logsinthenight | INTRO LOG: OCTOBER

INTRO LOG: OCTOBER

characters: everyone.
location: the harbor, as well as the rest of town.
date/time: october 1-3.
content: beacon's newest batch of residents arrives on the ferry. scavenger hunt prizes are awarded. the ferry capsizes in a blaze of glory.
warnings: n/a.

welcome to beacon.

It's dim, and the room won't stop swaying, gently rocking you back and forth. A loud sound startles you fully awake, a deep, moaning call: a foghorn. As your eyes adjust, you note faint red light streaking through the room from a tiny, round window.

You've found yourself in a private room, lying on a bed. The last things you remember are the events that led up to your death. Beside you is a folded tablet and a lantern that glows steadily with a healthy flame.

You're on a ship. And that ship is docking.

Making your way to the deck, and eventually the pier, you find only moonlight to greet you, and a dark forest beyond. There are other people here, each with their own unique lantern, and many of them look just as lost as you are. On the ferry you've just disembarked from, the speaker system begins to play a song.

In the distance, across the waters of the lake, you can see the tall silhouette of a lighthouse, its red light slowly turning.

•••

Luckily for all the newcomers, the tablet and the town have some resources available for playing catch up! In fact, as soon as they're prompted to enter a network username, an app containing all sorts of useful welcome information will launch. Newcomers can always check out the weekly bulletins and the records in town hall as well, and everyone's welcome to get in touch with the NPCs through their inboxes.

When the ferry docks, it seems as though you've been spared from any weirdness this month! It's good to have a break now and then, isn't it? And if you participated in the scavenger hunt, you're probably eagerly awaiting your promised prize—

But, ohp, what's that sound? Is that the ferry's engine firing up again? The ship roars to life again as some brave mutineers overthrow its autopilot system. Crowley and the Winter Soldier man the ferry's control room while Aziraphale flits between the cargo hold and the deck, attempting to assuage any accidental kidnapees with reassuring words and cake.

Unfortunately, the joyride is shortlived. Between the ferry's complex control panel and the haphazard attempts to override it, all the group manages to do is send the boat charging full speed ahead—which would be great if it wasn't facing the beach. The ferry jolts forward and careens smack into the dock, tearing down the entire structure and punching a sizeable hole in the ferry's hull.

Well, that could've gone better. But there's no time to dwell on the mistakes of the very recent past! The ferry is sinking, and quickly! Looks like you'll have to scramble if you want to save what's left in the cargo hold before the whole thing goes under... And that's gonna be awfully tricky without a dock.

Oh, and maybe save the new arrivals? Make sure they don't drown? But, then again, if they go down with the ship, they'll just show up again in the church... The same can't be said for the restock for the general store!

As smoke billows from the damaged ferry and the last the harbor disappears into the lake, the Lighthouse Keeper appears on the network with a pretty straightforward question. Also, the ferry's song changes, so. That happens.

ooc.

Hey there, wonderful players, and welcome to In the Night! For this intro log, you are officially without a chaperone. Rastus is back at the bonfire, Will is characteristically elusive, and Robin is, well, you know where she's at. It's up to the veteran residents to fill in the new folks.

And regarding the ferry disaster... Well, you have some options. Here's what you need to know:
This is a player plot organized by MJ, Xy, and Gail! A big thank-you to them for providing us with this intro log event!

Whether or not your character and any packages addressed to them are affected by this plot is up to you! If you would like to assume your character avoids dealing with this chaos and somehow grabs their delivery without issue, go right ahead!

Similarly, if you're looking for an opportunity to make your character's life harder, injury and death are always on the table! Or maybe it's your package that takes the abuse, lost forever to the lake's depths or washing up all waterlogged a week or two down the road. In short: How you engage with this plot is entirely up to you.

What happens to the ferry and the dock? Within a couple of hours, the ferry will sink completely, and anything on board when it goes down is lost forever. Which bodes super well for the ferry, huh? Sure hope the next batch of newcomers has some strong swimmers. Oh, and the dock is gone, too. If you want it back, you'll have to rebuild it.

As for Crowley, Aziraphale, Bucky, and anyone else on the ferry or dock during the collision... Hope you boys like concussions, bruised ribs, and a broken bone or two, because you've got 'em! The exact injuries are up to you, but they're the equivalent of a semi-serious car accident.

