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[ hi ignore this post I rolled the wrong dice bcuz I am brilliant ]

It all happened way too fast. One moment she was nitpicking Gale, bored and ready to go home, the next centipedes had tore apart two of her good friends and there was a weird greyish figure and SERIOUSLY EVERYBODY WAS DYING.

She ran to where Evan's dead body lay. It made her squeamish, but she had to check that Evan being ripped in half did indeed kill him. A lot was happening at once, she wasn't exactly thinking rationally.

Her eyes flashed to Nevada, who seemed to have her own defenses in order. Quite frankly, Chel was pissed and reckless, needing to do something about this. Sitting around and mourning the dead could come later. For now she needed to make sure nobody else died. That was sort of a Sun's job, right?

HP: 20/40
DMG: 0 yes good

Something inside her screamed when she couldn't. Keep it cool, keep it cool. Screaming. Not hers, someone else's, where her ears could ring and set off her instincts.

Blood.

It's just like the cruise ship, Stormy told herself. Just like the cruise ship. Trapped in an area they can't escape, spines everywhere, a monster that could tear them apart easily. Gale had relied on her several times then--this was no different. This was just the same, just the same, and like all the other times they'd be okay--

"Stay back," she told him, trembling physically but firm in tone. As Gale slid to the floor, she grasped at his shoulder to try and ease his way down, the majority of her strength funneled into keeping herself up as well as her weapon. "I'm here, but stay back. This is not your fault, Gale, hear me?" D-Day, the year, it didn't matter to her right now because this couldn't possibly be real. It was a nightmare, a glimpse of the future that wasn't true.

Letting him go, Stormy stepped in front of him and brandished her weapon, hyper alert and swallowing down bile.

Stormy HP: 50
Defending Gale for: 6

Maybe it didn't like his kind of sort of quip, or it was just retaliating like they all were for their fallen comrades and friends. 'Cause that weapon if its came down hard and came down painfully, intended location or not it got him in the leg and all Milo could do was let out a loud hiss while his eyes watered from the pain. (He might have screamed also, but the swift attack made it hard to tell really).

"Flesh wound..." He still tried to jest, but it felt oh so much worse than that. And each step he took as he staggered seemed to make it feel much much worse, blurring his vision (was he poisoned or was this just like that white blinding light of pain? He didn't know). But, soon enough the poison took its hold, filling his vision with black and elevating his breathing. Somehow he found something steady to lean on - a wall? A person? - as he heaved and fought unconsciousness.

Okay, so this sucked just a little...

The strange hunter's surprise, at either her inability to do basic math or her failure to remember dates, was met with no change in Mimsy's countenance. Responses of that sort were to be expected, when asking questions that a person who had traveled through space-time might ask.

December 13th. It was not December, was it? And there was nothing in recent memory that registered as any sort of 'D-Day'. If they were not experiencing life in an alternate dimension, she felt comfortable thinking that they really were time travelers. Her thoughts strayed to possible scenarios, piecing together fragments of information spoken by the new faces who seemed to know them well--

The sound of the door opening ahead of her caught her attention, and she reflexively looked towards the noise, eyes fixed in a stare at the sight of the slaughter.

Her expression finally changed, softening into a slow smile, eyes bright with fondness. A rich, sweet scent filled the air, and she took a deep breath, as if she were inhaling the fresh scent of her favorite confection. It was through this fog of satisfaction that the reactions around her seemed clumsy and full of unnecessary dramatics, and she stood completely still, content to watch.

She watched as the carnage continued, as one fell, then another, hands clasping over her chest as something that appeared to be another centipede emerged. How fortunate! The opportunity to observe them in action had presented itself in front of her, and she hadn't even intentionally been seeking it.

Then the smile faded, and her hands dropped to her sides, arms heavy. That was not an arthropod. That was...it wasn't...

