debriefing ♔ in the emptiness there's a solution | just look within yourself for absolution

[nepotism]

♬ locking up the sun- poets of the fall

WHO || Wynn, Buffy, Myri, Finnick, Spike, Gar, Archer, Des, Vi, Rafael, Fred Jr., Dumage, Mark, Rocket, open! [Closed]
WHAT || Andres Mission Debrief & Aftermath
WHERE || Knights HQ, lobby etc.
WHEN || September 18th [forward dated*]
HOW || Actionspam. Single thread, don't worry about maintaining tagging order.

There are plenty of missions that return to the castle a success - most of them, even. The defeated air of the solemn group that returns from their diplomatic mission to Andres Isle to hear the demands of dictator Dimitris Sarandis makes it quite clear that this wasn't one of those.

Starting with Sarandis' actual demands - for all Knights to withdraw from Andres under penalty of death, or for Wynn to offer his own head in return for Thomas' safe return - and ending with the unexpected, disturbing confession from Kat that she intended to stay behind on the island because she had "fallen in love with" the dictator, the events of the island made it very clear that Sarandis was cannily playing his hand to get the Knights where he wanted them.

Fred Jr. shoves open the doors with his unnatural strength, stalking in ahead of the group into the lobby. Whoever's on desk duty isn't going to have to roll a high wisdom check to see that these people are pissed... and distraught... and a myriad of other emotions on the bad end of the scale.

*I am changing the date of the briefing log and Andres log/live session to have taken place in September, to avoid us being in backdated hell forever, and to allow for a September squiring ceremony before apps are closed. Carry on... in the future!

Comments

[beatupgrass]

[Somewhere from floor level comes a vaguely disgusted (but not entirely surprised) statement.]

I knew that other flask in your pocket smelled like blood for some reason.

[Let's be real- Drax is probably on the other side of the bar at this second, so Rocket's still in the process of reconnecting and getting all the dirt information he can on these people from him, but he also wants to get thoroughly shitfaced and sometimes you just need to go to the actual bar for that.

Did he really want to end up on the barstool beside one of those people? NOT REALLY. But it's the only unoccupied one, so he's here. To judge you. And climb up on said barstool like it ain't no thing.]

[bigbad]

I'm a vampire. Healing potions don't work on me. Blood does. What else would I carry?

[Bourbon, apparently. That works on him too. He turns and looks over at the strange raccoon they seem to have picked up.]

Gotta say, I'm surprised to see you here.

[beatupgrass]

[Okay, sure. Whatever, Mr. Bloodsucking Fiend. Rocket's not even gonna question that. Because he's a talking sapient mammalian creature with a chip on his shoulder and has no right to question anyone's... anything.

I mean he does. Frequently. But that doesn't mean he has a right to.]

Really, 'cause I'd like to think this would be the least surprising place to see me. [He would like to be so much drunker than he is right now. Shh shh don't question the tiny creature, people. Just give him something with lots of alcohol.]

[bigbad]

The least surprising place to see you would be as far away from here as possible. [Spike takes a sip of his new drink and clarifies:]

I didn't think you'd stick around. No one'd blame you for taking off.

[beatupgrass]

I think they would, actually. [The words "ungrateful" were thrown around a bit in that room.] But I'm not doin' it 'cause I have some moral obligation to fulfill a debt.

[except he kinda does.]

I'm doin' it 'cause I got too many dead idiots on my conscience as is. You ain't gettin' in and out of that prison without me. At least not with all your extremities intact.

[bigbad]

I could probably find it without you. I was there too you know. [He just... feels it's necessary to find out.] And I'm good at following the smell of blood.

[beatupgrass]

[rocket just... laughs.] Findin' it?! That's nothin'. Gettin' a buncha people in and out without everyone gettin' killed? That takes finesse. I couldn't've helped you get in there that night if I tried 'cause they was on high alert and I was in bad shape, but now that I got time to think up a plan, it'll be as easy as the other twenty-three times I escaped lock-up.

[he's kind of a big deal ok.]

[bigbad]

[Spike rolls his eyes.] Twenty-three. Right. What took you so long with this one?