One last thing: The fate of the shop restocks, including all of the food for the month, depends on you! Let us know if your character will be participating in the rescue attempt. In exchange for letting us beat up your character, you can save a portion of the month's supplies! We'll let you all know on October 3 what the rations for the rest of the month will look like.

DELIVERIES

The following packages can be found in the cargo hold:

The monthly store restock
For Daylight: A variety of gardening tools piled into a wheelbarrow, as well as packets of seeds for the following plants: Boneset, dogtooth violet, starflower, Carolina springbeauty, pipsissewa, bloodroot, red columbine, narrowleaf blue-eyed grass, harlequin blueflag, and purple pitcherplant; he will also receive a translation for the following: An invitation to join the speaker as company
For Aziraphale: A record player, the complete discographies of a variety of bands (Abba, Rob Zombie, Tool, Hanson, Eiffel 65, and Spice Girls), a two-tiered wedding cake, and packets of seeds for the following plants: Strawberry, cherry tomato, cucumber, blackberry, carrot, potato, raspberry, and pumpkin; he will also receive a familiar copy of a familiar book: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, along with a blue ribbon that reads "BEST IN SHOW"
For Bruce: A handheld metal detector and a rechargeable battery for it, a chisel, a climbing harness (that, according to the packaging, is the #1 Safety Rated!) and a 50 ft. coil of rope
For Cao Pi: A go board
For Rosinante: A sextant, and 3 cartons of cigarettes; he will also receive a translation for the rough equivalent to the following phrase: "Danger! Run and hide!"
For Kuai: A basket of 16 mooncakes, as well as incregredients for more
For Javert: 3 pairs of handcuffs, a greatcoat in Javert's size, and a trunk full of swords in varying styles and conditions; he will also receive an electric chainsaw
For Kol: A record player, the complete discographies of a variety of bands (New Kids on the Block, Weird Al Yankovic, Sound Garden, Ke$ha, INXS, and Spinal Tap), a cooler full of blood bags and ice packs, and an assortment of stamps; he will also receive a translation for the rough equivalent to the following phrase: "I'm lost" or "Need directions"
For Elena: A journal; she will also receive a portable generator (powerful enough for a single power tool or small appliance; can be charged through a typical wall outlet)
For Xayah: A thick journal and a glass vial of black ink; she will also receive a sizeable roll of barbed wire, as well as a stuffed animal
For Ignis: A spice restock (with a few new ones mixed in!), 3 paired of leather gloves, and... 12? pairs? of glasses? They're all in slightly different prescriptions, though. A variety pack!; he will also receive a power drill (runs on a rechargeable battery or can be plugged directly into a wall socket)
For Riku: A wood stove, a set of paints, and 5 canvases; he will also receive a translation for the rough equivalent to the following phrase: "Looking for water" or "Thirsty"
For Matt: A rosary and a Braille Bible... which is more of a collection of volumes, really; he will also receive a translation for the rough equivalent to the following phrase: "Looking for food" or "Hungry"
For Noctis: Two complete sets of the Lord of the Rings series (except, wait a minute... they appear to be the novelizations of the movies); he will also receive an SD card that, when plugged into a tablet, will upload GPS directions to a new location...
For Rosalind: A crate of basic all-purpose lab equipment, a fancy microscope, an emergency eye wash station, a mortar and pestle, a lab coat, a Lite Brite, and... the things she needs to make things float, whatever those are; she will also receive a pair of dousing rods (that will actually point in the direction of water, checkmate atheists)
For Jason: A translation for the rough equivalent to the following phrase: "Sympathy" or "I'm sorry"
For Coraline: A translation for the rough equivalent to the following phrase: "Teach me"
For Eliot: A bottle of hospital grade painkillers (it contains 10 doses and functions similarly to Vicodin)
For Allie: A bottle of strong antibiotics (it contains 10 doses and can fight off most any infection)
For Vanitas: A portable camping stove (runs on a portable battery or can be plugged directly into a wall socket)
For Hope: A soldering iron (runs on a portable battery or can be plugged directly into a wall socket)
For Quentin: A cannister of foaming bandage (can be used 5 times to immediately close a wound/stop semi-severe bleeding)
For Mary: An SD card that, when plugged into a tablet, will upload GPS directions to a new location...

If you submitted an item request last month and we've missed it here, let us know!

