It wasn't often someone found Rein sleeping in a public place that wasn't the inside of her bag. But in the middle of everything her exhaustion had finally caught up to her.

Having gotten a performance check, the still adult sized woman had been on the way to Vivio's place when she sat down on a bench. As if a switch had been thrown, she had passed out on the bench not far from her origin point which was the bus.

Light snores came from the girl as she was curled up, dreaming of better days. A bag of sticky buns were clutched in her hands as if it was a pillow or a lifeline. A gift for a tired little friend.

Matt had been right.

As soon as he managed to stumble his way back from the Medical bay, he had slept the sleep of the truly exhausted. And he wasn't the only one. For a good portion of two weeks, various people had taken up residence in the bus and their comfy beds. Ben had been discovered by Irma, collapsed halfway to the Outsiders hotel and had been dragged in. Rein had collapsed over Matt's face and had rolled to his chest where she had wiggled into his shirt.

But finally, they had woken up from their epic sleep and everyone was hungry.

As such, the smell of cooking food wafted freely from the breakfast nook as people lined up for food, serving themselves. There was plenty of it and for once, not the slop that would be served. No, this was some of the precious stocks of food they had left. How much they could take at a single time was up to them however.

Matt stifled a yawn, drank from his coffee cup and flipped over the sausages. There were a lot of hungry people to feed and news of the delicious morning meal had spread across the famished people over the last two weeks of being unconscious.

(ooc: mingle thread like kareoke but with breakfast. go wild.)

It was over.

The Nightmare King had been defeated. Two previously unknown crew members had been freed. Entire sections of the city were in ruins. The crew would have to spend the next few weeks just cleaning up the mess that was left in the wake of the battles that had raged in the lower sections of the ship. But before he enlisted in the clean-up crew to get the city cleared of rubble and safe to walk in once again, Remy was going to do the one thing he'd been dying to do ever since he'd been tossed out of the maze by GLaDOS: sleep.

No nightmares. No fits. No terrors. Just a long night of relaxing sleep.

Unfortunately, after the hectic events of the last day, despite being physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted, Remy collapsed into his bed only to spend the next two hours tossing and turning. His side hurt, so he shifted onto his back only to end up staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes, his eyes refusing to stay closed. He tried his stomach, his other side, his back again then on to his stomach before finally cursing and giving up. He'd gotten so used to not sleeping that even when he could sleep, when he wanted to sleep, he couldn't.

Swinging his feet to the floor, he stood up, crossed over to the 'sink' and quietly pulled his long hair back into a ponytail before slipping on his brown duster and heading out of his room and into the corridor. A walk couldn't hurt. Maybe if he taxed his body, drove himself to complete and total exhaustion, he might be able to finally get some sleep.

Another hour passed, he'd walked a small portion of the ship, and he was still wide awake and the walls--the same meaty walls--of the ship had long ago grown tiresome. Just not tiresome enough. It wasn't until Gambit found himself in the media library, reclining in one of the chairs with his feet resting on the top of the a table, watching Bogart and Bacall, that sleep finally found him. His head was tilted back, the movie playing on repeat in the background, with his mouth open and a small dab of drool creeping from the corner of his mouth, and snoring--loudly.

There was a problem with having big, massive battles that encompassed the entire ship, aside from the whole 'OMG We're Gonna DIE!' thing. The problem: Someone had to clean up after it.

After the battlefields of World War II had disappeared, after the Nightmare King had been destroyed, and after the pissed off bald kid had dropped a damn hurricane into the ship, the city was littered with rubble and debris. Broken sections of buildings lay on the ground, blocking entire streets. Shattered glass threatened to cut open the plant suits--of those still wearing them--and lodge themselves in people's feet. And then there was the dust that had been kicked up by the winds and still hadn't come down. It was a disaster.

But someone had to clean it up--or at least try--and someone was. Sawyer, equipped with shovels, some brooms, rakes, and a couple of wheelbarrows that he'd found in a garden shed in the Vatican, was down in the city getting to the business of cleaning up the mess. With the heat of the city coupled with the physical exertion and the dust in the air, he'd long ago ripped off the top of his plant suit and wrapped it around his nose and mouth in an effort to keep the dust particles from getting into his lungs.

