_{Interactions: Erik (@FunnyGuy)}

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Vincent had drank way too much the previous night. Though he was a revenant and had a tolerance that allowed him to drink practically anyone under the table, even he still had his limits. The sleep had been a deep, peaceful one, thanks to the alcohol...at least, until he was woken up by the sound of someone shouting.

“REVENANTS! SIDHE! HUMANS! TO THE STRATEGY ROOM! EVERYONE! DON'T CARE HOW YOU GET THERE! WALK, FLY, ROLL, SKIP, CREEP IN, HOWEVER! JUST GET THERE!”

This made Vincent jump out of his bed as he shouted, "HOLY MOTHER OF SHIT!!" only to fall, entangled in his blanket, to the floor. Now laying upside down off the side of his bed, he glared at the door and growled, "Someone wants to die this morning..." He disentangled himself from his blanket and stood up, clutching his head as it pounded. He waited a moment, listening for the voice he heard the other day. Hearing nothing, he decided it was simply a hangover and sighed as he picked up some clothes from the floor.

Once he was dressed in jeans and a sleeveless shirt, he left his room, still rubbing his temples as he made his way to the Great Room, where he found Erik peering at a map on the table. When he saw the megaphone on the table next to him, he thought, I thought I recognized that voice. Deciding to get revenge for the wonderful sleep that had been stolen from him, Vincent approached the table. "Mornin'," he grumbled as he picked up the megaphone and looked at it, as if curious about it. Then, as easily as if he were crumpling an empty soda can, Vincent squeezed the device and shattered it in his hand. He looked at the bits and pieces as they fell out of hand, then at Erik. "Oops...sorry," he said, though he couldn't bring himself to sound too apologetic about it.

He dropped the remains of the megaphone and looked at the map on the table. He let out a yawn and asked, having already pushed his willful destruction of Erik's megaphone out of his mind, "I take it this is where we're going next?"

---

Yesterday night, approx. 12 AM

---

It was midnight now. The party ended a few hours ago. Most of the Commune had gone to bed, and the Crow’s Nest was eerily quiet. Dallas was still lying awake in bed, which was uncommon for him given that he was the type to wake up almost as early as Erik. There was a simple reason for him to be up so late. It was because he knew what he was about to do and didn’t want to wake anyone if he started screaming in agony.

Dallas rolled off his pile of mattresses and opened the drawer underneath his little end table. There was only one thing inside of it which was the vestige he’d received during today’s mission. At least, he assumed it was a vestige. He’d never unwrapped the cloth and actually looked at it. He grabbed it and quietly slid the drawer closed. The voices were coming back again. They were too faint to make out anything coherent, but it was disturbing to have someone talk inside your head. Dallas honestly wanted to take the thing and throw it as far away as possible.

Dallas put the object on his bed and carefully unwrapped it. As expected, it was truly a vestige. The crystalline mass wasn’t nearly as smooth as it appeared to be. There were flat sides and jagged edges that had been concealed by the thickness of the cloth. It was like a mineral freshly dug out of the ground. It was a dark red color, and even though the lights were off it glowed brightly in his presence.

Vestiges just give you your old memories back. They don’t erase the person you are now. It should be fine as long as I wasn’t a serial killer or something. Dallas psyched himself up and moved his hand towards the crystal. There was no point hesitating. He laid his palm over the surface and waited for the pain.

Spikes shot out of the vestige explosively, impaling Dallas’s hand in several different places. He tightened his diaphragm and tried as hard as possible not to cry out in pain. It was like lightning was traveling straight through his blood vessels. Dallas grabbed his wrist with his other hand and braced himself. The images were already beginning to flood his brain, and he went into catatonic shock shortly after.

---

The operation was burnt. Hosmann never should have planned an excursion based on week old intelligence. This sector was not a green zone as they previously believed. The expedition had brought enough weapons and soldiers to fight maybe thirty or forty Lost in the worst case. In a domino effect of bad luck and poor decisions, the forces of Shadow Glen were forced to fight over a hundred of them. It was impossible to know how many people had survived during the mad retreat to the rally point, because an infernal destroyed most of their radios with an unknown energy attack. Humans and revenants were still filtering into the makeshift perimeter of tactical trucks and humvees.