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[Eleven nods at his question. The gesture isn't hasty, but firm with confidence. This, she can do. This she wants to do. Her ankle is tender, but she can walk well enough on it. Her strength is sapped, but not impossibly so. She's exhausted, but not done.

If she sits still... if she sits still, she has time to think about the implications of her new existence here, of her death at home.

Flayed.

Something haunts her, and she's too young to guard her expressions completely, but she's old enough to remain calm. Older than she should be, in many ways. That notion, at least, is likely not unfamiliar to him.]

I'm sure.

[He's been carrying everything on his own so far, and Eleven remembers Elena's words: We need to help each other here. So that is what she wishes to do. She lets go of her lantern, and it stays in the air as if suspended when Eleven bends down and carefully lifts up a box. Another one joins the lantern, a little more unsteady, but suspended in mid-air.

Eleven nods again, as if to say: See?]

I can't... lift all. Too heavy. But I can help.

[Her lantern lifts.

Bruce watches it take to the air because it's one of the nearest, only sources of light between them, because the movement itself draws attention, and because it lifts without any hand drawing it upward. It stays there even after the girl it belongs to bends in the opposite direction, lifting one of a dozen crates from the ground. Equally impossible is that as soon as she straightens, a second box comes up from the ground, suspended just like her lantern.

It is not his first time seeing things that shouldn't be real. Bruce has killed Ra's al Ghul twice now and somehow that fact is not the most remarkable thing to happen in Gotham. But being familiar with the extraordinary doesn't make it any less inspiring to behold. Bruce looks at it, the package and the lantern. And then he looks at the girl, calm and quiet, with her edges folded over with the kind of precision reserved for origami. And then he thinks about the man on the network, who had asked everyone in Beacon with a special gift to name themselves to the public, to explain what they could do. He thinks about how he said that information like that was dangerous, and how the reply he'd been given dismissed that danger entirely.

But that privacy is for someone like this.
Someone like her.

Bruce gathers up a package of his own, and when he looks again it isn't at either of the floating shapes. It's at the girl who's decided to help. It's at her face.]

Thank you.

[The sincerity takes years off of him- a kind of boyish, genuine appreciation. And then Bruce begins to lead, guiding them towards the town.]

There's a bonfire in the center. I've been leaving them there, to dry off.

Bonfire.

[She nods, both in confirmation that she understands this to be her destination, and as if she's affirming the word to herself. Eleven has worked hard for every word she's gained in the last three years - she's always happy for more. Bonfire is easy, though she does lack some context there. Fire she knows. Campfire as well.

And she's pleased he lets her help, and doesn't question - neither her ability to do so, nor what he sees her actually do. Too many people who are older than her, be they young themselves or adults, look at her and see a child without use, or a child with too much use. Eleven doesn't understand much about the world - but she understands that not everyone who takes an interest in her powers will be like Mike, or like Hopper.

Some might be like Papa.]

Eleven.

[She offers him the word, the number, and then remembers to clarify:]

I'm Eleven.

[When he's inherited his family's estate, fortune, and name, Bruce had also inherited Wayne Enterprises. With Wayne Enterprises, had come Indian Hill.

Eleven doesn't sound like a name for a person, it sounds like a name for a thing, and Bruce finds it impossible not to make the parallel. His parents had been killed to keep those experiments quiet, to keep the things they did there, to innocent people, from becoming public knowledge. Karen had been killed for being patient forty-four. How different are they, really? Forty-four. Eleven.]

My name is Bruce.

[Sand begins to turn to grass beneath their feet- sparse at first, as they make their way up the hill, but more and more of it appears with each stride. There's no real light for this part of the walk, too far from town square and its torches, too far from the dock and the occasional red glow of the lighthouse. It means that they don't just see less of their surroundings, but they see less of each other too. He doesn't know if that's a comfort. If it's supposed to be. Still, in what they have left he glances in the direction of her lantern, a reference to it without using his hands.]

If you start to feel tired we should take a break.
People who lose or damage their lanterns get hurt, and they don't come back.

[They move into the dark, and this is the secret she holds close to her chest:

Eleven was scared to go alone. She's helping because it's good to help, that much she's learned, but she's also helping because it's dark, here, and the dark scares her unless it's the darkness of her own mindscape, of the Void.

Though even that... even that had most recently become much less safe to her, as the Mind Flayer stripped control away from her.

Perhaps he can hear it in the way she swallows just a little harder here, in the way her breath trembles just that little bit more whenever she draws it across her lips.