It was a dirty business, but someone had to do it. Although, some help wouldn't hurt.

( Avatar Aang is in that in-between place. )

-

His head is fuzzy. It's both literally fuzzy, what with all the hair, and fuzzy on the inside, like the fluff from the inside of lily-tail seedpods is in there.

Aang doesn't like it.

Something is attached to his wrist--he doesn't like that either. So he tries to tug on it.

He hasn't yet figured out he's in the Medbay, heavily sedated, but when he does, sedative or not, he's going to flip his lid.

Several buildings in the City had been completely destroyed during Aang's rampage, but a few had survived relatively unscathed. It had only taken Kang two days to repair the Drunken Dragon; he'd done so by himself, not even waiting for his leg to heal up a bit first.

Usually, he didn't bother lighting any candles or using the fireplace in the tavern unless it was a period when the artificial sun had set. He could see perfectly fine in the dim light. For the celebration, though, he'd thrown the windows open wide, scrounged up every candle he could find, and started up a fire, knowing that human vision wasn't as good as his own. The tables surrounding the stage had been cleaned, as well as the tankards, and the door was propped open. The bozak had even wrestled two of the 60-gallon barrels from the back room into a corner of the main room for easier access, one of cactus juice and one of ale. If more was needed, he was sure he could get someone to help bring out another.

Tess had commandeered the kitchen to make her food, bringing in her own equipment. Kang had been slightly afraid at first that she was going to burn the place down, but nothing had happened yet. She seemed to know what she was doing, even if she'd given him a few scares.

The sunlight glistened on the old sword blade teeth and dinnerplate eyes of the comical-looking wooden dragon grinning above the entrance. Come in, relax, have a drink and a bite to eat!

[OOC note: Both drinks are alcoholic, and the cactus juice has twice the kick of the ale. :D;]

"I knew you were lying! There never was any cake!!" A highly annoyed female's voice could be faintly heard before a secret panel slid open and a not very pleased looking, dark haired woman stumbled out into the hallway almost as though she'd been pushed.

Regaining her composure, Temperance Brennan pushed her hair out of her face and offered the space behind the doorway a glare. "Don't get mad at me because I didn't fall for your lies of free cake!" Though the only answer she got was for the secret panel to slide shut again.

She sighed loudly and shook her head. How the AI had managed to even get her in that hidden area was beyond her comprehension. She'd always known that AI lied about things, put people in awkward positions - i.e. the mistletoe incident - and so she should have known better. Though GLaDoS had been in for a complete shock when Temperance had flat out refused to participate in her version of a rat race. No amount of offers of free cake had swayed the stubborn scientist.

"Exasperating moronic machine," Tempe muttered to herself. Almost as soon as the words were uttered the secret panel slid open again. This time a pair of shoes were launched out, right at Tempe's head. "OW! HEY" Tempe cried, lifting her hands to press against her now throbbing forehead.

His face feels like a raw steak. From what he'd seen in his reflection, 'hamburger' might be a better description. It's not the worst of the pain in his body, compared to the broken ribs that feel like ground glass whenever he breathes, but it's the most visible. If it were just the pain, he could handle it, but he's drained, physically and mentally. He knows what he needs, a quick jaunt near a sun, but getting this airlock door to open is easier said than done.

He pounds on it again, weakly. "Just need a bit of sun. Open up."

||You must report to medical. Your condition is-||

"I know my condition." He turns around and slumps against the wall, sliding down until he's sitting. "And I'm telling you, all I need is some sunlight."

||You must report to medical.||

"You're as bad as the Midnighter." He scowls at a wall, then lets his head droop a bit. "I don't need medical."

For those who would find themselves wandering the ruined, broken streets, they would discover the smells and flickering lights of incense-filled censers and braziers emanating from one particular building.

Despite the cold, intimidating exterior, those brave enough to enter would find it rather warm, if somewhat dark.