[beatupgrass]

[FIFTY BEHOLDERS??

actually, no. that is not even remotely why it took so long and he looks completely agitated with the reminder.]

Timing. I needed a distraction big enough that most everyone in that joint wouldn't be thinkin' about what was goin' on in the building.

[Still not the whole truth, but close enough that he isn't... lying. It was a matter of timing!!]

[bigbad]

That's a nice excuse. You seemed to be causing a big enough distraction all on your own, honestly.

[beatupgrass]

[YOU DON'T KNOW HIS LIFE, SPIKE.

YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH MILK HE TAKES IN HIS CEREAL.]

All right, Tough Guy. If you're so frickin' brilliant at this, then how'd you get out?

[bigbad]

I jumped the fence.

[That's an... incredibly shortened version of the story.]

[beatupgrass]

[Deadpan raccoon face of deadpanness. And then he laughs a short, sardonic bark of a laugh.]

Oh, that must be why they stopped lettin' the prisoners out in the yard by the time I got stuck there, right?

[Seriously, Spike.]

[bigbad]

That'd explain it, yeah. [DEADPAN RIGHT BACK AT YOU. PS that laugh is totally rake.]

[beatupgrass]

[IT'S THE SECOND MOST REAL, HYSTERICAL LAUGH IN HIS LIFE.]

How nice for you.

[His drink arrives and he considers it with mild distaste.]

Terrans are such lightweights, man.

[No one mixes drinks with antimatter here. Wimps.]

[bigbad]

[Idr if they covered the fact that Rocket's a space raccoon but tbh I don't think Spike cared enough to pay attention up til now so I'm gonna go with no. Spike looks down at him, raising an eyebrow.

Then back up at the bartender.]

A glass of fey wine for my unimpressed friend here. [Then he glances back down at Rocket.] Terrans?

[beatupgrass]

[rocket failed his knowledge check so he knows nothing of this fey wine. IF IT DOESN'T HAVE ANTIMATTER, IT'S SHIT. but anything is better than whiskey and disappointment.]

Terrans. As in people from Terra? [he eyes spike.] You call it earth, which says a helluva lot about the planet. Might as well just call it Planet or Ground.

[bigbad]

[...]

Considering you're a bloody raccoon, I'd have guessed you're from this planet too. Or are you some sort of alien raccoon?

[So much sarcasm.]

[beatupgrass]

[see him visibly twitch at the word "raccoon." It's so hard to be in denial of your species. Slightly less hard when you're... a freak.]

Half-World. In the Keystone Quadrant. [a beat] Which yeah, by your definition makes me an alien somethin'.

[oh look fey wine. rocket sniffs at it experimentally. huh...]

[bigbad]

[Those are not words that mean anything to Spike.] Isn't that some sort of video game?

[beatupgrass]

[FUCKING TERRANS.

Rocket picks up the (probably tiny lbr because someone didn't want to be responsible for murdering a woodland creature) glass because that question was too stupid to answer and downs the shit out of the fey wine.

This will later prove to be a terrible fucking idea. (fort save 20 total, which was not enough okay. IT WAS NOT ENOUGH. But much better than that crit fail that I action pointed because I don't feel like worrying about... comas.)

He blinks, but luckily he passed his will save to know he should... probably stop. Thank God, because man I don't want to RP a woodland creature going into an alcohol-induced coma. That sounds like something Sarah McLachlan would sing over.] Huh.

[bigbad]

[Spike just looks amused because apparently getting woodland creatures drunk off their asses is funny to him.]

Bit more impressive than your space beer, right?

[beatupgrass]

Unless you're gonna tell me it has an antimatter charge, then not really. [He waves a hand- paw- whatever... vaguely.] It's got its own special kinda nuance though.

[bigbad]

Yeah. Some sort of magic, I think. Few humans can handle it.

[beatupgrass]

Don't tell me that, man. I hate this magic crap. [He reaches over and tips the empty glass over for the sake of... doing something. He's definitely looking pretty hazy.] Terra's backwards enough and then- oh then... then you gotta add magic to it. We got shit nobody can explain out in the galaxy, but we sure as hell don't go around talkin' about wizards and mages doin' spells.

[said the space raccoon.]