[Seasonal Event] Table for one, please

It wants… to be reborn? What kind of strange hell has she landed in? Gods, Amalia and Rory will never believe what’s happened here - if they come back alive - it’s all so, so much more than they’ve ever encountered. This is not something that happens. You prepare for the LongNight, you hope people aren’t stupid, you drug your babies, and you make the rounds when it’s all said and done. There are tears and weeping every year. There are stories of what people heartd but never dared to watch. Yet there has never been this. A negotiation, a conversation, an… an experience of monster sentience. Sure, they have all the power, but every minute that Wessex is alive is an extraordinary, inexplicable minute. It defies everything they know. Every minute turns their lives on end, and if she can only live to tell the tale… Wessex may very well have a confused look on her face, but she manages to keep from verbally responding to this very bizarre turn of events. Apparently she takes to long, for the petulant rage begins again, the house shakes and threatens to rise up or to fold in on itself, or perhaps both at once. The Reborn will Ask. THE REBORN WILL ASK. She knows now it is not a question, it is an order. Her hands fly out as if to calm a raging beast, and she vigorously nods her assent to the demand, pairing it with, “Yes, yes, I will. I will ask for you.” Again, her gaze sweeps across the invisible entity, almost searching for something to focus on, to latch on to. “... Now? You want me to go now, right?” Something tells her the voices aren’t the patient sort. Something also tells her that if they go now, she isn't likely to be in danger, not with one (of how many?) of the monsters leading the way.   WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here

Her acceptance silences it—them—immediately. The house seems to sigh with a tangible sort of relief that in itself should be frightening. Apparently they are placing quite a high premium on Wessex's ability to ask this question on their behalf ... though clever as Wessex is, she will know that they don't just want her to ask. They want her to return with answers. "The reborn will..." Their demanding tone dims as they pause collectively to think, almost as if they had not actually expected to get this far, and so this portion of the script was left a bit vague. "..will ask.." The floor boards rumble with their collective frustration. They are close. So close, for the first time ever. "..well ask...soon." They decide. Soon, meaning both that Wessex shouldn't take too long, but also seems to somehow recognize the poor timing of this request. It is LongNight after all. "The reborn will ask ... and will tell us how to be reborn..." She was right the first time. It isn't a question. It is definitely a demand. "The reborn will find us in the shadow of the spire...we will be waiting.." And though nothing at all changed, suddenly they were gone. Wessex has been given a quest by...the..LongNight monsters???? What??? They are apparently asking her to find out how they can be reborn like her. How you handle this quest is up to you, especially given their uncertain timeline! LONGNIGHT

Wessex likes to think that she has a decent, if hot and impulse-prone head on her shoulders. She can look at something and plot multiple strategies, easily see how different scenarios might play out. But this? This one has her head spinning. As soon as the monsters are gone, she sinks slowly down to the floor, head sinking into her palms. They cover her eyes and prop her overwhelmed brain up until the dogs come and begin to poke their cold noses in her face. When she finally lifts her head, it is to look around at the farmhouse - to mark the damage she will have to fix, and the windows that are miraculously intact again. This place will never be the same. Fuck, man. Rory better live through whatever prompted him to run out into the night. His house has born witness to a small miracle, and she doesn’t know if she should begin to put it all back together again or leave it as evidence. It doesn’t matter. She still has a long week ahead of her. A week filled with worrying and planning and having only the dogs to talk to. At least they won’t think she’s crazy for bouncing ideas off their silently tilted heads.   WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here