This darkness, so absolute, reminds her of a small room, of isolation, of Papa.

Eleven squints in the direction of his lantern.]

Where... where do they go?

[Perhaps he knows. The bluntness of the warning is appreciated, though. Eleven prefers to know rather than have uncomfortable truths kept from her due to her age. She has no concept of the fact that children should be spared some things, and in consequence has to wish to be spared herself.]

Edited 2019-10-07 03:56 (UTC)

[It isn't strange. Bruce has been afraid of the dark. He'd been afraid of being alone. But the fear hadn't stopped what happened- it hadn't made the alley any safer, it hadn't left either one of the Waynes behind to haunt the manor with him. Bruce's desperate, early attempts to try and conquer that fear were rooted in his shame. In pain and in regret- as if he could keep himself from ever feeling so powerless again. He'd thought that if only he had said something- if he had shouted, if he hadn't wanted to leave the theater early.

Is it the world that's changed or is it him?
He appreciates it for the privacy it offers, the quieting of all things, what it can hide. That he can fold himself inside it and disappear too.

Even monsters are afraid of something. Bruce included.

He's careful to keep his gait even, to allow it to sync to the girl beside him so that they're side by side at all times, never further than a few inches from each other. His own lantern hangs from his hip, secured there by a series of short loops, staring back out into the night. Her question doesn't sound meek, it sounds engaged- a desire to know that Bruce understands implicitly. It's natural he thinks, that people want to protect someone they perceive as a child. People had wanted to protect him too.

It hadn't mattered.

His brows come together and Bruce's head tilts very faintly to one side, a moment of consideration as he chooses the words.]

They say that we're here because we've died. But people can be killed here and appear a few days later at the church.

Unless it's because of the lantern. If the lantern is broken or lost, if the flame goes out, the person can't come back. Sometimes their bodies are found, but not always.

[It rarely matters, the intent to protect. Eleven has no context for the ways of the world. She understands intrinsically that children are no more safe from harm than adults, and that adults so easily fall into dismissing them as prey. She's learned by now that whether she can trust someone has little to do with their age.

Mike and the others, children of her own age, have helped her outmaneuver bad men with guns. Benny, a kind man, was powerless to protect her against bad men with guns. She doesn't quite understand why some people see her and assume weakness, and is consequently rattled by it.

Eleven looks at her lantern.]

When the ferry drowned...

[She uses the wrong word, here, and doesn't quite seem aware. It's not that she doesn't know the word sink, but perhaps the context doesn't quite click.]

... I can't swim. So I could drown, but wake up again. Unless the lantern drowns with me.

[She didn't quite understand it, then, but now some things click into context.]

Gordon saved the lantern first, then me.

[She says it with a tone of voice that implies the 'That's why this happened' revelation. She also mispronounces the name - Gor-Done.]

[There isn't anyone who would accuse him of being an optimist, with perhaps one exception. He has to believe that Gotham can be better because of what it represents- one symbolic representation of all the varied people living inside it. He isn't alone in this idealism and that's a comfort. But Bruce doesn't make a habit of looking at the world through rose tinted glasses. It's for this reason that the syllables don't warrant a double take. Gor-Done could be anything. If the thought comes back around, if it threatens to linger, he repeats it. Gor-Done could be anything.

He lets it go and nods instead.
She's taken the information he had to offer and uses it to contextualize the experiences she's had thus far. Bruce doesn't need to have seen them himself to appreciate the process. Time in Beacon has been stretches upon stretches of questions- whatever they learn will be hard won and they'll need to make sense of it on their own.]

There's a fire in town square and there are candles inside the church.
Other than the moon it's the only light we have.

[As if to punctuate this, a faint glow appears in the distance- the first signal that they're approaching the town itself. It stands in stark contrast with the path around them, where their two lanterns are pinpricks of light in the dark. Each footstep throws shadow and light across her features, but it isn't her face he'll need to recognize. The lanterns themselves are just as distinct and far more noticeable.

But perhaps because they're just far enough away, perhaps because it's still only the two of them for a few more feet- Bruce's voice comes again. Quiet. Like a confession.]

I never liked the dark either.

[The admission makes something catch a little in Eleven's throat, makes her intake a little sharper than intended. It might not be something anyone else would pick up on - but to be fair, they're in the dark. Small sounds and irregularities like this are much more noticable, given the lack of facial features to focus on.