Numerous pews were arrayed before a large, ornate altar. Despite the resemblance to a Christian church, the symbols covering the walls would dispel any ideas that it was one. Winged skulls, ancient frescoes of golden armored warriors slaying horned demons with both sword and gun, the bones of martyrs displayed in small shrines all along the walls, and, most prominently, a massive, twin headed golden eagle symbol, wings spread wide, as if shielding those within the building from some unseen evil.

In the foremost pews one would find the Seer, Brother Cargn Thane, sitting quietly. Instead of the massive suit of armor he wore during the battle with the King of Nightmares, he wore a simple gray robe, giving him a form far more familiar to those he had spoken to before the battle. He sported a number of bandages--ones he applied himself, for he didn't trust the Xenos med-bay--covering the wounds he sustained in the fighting. In his hands he held a cup filled with a simple herbal tincture, one which helped ease the pain of his wounds.

To those who entered this ancient, holy place, he would offer a soft smile, and a seat nearby, for this was a place of worship, one where he gladly accepted all who would come.

Gauron's set up a conference room in the sensoriums to discuss his plans for the city; true to his word, there is food - pastries, sushi, yakitori, and baozi, for the moment, but it's the sensoriums: it's not like you can't have something else if you want - and several choices of teas and gourmet coffees. One wall is taken up by a massive window, looking out over a partly cloud-shrouded mountainside, but the real focal point of the room is the massive table in the center - more specifically, the three-dimensional map of the city occupying most of its surface, updated to reflect the changes Aang had made to numerous buildings' state of existence.

All that's left is seeing whether anyone actually shows, or whether he'd have to mention that he wanted to pay people for their involvement in this as soon as there was someone in charge of the ship's finances before anyone would be arsed - and probably piss off the command staff in the process, because he hadn't said anything about it to them yet.

Even captains need their moments of rest and relaxation. Kirk had retreated to the Sensoriums to try and catch his breath and ease some of the tension from the past few months. This ship was draining, sometimes in the extreme. Not for the first time he missed Enterprise. She had been his ship, for better or for worse and now that she was gone, he found he missed her more then ever. That didn't even account for the crew. Sulu, McCoy, Uhura, Scotty, Chekov - he wished he had them here right now. Their advice and support would meant quite a lot. As it was, Spock had recently arrived, but he seemed different somehow. Something he hadn't been able to put his finger on yet.

Kirk sighed to himself and finished saddling his (virtual) horse. The whole affair with Roxie Schreiber had gotten too far out of control. He'd reacted instead of letting himself think. He'd overstepped his boundaries. In one smooth motion, he slip up onto the horse, settling himself in the saddle. An apology to the crew at large was probably in order. They had a trust in him that he'd violated to a certain degree. He just wished that some of them returned that trust.

Giving up was out of the question, though. There was no such thing as a no-win situation. With a click of his tongue, Kirk flicked the reins and set the horse out into a steady trot. Ahead of him were rolling hills and blue skies. A beautiful day for a ride.

It's been an intense half a day for Tycho, what with arriving here, learning about the destruction of his universe, learning about the existence of other universes, and the fact that he's been dumped in the middle of a whole new war to fight. After talking to Captain Kirk, he'd spent a while reading as much as he could find on the omnicoms about the Ohm and the ship and the entire situation. He'd also messaged his new squadron, the thing he suspects will take up most of his time on this ship. What he's learned so far tells him ... it's going to be a challenge.

Now though... he could really use something familiar, something from home before his head starts to spin like an x-wing with the stabilizers blown. Stacy's hanger is certainly like no hangar he's ever been in before. The air is humid, and his boots echo strangely on the organic floor. It's also large, maybe almost as large as the main hanger on the Lusankya, filled with all kinds of craft he's never seen before, which compounds the feeling of strangeness. Tycho isn't some outer rim dweller- he's been around the galaxy a few times, seen plenty of things, and the unfamiliarity of almost everything here compounds the feeling of how far he is from home. Still though, his heart can't help but begin to soar as he takes in the sight of near two dozen x-wings parked together near one of the edges.