Dallas was sitting on the hood of one of the transports. He was one of the few people to make it out without getting hurt. He unscrewed the cap of his canteen and poured the last of its contents straight down his throat. It was like swallowing liquid fire. The dirty moonshine tasted like rubbing alcohol mixed with sugar cubes. He coughed for several seconds and clipped the canteen back onto his belt.

Sergeant Magnus was approaching him now. With his hearing, Dallas could tell without looking. He still turned his head properly out of respect. The six foot five nordic giant was less a man and more a walking, talking slab of beef. Despite his chest being covered in lacerations, the sergeant was smiling from ear to ear.

Magnus slapped his hand on the side of the truck. “Dallas! Good to see you made it in one piece.” Dallas nodded and slid off the hood so he could speak to the sarge properly.

“Yeah, barely. I nearly bit the bullet dragging Garza out of that ambush. He wouldn’t stop crying all the way to the convoy. It makes me wonder why we keep taking humans outside like this.”

The sergeant sighed. “Now’s really not the time Dallas…”

“Why do you keep making excuses for bringing them with us? We shouldn’t be using our food supply as soldiers. They’re too weak to be of any use anyways.” Dallas spoke low enough that the humans in their midst wouldn’t overhear.

“I’d love to discuss the human condition with you Dallas, but I really need you to put your game face back on. Part of the horde has split off and is slowly advancing on our position. The convoy is moving out in five and I need you to drive this truck.”

Dallas shrugged. “Sure. Whatever. Does this mean we’re leaving Tiana’s squad behind?”

“No. I’ll take some revenants with me and head back into the city to bail them out. Last I heard before radio silence, they were retreating towards the secondary extract. There was a pack of infernals between them and us. Owen will direct the convoy home.” Sergeant Magnus clipped his respirator back on and donned his black ballistic helmet. “Let me borrow your weapon. I left my sword in the back of a tentacle earlier.” Dallas wordlessly tossed his fire axe at the wounded soldier. The latter caught it in midair and went to link up with his team. Dallas noticed the aggression lurking underneath his calm exterior. The sarge became an entirely different person when his people were in danger.

Dallas pulled open the door of the truck and scooted himself into the driver seat. As he did so, he noted the person napping in the passenger seat beside him. Garza had been bawling his eyes out while running from a dozen thralls less than an hour ago. Now he was sound asleep with a jacket over his head. The stone faced revenant shook his head and started the engine. Humans were incredible at times.

---

Dallas’s eyes shot open when he heard the sound of Erik’s voice booming in the distance. He raised his head off the mattress and looked around. Did he black out?

“REVENANTS! SIDHE! HUMANS! TO THE STRATEGY ROOM! EVERYONE! DON'T CARE HOW YOU GET THERE! WALK, FLY, ROLL, SKIP, CREEP IN, HOWEVER! JUST GET THERE!”

Fuck! I slept in! Dallas swiftly sprayed on some cologne he had sitting on the table and threw on his fireman jacket before bursting through the door. It took him less than a minute to reach the strategy room in a dead sprint.

When Dallas presented himself for roll call, his head was a mess. It wasn’t just the alcohol either. His head was uncomfortably full of new information. Aside from the visible memories, names and concepts began to return as well. The names of people he knew. The names of places. He was vaguely starting to remember some of the locations he’d been to. The name Shadow Glen meant something to him, but he couldn’t say what. It was still difficult to piece together anything specific. Perhaps his brain needed more time to process everything.

Dallas saw that not everyone had arrived yet, so he relaxed a bit and allowed his eyes to wander. The number of maps on the strategy table had apparently quadrupled. As a newcomer he didn’t know much about the Commune’s logistics. Was this a trade route of some kind? He studied it out of curiosity while waiting for the others.

Desmond Mores

---

Desmond's tired eyes jolted open as Erik's amplified voice rang out throughout the compound and he quickly rose halfway out of bed. "What in god's name is going on?"

