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Taking a nice shower, however awkward and embarrassing and entirely too social, had been good for him. Jerry smelled a lot better anyway. Attempting desperately to avoid eye contact with anyone else in there with him had given him a lot of time to think, mulling over his game plan. Alright, so Rep was waiting outside for him s he wouldn't get lost. They'd meet with the others and head above ground. Make their way to his room first, pray his spare glasses were where he had left them.

Grab his guitar.

Fight their way out and down the hall to Sasha's bedroom. Blast the door open if he has to. Retrieve her flute.

If they're doing well, they'll see what else could be salvaged. Maybe Molly's room- where was Molly's room? Alright, maybe see if the others have things of note they'd want to grab. Make their way out, safe and sound. It couldn't go wrong. It could only go right.

He as feeling a lot better as he dressed and limped his way out again, glancing around for Rep to see if the others had responded to the ginger's texts.

"Well, I'm f-feeling more human, ahahaha," He ventured. "Have you heard anything?"

"I'm sure the weird noises in the dark will be more than happy to come looking for us." Jordan had also changed into coveralls; hell with that not having pockets crap. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "Necessities run, huh? I'm up for that."

He felt a whole lot better than he had when they'd first arrived back; the anxiety and twitchiness were tapering off, and Ferros had settled comfortably back into the not-space he occupied in Jordan's mind, the soft rumble and hiss of his presence constant and soothing. A shower, some uninterrupted, peaceful sleep, something to eat, and coffee - even if it had been terrible coffee, it was still coffee - had gone a very long way toward restoring him to his usual state of mind.

He refrained from commenting on exactly how worn and frayed Jerry looked. Some of that might be attributable to being unable to see, perhaps unable to sleep, but he was still going to keep an eye on his friend.

It took some time for Wash to meander slowly over to their meeting place. Ever since the...incident, he'd been having strange waking dreams and difficulty focusing. It was only with a noticeable effort that he could summon Sally to his side, who remained silent but emanated an uncharacteristic amount of concern.

He seemed to gaze past the ragtag group as he approached, glazed stare finally focusing on something in the distance.

Somewhere in that mess of monsters and buildings was his wallet. It was his holy grail - his most cherished posession, the little bent and warped photos inside it the whole of his existence. Wash thought it'd be safe there, safer than anywhere else in the world, but he'd clearly been wrong. He had to find it, or he was certain he'd go mad. He hadn't even managed to get in more than a brief nap in their time at the makeshift base, and what little sleep he'd had was spent tossing and turning - waking up to the almost-sound of Denise's voice. Why was she tormenting him? Hadn't he given up his whole world for them? Or had the worst finally occured, and she died, her vengeful spirit come to haunt him? Was he fighting for nothing? This thought was almost too much to bear.

Getting dressed in some sweats and throwing on his jacket had been one of the hardest things he'd done in his life. He felt empty. Depleted. He scratched at the stubble he'd acquired throughout their globetrotting adventures, and sighed. Wash just wanted to go home.

"Hey guys," he commented, with apparent indifference.

"Yeah, yeah. Tons of horrible fog monsters. And I know you won't," Harrison said, although it did him good to hear the pledge of non-wandering from Rep any way.

"Sure," he said, nodding at Wash, "We'll split up the defending best we can, I guess."

"I don't need to check my room." Rep offered huffily. He had nothing of any worth, he'd never had anything of any worth at all. And he never would given the amount of ******** obstacles in the ******** way of actually getting out of the shithole of a bunker and off the island to some blessed retail therapy.



Oh right.

"Though Harrison mentioned a stopover for a polishing thing." He gave the other man an apologetic look and an eyeroll. Tracey.

"But aye I'm ready to go. ******** born ready."

Harrison took Jerry by the shoulders and steered him portal-ward.

"That way, sunshine."

The no-wandering rule was going to be harder than he thought.

Harrison kept the shorter sword in his sash.

The dormitories looked like a music video where someone had been a little liberal with the fog machine.

"Whose dorm is where?" He asked, on edge, "I'm 130, we might as well, uh- is that..."

Half-shrouded in fog was a body, and next to the outstretched hand, the definitive form of a weapons tablet.

HP: 50
Defending: Rep!