Dizzy, she stumbled, smashing one hand against the wall beside her. It did nothing to make her feel more stable, and she shakily slid down the rough surface until she was kneeling, slumped over, face buried in the crook of her arm.

"I don't want this," she whimpered, curling inward. "I don't want to be her. I don't want to be her."

The same series of words were repeated, over and over and over, until the panic made them sound more like incoherent tear-soaked babbling. It wasn't sensible to do this - not now, or ever - but her chest tightened and wrenched worse and worse as fragmented memories began to pile up in her mind, monochromatic images of a world she'd actively fought to avoid. With all of the actions she'd taken to change it, all of the precautions and planning, it had seemed so easy to take it lightly. Each thought of a time she'd used it to tease or taunt or make prideful references brought a wave of nausea, of refusal and disbelief.

It was impossible. There were rules that dictated it, firmly written in formulas and confirmations of theories. She'd been so sure.

The muttering stopped, changed very briefly to the topic of baking, then picked back up again.

Quiet and timid as she followed along, Abbi didn't feel it necessary to bother anyone. After all, she was still new, she was still very confused and felt that, especially after being accused of playing Twenty Questions with the other Moon Hunter, she figured it was best to keep her mouth shut. At least until the first shot was fired.
A tiny scream that she was quick to bite off popped out before she could stop it, but by the time the second one sounded her own hand had been tightly squeezed over her mouth to prevent more. That had been a smart move as there were more shots, one even hit one of their group, and there was so much red. It was way more than was good, it was a really bad amount and Abbi was sure looking at it was going to do her in. The color was so stark that she only stared after it, eyes wide as the others moved around her.
Finally she took a step back and noticed someone behind them, that while the others had jumped to action around that strange hooded figure with the centipede like ways, that one person hadn't.

"Hey woah ok now let's get going!" Abbi called as she clattered over to the Science Princess from the beach party. Quick to crouch down in front of her, the teen delivered three quick taps to the older girl's arm.
"You're sounding a little crazy there Science Princess, but this is not really a good time for... For baking. We can do that later, k-k?" After that Abbi jumped back to her feet and took a stance in front of the woman, her scythe at the ready. Her hands shook, but the familiar panic was waiting in the wings and if it stayed there, she could go just a little bit longer.
"Gotta snap out of it, you gotta yanno.. Science our way back home!"

HP: 40/40
Defending Mimsy for: 2

One by one they went, tiny ants marching in a row. The room was red now, it was red and grey and the remaining went down quickly. Mimsy. Milo. Abbi and Jack and finally-

The figure turned to Gale and said something. Simple words. Legacy. And then a second later Gale would feel a quick, sharp pain before he was gone too.

It was quiet again. It was still. The fog moved, slowly, it twisted and formed shapes.

Something was born inside the room. A large imitation of a fruit perhaps, or a greyed flower. It peeled open an within it were several tinier buds each containing a shape. The buds too peeled open, several greys sliding out. Shapless with no heart or core. They milled around listlessly, unaware of their surroundings, unaware of anything but themselves and who, what they were.

Something was tapping Mimsy's arm, and the eventual panicked glance upward showed her that it was Abbi, a girl she'd only briefly met. They hardly knew each other, but she was calling her 'Science Princess,' and speaking words of encouragement, and she appeared to be defending her. Why? How did it benefit her to do this?

She didn't have time to consider the motivations before another surge of anxiety overtook her.

"No," she cried, pressing her face into her palms. "I don't want to be her. She was wrong. I don't want to be--"

Then she was her.

Or something close, at least: grey and devoid of her heart, with no memories or awareness to give her suggestions of what her purpose should be.

There was only a deep-rooted feeling of longing within her, like a hunger that drove her to follow the scent of something she couldn't quite reach. She wanted. She wanted...

She didn't know what she wanted, and she had no need to try to figure it out, so she just took slow steps along the perimeter of the room instead, yearning for something, or someone, that she didn't remember.