“REVENANTS! SIDHE! HUMANS! TO THE STRATEGY ROOM! EVERYONE! DON'T CARE HOW YOU GET THERE! WALK, FLY, ROLL, SKIP, CREEP IN, HOWEVER! JUST GET THERE!”

"What is happening now?" Desmond remarked to himself in a tired tone and slowly got out of bed. Needless to say that Desmond did not have the best sleep last night. While yes, Poppy, their medic, was tending to Amelia, and he should relax a bit about it. Desmond still worried about his sister, and sleeping with a sister of an unknown condition did not do wonders for his sleeping schedule. Since he can't just not think about it when Amelia is in the same room as him.

Either way, Desmond quickly shook himself awake and got up and put on some clothes. A black t-shirt and some grey pants. Not caring about his hair which was a mess and took a small moment to check up on Amelia. Who as far as he can tell, she has not changed. Which is a good and bad thing, but, at least she is not getting worse. At least right now, and that could change. So with one last look at Amelia. Desmond left his room and went to the strategy room.

Once there, Desmond quickly noticed that not everyone was here yet, some maps on the table along with the crumbled remains of what looked like a megaphone. I guess someone did not like Erik's voice this morning, he thought as he turned his gaze to the table. So more than one map, which is curious and what can that mean? Are they tracking something or something else? He thought as waited for the others to arrive.

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The sun hit her across the face and Lys barely stirred. Willing herself back asleep, she managed another indeterminate amount of time lost to its embrace. Then, Erik happened.

She'd been running and jumping from concrete slab to slab in her dream, down by the old collapsed Bank of America tower. Then, a voice had invaded her dreamscape so loudly that it hadn't even gently pulled her out. Lysandra was awake, lying on her back, hating herself. She remained there for what could've been a moment or minutes, unready to sit up or even look down at her legs, which were probably tangled in the covers. Others were stirring, though: getting dressed, opening doors, walking. Fuck off, she thought. Just fuck off. Cerise wouldn't be there. She wouldn't be there because of Lys: because she'd given in to Ajax instead of... What? Standing up for myself?

There were some people who came and went, but Cerise wasn't supposed to be one of them. She was one of the originals: a bedrock and foundation. It was... surreal that she was gone. Even more so that Lysandra had played a role in that. Some part of her mind rejected it - simply would not comprehend or acknowledge it.

She was lying on her back, she realized. She'd forgotten to wake up and turn herself over. Lys let out a groan and pushed herself up, scooting backwards. Her stupid legs were all tangled in the blankets. She'd need to untangle them, sitting here and dwelling on things she'd rather not dwell upon. She'd need to check for pressure sores too because of the way she'd slept. That filled the next few minutes. She let herself be numb to anything deeper, but it was still there, hovering just out of sight but known and dangerous, like a crocodile under her bed.

If she hadn't brought that stupid vestige back, none of this would've happened. Yet, Lysandra hadn't been able to help herself. She'd told herself that it would eventually be good for Cerise to know, helpful even. Lys had assumed that, because she was the most educated person here, it also made her the smartest. She'd made a decision on someone else's behalf and the consequences had been disastrous. To be sure, she blamed Ajax too but, as much as he always tried to act cool, she knew that he was also hurting, deep down. He'd honestly thought that he was helping, like she had. He'd thought that he knew better, like she had. She wasn't going to beat up on him not only because it would make her an awful hypocrite, but because she knew that, beneath his suave surface, he was already doing just that.

The Lysandra that closed her door behind herself and rolled down the hall towards the Telescope Room was a muted one, with none of the sass, goofiness, or assertiveness that she was known for. If there was a mission, she would not impose her deadweight on it. She would bury herself in her actual jobs at the Crows' Nest: building and repairing useful things, caring for the ill and injured, and researching the mistle. She had a live one now. She had no excuses for going off and playing crippled adventurer.

She entered the room and wordlessly took a spot leaning back against a wall some ways from the others, arms crossed protectively, feet and front wheels up off the ground. She waited.

