Erwin had spent enough time exploring the ship to discover the media library. At first he had spent so much time simply reading books he'd missed or reading new books he'd never seen or heard of before. That had taken time. Then, slowly, his curiosity had turned to visual media. At first he had been amazed and overawed by the pictures produced sixty years in his future - sharp color, focus. Amazing special effects. It all seemed so real to him. His attention had shifted again. His curiosity got the better of him. He began watching old newsreels - German, Russian, American, British - about the war. He'd never worked up the nerve to discover if what Robert had told him about the Jews as true. In a way, he didn't want to know.

Still, he'd eventually reached the end of the war. So he sat, stonefaced, as he watched Germany crumble. When he could, he watched the raw footage. When he couldn't, he watched newsreels. It was depressing in away - to learn how the war would've ended. How the Allies swept over France and the Russians raped and looted their way through Germany. How depressing.

He was watching one of the later German newsreels about Berlin. He sighed softly. Maybe he would never see his homeland again. Maybe that would be for the best. German divided into a communist state and an rump republic? Better then national death, he supposed. He flicked over to another reel of footage. The Battle of Kursk. He hadn't been there, but he'd heard about it. What an utter waste. He leaned forward, watching the black and white footage intently, remembering everything he'd ever done and all that he'd gone through.

Slowly but surely, the nightmares have been chipping away at the mental defenses of the crew.

Even those who attempt to stay awake to avoid the nightmares find themselves too on-edge to completely concentrate their defenses.

And the Nightmare King has not been idle during all this, no. He has been slowly feeding off the crew, gathering his strength so that he may yet break free from his prison.

And he now uses that new found power, reaching out to affect the minds of the crew even in the waking world. Even those avoiding sleep will find themselves drifting in and out of their nightmares, bringing everyone a taste of despair.

After all, no one can escape the grasp of the King of Nightmares.

No one.

[ooc: OH NOEZ. As you can guess, the Nightmare King is getting stronger. As such, the crew will start experiencing waking dreams. These are much more subtle than the normal nightmares, however, and are more so depressing and surreal than actually brain-breaking. Mostly they would be miserable versions of the character's normal life, or perhaps even their life on the ship.]

Wolfwood had made the call over the omnicomm. However, he received a far larger audience than expected. He had no idea of how people were even possibly looking for faith after Daimon's admonishions, so the crowd disturbed him a bit. He pushed ahead anyway.

"Well, here I go." He started, picking and chosing his word carefully. "In these harsh times, it's easy for all of us to look outward for salvation. We all come from different worlds, with different religions. Now, more than ever, clinging to those beliefs seems natural. And it is, because you aren't wrong. We all believe in the same thing, in the end, don't we?" He paused for a moment, to let it sit. "We all believe in a higher power. Now, I am going to tell you a truth I have normally only shared with my close friends: I... am a cynic." He paused again, letting it sink in. "I know, right? Horrible quality in a priest. But it's how I have been. One of my favorite expressions was that man is nothing like God. Not only are our powers limited, but sometimes we are forced to become the devil himself. You, every one of you here today, has proven me wrong, regardless of belief or religion, or lack thereof. Every single one of you have shown a devotion, a faith, a strength that I have always lacked."  The ertswhile priest paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

"I was raised with my faith from childhood, and until being on this ship, I had no concept of divinity. It hasn't come from your abilities, skills or powers. It has come from your faith. In yourselves, or in others. And truly , truly, I understand that now.  Every one of you has shown divinity in your own way, from the lowest to the highest."  He pause again, yet more collecting of his thoughts, before moving on.