She remembers a small, dark room, remembers cryingand screaming to no avail. Until she learned to reach out with the tendrils of her mind to push and shove and throw and break. Papa had been proud, then, and kind. The dark broke something in her with a snap so final it taught her how to break others, too.

She learned, later, in the light and a world much more complicated than small, confined dark rooms, how to use the broken parts of herself as a wall between others and the monsters from dark places - bad men and demogorgons alike.

Eleven is quiet for a moment. Somber and thoughtful beyond their years, the two of them. She nods, to herself more so than to him. Looks over at the way dark and light play on his face, then fowards to the light in the distance. The bonfire.]

Me too.

[Another intake of breath, this one slower, more deliberate. Firmer.]

It's okay. It's less scary together. I'll protect you.

[The way she says it doesn't sound like an empty promise, like some grand claim a child would make to make others feel better.

No, she's quiet and serious about it. Earnest, painfully so.]

[If he were someone else the answer would be different. A person like Alfred, or Jim Gordon might say you don't have to, and that's a very considerate sentiment but Bruce has never found it to be true. Nothing good came from his inability to keep himself safe. He can't rely on others to do that for him forever. The person he was, when he was younger and his idea of Gotham was less distinct- that Bruce might have said I'll protect you too. But Selina has told him over and over again not to make promises.

He's found that the world itself never cared very much about who was a child and who wasn't. Things that were given and taken weren't fair. Wanting to keep someone safe was never enough to make them safe. So when Eleven looks at him and then looks to the road ahead, he understands that what she's telling him is that she's strong, and that she's willing to do what she can, what she has to, if someone needs help. And instead of gently dismissing it or politely placating her, Bruce looks at her from beneath the cloak of her earnestness and says-] Thank you.

[They don't stop until they've reached the square, where the bonfire throws enough light across the space that it washes over faces and buildings and side streets. It's comforting the way that all nightlights are, but Bruce doesn't draw very close. He goes out of his way to avoid coming here when he can.

He sets the crate down instead, near a pile of others, and feels the tight ache in his shoulders, the first signs of cramping in his hands. He's felt it before. There are many more crates to gather, so he's sure he'll feel it again. But instead of wandering away or even taking a moment to stretch- Bruce visibly pauses. He looks at Eleven and her lantern- and then he reaches for his waist. There's a length of rope he's kept tied here, near his belt, and he pulls the knot apart until it comes free- then looks to her lantern again. He makes a point of not reaching for it.]

May I?

[Eleven's eyebrows draw together as she tries to puzzle out what he wishes to do, brown eyes tracking from the rope to her lantern, than back to him. She doesn't seem to get it. It almost frustrates her - she doesn't enjoy not grasping something, though that in itself doesn't irk her temper. So far, she thinks she can trust Bruce to explain his intentions.

The bigger question is whether or not she can trust Bruce, full stop.

It's a measure of her strength, her willingness to open herself to strangers. She doesn't need to trust him to weigh whether or not she can overpower him should he do something with i. She doesn't need to know him to choose whether she can trust him with her life. Eleven's had to trust people based on much less than their interactions so far.

So she keeps an open mind, her face curious rather than suspicious. Doesn't give permission, but reaches for the lantern... and holds it out to him.

Careful, hand on it. Face open. Eyes wary.]

Why?

[Bruce doesn't believe in taking decisions out of someone else's hands. He knows he struggles with control- a desire to try and predict every outcome, the same way he knows where the root of that comes from. It's not really any different than anyone else, he thinks. No one wants to get hurt. But time has reminded him again and again that he can't always trust his own judgment. He pushes himself too hard, too fast, too far. He can be reckless, he can accept terrible consequences too easily.

There is a tattoo on her wrist. She has a number and not a name.
Bruce might not know much about her, but he suspects that those aren't choices she made on her own. Maybe it's time that someone let her.

Instead of reaching for her lantern, he points to the top of it, where there's a small metal loop. And then he hands her the rope. He wears his own in much the same way, tied around his waist to keep his hands free, to keep it close to his body and Bruce angles himself just enough that she can see it and make the connection. He isn't offering instructions, just an option. Something she can try and discard, or discard entirely. Her expression is careful and wary, but not afraid.

For the dozenth time, he thinks of Selina.
And how much he misses her.]

You can carry a lot.

[His gaze lands on her face and stays there.]

But you don't have to carry everything.
No one can.