---

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Location: Strategy room
Interactions: Dallas

---

Poppy stood to the side, quietly reading the room. Cerise's unexpected and seemingly permanent departure from the Commune affected everyone. Cerise was facing her past. A past she tried to ignore at every twist and turn. It finally caught up to her. Was it brave or stupid to face it alone?

There wasn't a tonic, pill or ointment she could create to relieve heartache. If something like that existed she would be the first to take it. There was no other way to deal with the loss of a long standing member of the Commune other than to face it head on. Poppy felt what she expected to feel. Her sense of loss was numbed.

Despite knowing she wasn't going on this mission herself she studied the maps closely. Dallas was also looking at the maps. Poppy studied the winding trade route.
"Are you staying or going?" She simply asked, keeping her eyes on the map.

---

@dreamingflowers

Dallas was the first to get his hands on the letter addressed to the newcomers. It was exactly what he expected. Kind and well meaning, but businesslike in nature. Given that he'd hardly known Cerise, he didn't have any strong feelings about her departure. What was there to say to a mere acquaintance? Despite that, he also felt somewhat empathetic towards the more senior members of the Commune. He didn't know Cerise, but he knew what it was like to say goodbye to a long time friend. Wounds of the heart did not heal quickly, for a human or a revenant. This would affect the team's morale in a bad way.

After reading the brief missive, Dallas gently laid the paper on the table for Vincent and Desmond and turned towards Poppy. He decided to keep his words brief and not insult her with half hearted platitudes regarding losing Cerise.

"I'm not exactly the sleuthy type. I'll stay here this time and help you with whatever needs doing in the Crow's Nest." Dallas said with his arms crossed.

Desmond Mores

---

Desmond was not sure of what to say really. True that he and Cerise were not close and did not hang out much while he was at the Commune. But, she was still a member of the Commune, and she seemed like a good person to him at least. While he feels some loss about her leaving so suddenly, Desmond has to think about how the others feel about this. Loss is something that he had to get used to when living at his home settlement. Sometimes someone does not come back from salvage or supply run, and you have to live with that. That does not mean feeling nothing when someone you know dies or simply leaves. Just Desmond is more used to it than most, though that thought of losing anyone else close to him again... He would rather not think about that.

Still, silently, he walked over and picked up the letter from the table that Cerise left for him and read it. Letting out a sad sigh as he finished it. He is going to miss Cerise despite the short time they have known each other, and he does wonder what exactly she saw in her vestige that made her do this. Though that is something he will probably never find out, so he will not dwell on it.

Putting the letter down on the table for Vincent to read and turned to face Erik."Well, this is.... unfortunate and for the mission. I think I will be staying back just in case Poppy needs a hand with Amelia. Unless you really need people for the mission."

Location: Garden
Interactions: Dallas

---

Poppy nodded in agreement.
"Good, I can use your help."The medic didn't wait around for everyone else to decide whether they were staying or going. There was a long list of tasks waiting for her back at the medical area. She looked up at Dallas.
"Follow me..."

They walked into the direction of the garden. Poppy's walking pace was characteristically brisk, but easy to keep up with for someone of Dallas's stature. On the outer edges of the garden there was a rough looking patch. The bottom half of some kind of bulbous plant was partially sticking out of the soil. It was difficult to tell exactly how much of the roots were still stuck in the ground. It looked like someone had tried to uproot it. A shovel was set up against one of the stalks.

Poppy grabbed a large round basket and set it down next to it.
"The roots of these plants are ready to be harvested. I started myself, but I couldn't manage it. I need the entire patch."
She grabbed a large knife from a rack of gardening tools nearby and hacked off the exposed part of the roots. Poppy moved towards her working station, giving Dallas space to start digging.