"In my time on this vessel, I have seen you all perform everyday feats that you may take for granted. I have seen sinners forgiven their past. I've seen evil men turn their backs on evil to benefit the greater good. I've seen people being kind to eachother for no reason other than being kind. These things, at best, are a luxury where I come from. And yet everyone here displays it fervently, with the kind of faith and strength most saints wish they could have. That is my proof, as a man of God, not just in my own holy power, but in all of them. Yours, mine, his, hers, they're all the same, and they all show themselves in your actions." Now was not only a pause, but a deep breath, as he had been ranting for a little bit. "In short, it is easy for any of us to look for our gods in the heavens. Hell, it seems a natural reaction. But maybe, just maybe, that proof of God you are looking for in these desperate times lies, truly, in the kindness of a neighbor. In the support of a friend. In the strength of an admired comrade." He stopped, this time to let it all sink in.

"So, the next time you want to look outwards to see divinity, I would rather inspire you to look to your friends and allies, and ask them and accept them for their beliefs. Because their strength is your strength, and yours theirs. Maybe, just maybe, all of the gods want us to work together." Another pause, another prayer, another moment.

" I will be taking confessionals and offering counseling in this church's offices after this service. All who want to talk are welcome to have their discussions with me, or be guided to a proper minister of their own faith, if I know of one." He then walked to the office, thinking one solitary thought.

Sermons are hard.

She'd done it again. She'd promised that she wouldn't but she'd done it all the same. She'd lost her cool and let her emotions govern her again. She feels the vestiges of what she felt at Mykr; rotten, brittle kindling in her gut. All it takes is a single match...

It won't happen again. She's stronger than that. Bee-lining through the ship and chastising herself under her breath, she goes in search of the only thing she had ever needed. Family. They're here somewhere, but between Stacy's awesome presence in the Force and the thrum of life vibrating from the pod caverns she has difficulty centering herself. Not keen on the idea of trawling the entire ship (that's no moon... but it's not far of) she decides to wait for them in the one place they would know to look for her.

Here in the hangar she could be at peace. When people confound her, she knows she can always turn to her beloved machines for solace. Machines speak plainly, machines she understands. When she asks a machine what is wrong, it tells her so that she might fix it.

And that is precisely what she does. She picks a ship, and boy, is it a doozy. Yes, she thinks her family will find her here.

Leaping with the Force onto the battered hood of the craft, she surveys its condition and tuts, "What has he been doing to you, poor baby?"

Minutes later she's an ocean in the stillness of night, absolutely dead to the world. A pair of oversized blast goggles slung over her eyes, she sets about blasting debris from one of the forward vents with a vibrotorch. Occasionally and without realizing, she slips into tunelessly whistling a popular ditty from home.

Roxie has emerged from her work in the City for once, from carving warding symbols and energy baffles into the City's streets, from forging and reinforcing binding chains, from doing so many other things have been taking all her time. The work hasn't been kind to her—though she's taken the time to heal, now and again, strange runes and glyphs and symbols have gradually scarred into her face and hands, and the seams of her jacket have started to unravel. All the work she's done–it's still not enough. And it push against it harder, now, instead of simply trying to deflect or baffle the energy, could only lead to worse things. That night of strange dreams, harmless as it was, was a clear warning of that.

And so she is here, on the Obs Deck, using a rough-bristled brush and a pot of nasty-smelling black paint to paint strange, occult signs across the walls.

Gauron is not exactly a fan of things that aren't within his control, and this thing with the Nightmare King's starting to wear on his patience. He'd found a measure of morbid amusement in it at first, and he'd been content to leave this one to the Magic Department while the prayers Roxie had taught him could still protect him well enough - but now, it's clear the situation is getting progressively more and more out of hand, and he's getting tired of it.

He's still shaking the numbness out of not just his left arm now, but half his torso, down to his hip, as he emerges from the city - the spreading numbness that his dreams inflict hasn't changed despite the number of sleeping positions he's tried, and he's starting to wonder whether there isn't an underlying medical condition the Nightmare King's agitating. His first stop should probably be the Medbay, but for now, he wants to collect his thoughts, maybe start laying out a longer-term plan of action.

