shameful would it be, to have lived through so much only to die to a snake in a world after less than a day?]

Is this your- first realm other than your home? I- had hoped to explain things- to others who were confused. I am- afraid I might not be- particularly coherent like this, but- you may ask, if you wish.

Danger, perhaps. [Yes.] But strangeness is a matter of perspective. I was simply... born into poor circumstances, and eventually I took my chance and ran away.

[She says this without pride or triumph. While Nyara's glad she left, it's meant new dangers and more complicated uncertainty, even before arriving suddenly in this New Jersey. And of course there's the prospect of being caught after having fully committed to defiance.]

My teacher and friend told me of this sort of thing. [She's not letting on that she's carrying said teacher-friend with her, but there's a certain pride or wonder in the words. Most of the hallucinations are of people or things Loki knows, but there might be a moment, also, of a tall, scarred old woman standing with Nyara, laying her hand over the girl's.] She said that normally there is the chance to return in time, but that for the unfortunate that can take years. It must be terrible to be uprooted so many times.

What does a god of mischief... do? [Need's explained, too, that all kinds of terms that mean specific things in Velgarth may mean other things elsewhere.]

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SLEIGH BELLS RING ❄ MINGLE

Rowan Rallies-Hearts

nyara (and need)

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catte

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B light cw for injury description

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aziraphale

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Kon

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