Tycho strides quickly up to them, noting the familiar shape of Wedge's X-Wing, kill decals bracketed by the two Death Stars, before his eyes alight on his own. He traces his fingers up the side, instantly feeling more centered, more at peace for the feel of the durasteel under his fingertips. He's going to be okay. As long as he has his X-wing and his squadron, everything will be fine.

His R5 chirps in greeting, and Tycho pulls a datapad out of one of his flightsuit's pockets. He might as well use his time well and start running some preliminary diagnostics while he waits for Wedge to arrive.

"Yep," he responds in answer to the astromech's query as the translation scrolls across the screen. "We're far from home buddy." He comfortingly pats the X-Wings side. "We still got our jobs to do though, so let's get started."

The brig was little more than a cage to hold him, steel-reinforced walls no less steady in the squat room. Haku was coiled like a snake in his cell, exuding hatred at the wall directly across from his view through the bars. Hus bulk mostly filled the cell, shoving the cot helter-skelter against one wall as he fumed. Some fool must have charmed the bars, to keep him in.

His mind was a haze of darkness and roiling, directionless anger; he'd happily snap at anyone who was brave or foolish enough to place themselves before him. They might have won the battle, but this last fragment of Nightmare was well-entrenched, feeling from the essence of a river-god's power, and though it was not a limitless source, it was one that would not readily run dry.

Sounds like a good time for a visit, eh?

(( OOC: So, Haku got thrown in a cage while the crew figured out what to do. If anyone is willing to work on his issue, I say go for it! Plotz can happen! If you like please contact me on AIM at pearlyunicorn1 ))

 Yoshimi never thought she would be as glad to leave a room as she is when she hobbles out of the MedBay.  Her shoulder is puffy with gauze, and her legs are still weak from overexertion and blood loss, but the pink-haired woman actually looks rather pleased with the world.  She had been privy to a lot of the goings on in the last few hours - a first for her - and was glad that things seem to have turned out so well.  Especially that kid conked out a few beds down from her - Aang or whatever his name was.  She'd heard vague things about him through whatever grapevine she had access to (admittedly not much of one, being such a recluse as she is), and there was a lot to be said for being able to watch that brunette with the hair loopies pay that much attention to the kid she'd been allegedly looking for for... Kami-sama knows how long.

Still, Aang is far from her mind - as is the rest of the crew - as she stumbles into the caf, her stomach growling.  Food is in order, in her mind, and though she probably ought to be worried about where the hell Dustin has got to, she can't quite bring herself to care right now.  Never has slop tasted so good...

For the most part, Vivio was pretty unimpressed with how disorganized things were in the Media Library. It seemed that many who were in here for one reason or another was more prone to either toss away everything or put them back where they didn't belong. Did they really treat their libraries back home like this?

Shaking her head, Vivio began her work, making sure things were straightened up in the place. No one asked her to, she volunteered herself to do so. Was she expecting something for this? Of course not - after what she went through, she just wanted to do something relaxing. And if reorganizing the library was that, then so be it.

As the little girl did her work, her device Sacred Heart followed suit, trying its best to help Vivio out in anyway it can.

"...I wonder if this place has a librarian..." Vivio said to herself. "...I wonder if they'll let me if they don't."

Title: Bastions
Location: Stacy; The Sensoriums






Pain.

He'd taken it on and endured it many times in his life. It still doesn't make things any easier. The Ides had come and gone but he'd known. He couldn't forget that. The Nightmare King had been apparently defeated and he'd done....all in all, very little in the whole thing.
Or so it is in his mind.

The battle-wounds he'd Empathically handled still remain but are quite on their way to mending, quick healer that he is.

Mostly.

The Sensoriums he'd come into had begun as just Sensoriums. Now, he sits within a fortress. It isn't the Tower he'd dreamed of and abandoned long ago. It's simply a fortress with a forbidding exterior.
Fitting walls but somehow unfitting for the scraps of cloth and loose cotton fluff surrounding him.