Which is why he's up at the bar in the lounge instead, having a cup of cocoa and looking through the Engineering and Science department staff lists on his omnicom to see if there's any overlap with the Magic department - if there's any way for him to help out directly in the defense, someone with the skillsets of both is his likeliest way to find out about it. He's also got plans for after this mess is handled that he'd like to start laying the groundwork for, and he'll need some help from Engineering to bring them to fruition - though maybe he should begin putting them into effect, or at least recruiting for them, sooner rather than later. It'll give people something to focus on other than what they can't do about the Nightmare King.

After another minute or two, he sets the omnicom down and takes another swig of his cocoa. These next couple weeks - or however long it takes to destroy the Nightmare King - are obviously going to be long ones.

She had arrived as promised and settled with her Jed-Eye cloak around her as she sat on the observation deck's floor.  Either the person on the end of that omnicom was going to show, or they were not.  If they still needed help, she would help them.  If not...well, it was always a good thing to sit.  Arha attempted to meditate, but found herself half asleep, which was most ill advised, but the cloak was warm enough and she was tired enough to make that a moot fact.

The light doze, however, was easily interrupted.








[[OOC: While this is a Renne meeting, please do feel at home to drop by]]

Cassie tried her best to keep from bouncing around the tiny mouse in her hand. After he'd held Ava hostage, Caelestine had promptly passed out. Cassie didn't know where else to take him but medbay. There would be people there, but at least it was quieter, and she could shrink down to talk to him there. And if he felt like getting stab happy she wouldn't have to look far for a doctor.

That was assuming, of course, all the jostling didn't wake up Caelestine.

The messages were sent. Hopefully, both Nanoha and Fate were on their way. For the past "week" or two, Vivio had watched as neither of her parents had even talked to each other. Even worse, it seemed like those she asked for help couldn't get through to them... or possibly didn't bother.

And after that horrible dream - a world where she was with NEITHER? She didn't want to deal with it anymore. She had to reunite her family again. And this was the only way she could think of.

Hopefully, she was expecting them to find a Barrier Jacketed Vivio waiting for them in some abandoned city setting in the Sensoriums. Instead, she chose Nanoha's house - their house. And Vivio would be hiding as, hopefully, they'd arrive and find each other.

As Vivio went and hid, she waited...

Please... let this work...

Ben had finally managed to wake from that horrible waking dream of his and he was trying to shrug off the effects with a light work out. Light meaning that he had immediately shifted into an alien and stomped down to the Sensoriums but found it occupied by late-night users.

Returning to the city, he started swinging through the urban jungle, bounding from rooftop to rooftop as he swung on silken threads of webbing. He was so preoccupied, he didn't notice people that were indeed noticing his blue four-armed alien form swinging high overhead before he landed, crouched on a nearby familiar sign sticking out of the ground.

"Mr. Smoothie huh? And no Mr. Smoothie in sight." sighed Spidermonkey as he prepared to sling another web.

The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience.
-attributed to Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam

They were, she realized, starting to work as a team. Tess and Katara's movements weren't just becoming more coordinated as individuals but as a pair they supported each other, distracted her on one side so the other could slip behind. This was something she realized as she sent one stumbling across the purple grass with a foot trip. The other moved to support her, instead of being simply an obstacle to be crashed into. Bonds. Solidarity. Esprit du Corps. Whatever you called it, whatever you thought of the Sisterhood's scheming and manipulations, they had it in spades.



Sheeana followed, blurring into a jumping kick...And had to scramble to keep her own balance as a presence intruded on her awareness. She looked chagrined as she signaled a halt to their sparring. That could have been an awkward pratfall.



"Duncan." She turned towards the watching figure, barely keeping the exclamation point out of her voice. The boy seemed to clutch at knowledge the way a starveling went after a ripe peach.

She's been onboard and awake a couple of days at most, and Ava already misses Manhattan. There's an oppressive, stale quality to the air on Stacy; it feels recycled, and it's just not the same as home. The Manhattan generated from her memories isn't exactly right, either, but it's better than nothing. She soars down Fifth Avenue towards Central Park, dressed in reassuringly non-pulsing Sensorium-generated clothes.

Anybody feel like flying today?