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People talked. Some had good things to say, but Lysandra found herself short on any appetite for knowledge or investment. She was doing it, she knew - what she had always done when feeling guilt: running from it and hiding. No Cerise. It just sat atop her stomach and wouldn't go away. You did this, Lys. You thought you were so smart, going for that vestige. In truth, the greater part of her wanted desperately to go on that mission. She burned with curiosity and longed to be away from the cavernous emptiness of the Crows' Nest while most others weren't there but, all inspirational bullshit and encouraging words aside, she knew that she would be a liability: drawback as opposed to boon. The allure of burying herself in her work - going through all of the salvage from the last mission and Akaia's earlier run and making new things with it - was not inconsiderable, as was the fact that she had a live Mistle to study and experiment upon. Then there was The Federation, which she'd been working on as best she could, ready to replace the Four Immortals and an improvement by virtually every measurable parameter.

The truth was that she felt herself genuinely neutral on this one. She just needed a distraction, whatever form it took. Choosing a break in the proceedings to interject, Lysandra uncrossed her arms, thumped back onto four wheels, and made a simple statement of dubious fact. "Don't ever let it be said I'm not a team player," she began, "I'll go wherever I'll be most useful." She wrapped one arm around her waist again, the other flicking some hair over her shoulder. She controlled her eyes. The maps looked interesting. Her eyes wanted to pore over them. She denied their request and sat poised, professional, and distant.

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@dreamingflowers

Seeing the partially uprooted plant, Dallas could see Poppy in his mind's eye trying to desperately pull the vegetable out of the ground. The imaginary picture filled him with amusement. He grabbed the shovel and stabbed it into the ground with his foot, then effortlessly heaved the bulb out of the dirt. He might as well have been digging through pudding. The plant was quickly deposited in the basket, dirt and all. It was the first of many.

The job was a surprisingly nice change from getting chewed up by monsters all month long. Dallas eventually settled into a rhythm and soon his body was on autopilot, leaving his mind free to think about other things. The throbbing headache was starting to fade away as his body processed the hangover and a vestige's worth of new memories. It was getting to the point where he could recall the new information naturally.

Dallas occasionally looked sideways at Poppy to observe her as she worked, noting how dexterous her hands were with a knife. The two of them had never been chatty with each other, but it never hurt to keep trying to close the gap. With that resolve in mind, he called out to her while poking his shovel under another bulbous plant.

"Are these beets or something? What are you going to use the roots for?"

_{Interactions: Everyone in the Great Room}

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Vincent crossed his arms and silently listened as Erik read Cerise's farewell. He hadn't known her long, but she had struck him as someone he could've gotten along with. Hell, he figured she'd be able to make a thrall a friend if given the chance. He could also tell from Erik's unsteady voice and the expressions on everyone's faces just how much it was affecting them all. He couldn't help but feel bad that he couldn't feel stronger toward her departure, since he had known her for less than a week, but on some level, he could understand why she felt she had to leave. She had something she had to do and he respected that.

He glanced at the letter that Dallas had set down and noticed his name written on it, surprising him. He picked it up after Desmond and read through the short message. Though there wasn't much to read, he was able to get an even better understanding of the kind of person Cerise was. As he set it down, he let out a sigh and found his resolve bolstered even more. If there was a chance she would be back, then Vincent would do everything in his power to make sure everyone was still there to welcome her back. He stepped over to stand next to Lysandra as she stated she'd go wherever she was needed. Over the years, or at least from what he could remember, he had left friends behind on his journey and had been left behind by those who fell or wandered off. In that respect, he could understand what she and the others felt, even if some of them didn't outwardly show it.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a brief, gentle squeeze before he crossed his arms. He glanced over at Akaia as she spoke and made a note to check in on her, as well, as he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, "Well, it goes without saying that I'm in. I've been stuck inside for over a day, so I'm getting a bit stir-crazy." Slightly more serious, he added, "So, like Akaia asked, what's the job?"

_{Interactions: Everyone in the Great Room, @khosmik}

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Vincent arched an eyebrow at the...drawing on the whiteboard. It wasn't his first time seeing Erik's "artistic skill" in action, but like before, it left him with more questions than answers. He leaned forward to get a better look at it as he tried to figure out who was whom amongst the stick figures. He pointed at the one that looked like it had balled fists and asked, "Why do I look...angry? I don't think I'm an angry person...Well, that angry, at least."

