The Nightmare King had been, more or less, taking it easy on Leon. Not that he had to do much. All he had to do was let Leon know that he was in his head. Considering that he never really recovered from being possessed by a plaga, just knowing that he wasn't alone in his own head was more than enough to get to him. For Leon, an occasional flash of something dark moving through the veins just under his skin, or glancing at his reflection only to see a pair of red eyes looking back at him, was more effective than any elaborate nightmare. Even the feeling that his clothes were contracting against him despite his having gotten rid of that godforsaken plant suit, or that damned itch on the inside of his chest were starting to get to him.

At first, he just resorted to ignoring and pushing past the sensations, going colder to get himself through the day. Slowly, though, the Nightmare King was chipping away at that defense.

But Leon would be damned if he was going to end up helpless against this thing. "Sigmund," the Seer's droid assistant had given him a list of ways to 'bless' and reinforce his weapons to make them more effective against daemons. Leon tried a few, mostly on the weapons he didn't normally carry while back home. It worked, to a minor degree. At the least, it made it so those weapons stood out in his waking dreams. The discontinuity of having them there was usually enough to make him realize that he was dreaming. Well, that, and the fact that he scrawled the words 'WAKE UP' on each of those weapons.

But he was hoping to find a more effective way of taking on the Nightmare King. Which is why, for once, Leon was in the sensoriums.

He usually avoided the sensoriums, only bothering to step in if he had business with someone in there. There was something about a hyper-realistic virtual reality that annoyed him, and he found the way some crew members buried themselves in a false reality to be worrisome. Even more so, considering that not even that was a refuge for them from the Nightmare King. But for right now, the room's ability to conjure up whatever he wanted trumped his discomfort with the place.

His brain was a bit too fried to focus on a list, so he had the room bring interface with the W&P inventory list to bring up the "infinite armory". He stood in the middle of countless rows and racks of weapons and armor, and what could be seen was still only a fraction of what they had on board. He moved them easily and effortlessly, rearranging them with the aid of several holographic screens.

He looked at the specs for several groups of weapons, hoping that somewhere in that haystack, was a needle that he could use to stab the Nightmare King in the eye.

Running a hand over the smooth fabric of her dress, Inara stood at the open bay doors of Serenity, waiting for Tony Stark to arrive for their scheduled tea time. Things were already set up in her shuttle - the tea already seeping and she'd even managed to procure a small plate of cookies. She couldn't help but smile as she folded her hands patiently before her, as she had found him rather intriguing during their first meeting.

He'd had an aura of self-assurance, charm and playfulness to him. Which in her mind were always good things to have, but she hoped that during this meeting, she'd find out more about the man.

Spotting him walking toward her, her smile grew and she lifted her hand in a wave of greeting. "Tony, huān yíng, welcome. I'm glad you could make it."

He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed tinkering on ships until he'd gone some time here without doing anything like it.  Growing up, Luke had always been up to his elbows in some project or another, fixing droids for his uncle or modifying the speeder he used; later on, the tinkering turned into working on real ships like his X-Wing, the Falcon, and then Mara's ships.  There was something comforting in it, in the logical way that components fit together--and right now, with so much having happened recently, Luke found that tweaking systems on his X-Wing to better than spec was the best way for him to organize his thoughts.

Jaina, Han, and Chewie showing up had been enough of a jolt to Luke's mind.  Jaina wasn't the only child of his sister and best friend now; she hadn't watched her twin fall to the Dark Side.  Chewbacca was, well, alive.  Han was years younger.  And then there was Jacen, who only had the tiny seed planted by the torment he'd suffered at the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong and their insidious mental shaping.  And then there were those nightmares, and the strange surreal dreams that twisted aspects of his memories...

It was on Jacen that Luke meditated while he lay on his stomach, head and shoulders inside an access bay, using a hydrospanner to make adjustments to the shielding system and periodically sitting up to check the diagnostic readouts on the ship computer.  It wasn't going smoothly, and he muttered a very un-Jedi Huttese curse after checking it again, and sighing.

It was really bad when a Jedi lost his center.

Victor hasn't been sleeping well. Nightmares have plagued him and woken him up night after night. That meant of course that no one else in his little pack have slept well either. It's only through a great deal of patience on Topher's part that Victor is still Victor instead of one of his other more dangerous imprints. He's on edge and unconciously making an attempt to keep things 'status quo' so that he doesn't glitch out.

Right now, Victor is on the observation deck paying a great deal of attention to the wall. He tilts his head this way and that, brow furrowing then smoothing. He's obviously very seriously considering something. After a moment he puts his hand on the wall and speaks in a clear, polite (if a bit monotone) voice.

"I would like pancakes, please."

The only real thing Victor had a problem with on the ship was the food.

[ooc: Feel free to intercept him, tell him he can't have pancakes, whatever.]

If it weren't for the fact that Chris Ramirez had difficulty with his family life before he was a Kamen Rider, much less a part of Stacy's crew he would have a lot more trouble than he was having. He had a feeling or worthlessness that crept up from time to time and during this particular nightmare he was sure he had not for the first time failed his father. Chris had woken up in the Sensorium and didn't know how he got there and stared at an image of an angry forty-something man that had been gleemed from his head.