Vincent's focus on the drawing was pulled away as a sudden, loud sound suddenly split the air and filled the Crow's Nest. He didn't remember much, but that sound put him on alert as easily as if it had simply flipped a switch. An alarm. He thought about why an alarm would blare out like that. Fire? I don't smell any smoke. Was he asleep and his alarm was cutting into his dream? I'm awake, though...At least, I'm pretty sure I am... Was Poppy cooking, again? No, still no smoke. Then, it suddenly hit him.

An intruder.

He grinned. Did the Lost find them? Or maybe it was a group of thieves looking to get their hands on whatever food or blood beads they had. Or...No...not my comics! He shook his head. He didn't care what they might be after. This was his home, now, and he was going to defend it and everyone in it with everything he had. He sprinted out of the Great Room and made a beeline for the heavy metal door that sealed the front entrance. In true Vincent fashion, he didn't stop to think and threw his fist at the door. A loud thud sounded out followed shortly by a yelp of pain. "Who the hell makes a door you can't break down?!" he yelled.

He looked around for another quick exit. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't any time to waste opening the door. His eyes settled on one of the windows flanking the door and he took a few steps back. After he gained some distance, but before he could be stopped, he sprinted forward and leapt through the window, his arms crossed in front of his face. Shards of multicolored glass flew out with him as he crashed through the beautiful stained glass, surely making any surviving historians around the world weep with grief. When he landed, he skidded down the road before stopping a few feet behind the new arrival. He straightened up, looked around for any thieves or Lost, then turned, ready brawl, only to meet eyes with a rather disheveled individual.

Vincent took a moment to take in the person's appearance and, when he decided they weren't much of a threat, he sighed, his shoulders visibly sagging with disappointment when he realized he wasn't going to have any fun. Seemingly unaware of the shards of glass in his forearms, Vincent asked, "So, who are you and why're you here?" He sniffed the air and added, "You need a bath."

Location: Garden
Interactions: Dallas

---

Poppy looked up from her work and put down her tools. Small piles of the roots were starting to form on the workbench. They were all cut or processed differently. Some sliced extremely thin, others roughly chopped. It all seemed to serve some kind of purpose. Something Poppy usually kept to herself.

"They're edible roots, very high in iron. I add them to most of the food I prepare."

She searched for her notebook, her eyes passing over something familiar. A cheerfully decorated journal dotted with painted flowers, hearts and ladybugs. She opened the journal on the first page and started to read through the notes. The first few entries were clearly of an inexperienced gardener. Poppy turned the page to the next one, and the next. The writing was loving, at times it felt like the writer was describing the care of humans. There was only one of them who was capable of showing love of that kind. A faint smile tugged at her lips.

Poppy traced over the final entry, absorbing the words. It was a worried paragraph. The condition of the plant in question was fragile. It had trouble flowering. The Sidhe held the notebook and fluttered over into a different corner of the garden. Mellow green eyes searched for something particular. Poppy spotted it, hanging slightly limp with a single struggling bud. She knelt down next to it and touched it gently.
You probably miss her too....

Poppy lowered her face to the ground. Her hair fell onto the dirt, surrounding the small plant in a sea of red. She breathed carefully, focussed and with intent. Slowly the plant started to regain strength. It straightened itself out and the small bud unfolded its petals until a flower bloomed. It was a bright cherry red. Poppy plucked one of the inner petals, one you wouldn't notice was missing.

Minutes after she reappeared at the workbench. The petal was pressed into the journal. A new entry was written with the current date, in Poppy's sharp handwriting.
"Don't worry, it's in bloom
With love Poppy."

Poppy hid the journal in a drawer and continued with her tasks. She retrieved a cooled pitcher of blood laced lemonade, pouring a tall glass. She was on her way over to Dallas when the alarms sounded. Poppy drew in a sharp breath at the harsh sound, disturbing her short lived sense of peace. Vincent rushed through the halls followed by a loud thud and a yelp of pain. Shortly after she heard the sound of shattering glass.

Unbelievable...

She forcefully put down the pitcher, spilling the liquid everywhere. Poppy then grabbed the knife, sheathing it behind her back. With a buzz of her wings she was gone.