[ There's a long moment in which she just looks at the offered rope, something passing through her dark eyes.

The truth is for all they try, people constantly tell Eleven what to do, because they know she lacks context and experience. And they mean well, and she doesn't mind often.

Still... given her relative freedom, it's so very rare that she's offered a choice to do something, without instructions, just on her own merits.

How do I know... what I like?

She remembers asking Max, and is reminded of this now. Bruce doesn't tell her she should tie her lantern to her belt or around her waist, he offers her a rope with no instructions, just shows her his own. She can choose for herself what she wants to do with it, and he's not doing it for her. Eleven feels something fierce behind her ribcage, a gratitude for something small she didn't know she needed here.

It makes her feel almost in control.

You can carry a lot.

But you don't have to carry everything.

No one can.

Eleven takes the rope and winds it through the metal hoop. Her tongue peeks out from between her lips in concentration. She does it by hand, no use of her powers even though she has the fine control for her. Some things, she's found, she prefers to touch and try on her own merit. And she's focused on the task.

The lamp ends up on her belt, mimicking how Bruce wears it, and she looks up at him again with a pleased little smile. ]

Don't carry... everything on your own.

[ Eleven says it mostly to confirm she understands what he meant - at least in the literal. If she understands what other burden he might refer to, it doesn't show. Though in turn, the way she says it could be understood as her parroting his own advice back at him - he has carried a load mostly by himself here for a good while. ]

Thank you.

[She takes her time, both in the moments leading up to the decision and in the moments after she's made it- where she takes the rope and begins to wind it through the loop atop her lantern. Bruce doesn't rush her or narrate further. She's focused on what she's doing and that isn't his to take; it's the reason he doesn't offer a nod of approval either. He doesn't want to encourage her to make the same decisions he does- that isn't something he'd wish on anyone. Instead he watches the knot itself, the careful and deliberate way that she makes it. That's good. It looks like it'll hold. It looks strong.

So does she.

There are many more boxes waiting by the shore, the promise of a few more trips yet to make. Bruce doesn't bring them further into the firelight because he wants to avoid undue attention- and he isn't trying to make a martyr of himself either. The job needs to be done, and besides, this task gives him the opportunity to push his limits. To practice stretching out his endurance and finding new reserves of tolerance, comfort in the discomfort. This too is a choice.

It's fitting then, that she repeats it back to him.
It's the kind of thing Alfred would say. That he's been saying for a long time, even, and most especially, when Bruce refuses to listen.

Bruce's right hand is black and blue, from his fingers to his wrist. His clothes hang from his shoulders, heavy with water and small droplets continue to fall from the ends of his hair. But he looks at her for a very long moment. And then he smiles.]

Thank you, Eleven.

[The bonfire crackles and pops, snatches of conversation float in their direction. And Bruce turns around, heading back into the dark. Back down to the beach.]

[ Eleven moves with him without hesitation. The task and his quiet, dark company are things to anchor her in this new and uncertain world away from Hawkins, away from the Upside Down, away from the Mind Flayer.

She wonders if he intends that, to be so steadfast, like something a river has to flow around. Disconcerting and comforting in equal measure.

She's quiet, too, here in the dark that terrifies her - that terrifies them both. One step, then another, on that limp. It's not too bad. She can do it, Eleven tells herself, even though there's no one else she has to convince of it. ]

Your hand.

[ It's all she says, for now. Lets him know she's seen. Even looks in the direction of his lantern with concern creasing her young face into something older than she should be.

Eleven won't tell him to stop, only knows how to go with him, intention quietly changing course from just helping to shifting his load towards her. He shouldn't carry everything on his own. She can carry a lot more than most people.

The worst she'll have to show for it is her own blood shed, and that's nothing in the grand scheme of things. She can handle hollowing herself out for the right people. ]

Edited 2019-10-21 21:47 (UTC)

[It's a very kind offer- not the small address she makes of his hand, but that she continues into the dark beside him. There's no need for it, and Bruce has encountered a number of figures that have carried one or two back to town and then turned in for the night, looking after their physical or emotional needs. Looking for their friends and family. This isn't something he passes judgement on, it's a very human reaction and the crates are unlikely to become more damaged by a few hours of waiting in the sand than by anything else that's happened.

But he suspects that Eleven hasn't come with him because she's concerned about the crates or their contents. She's come for him. To walk through the dark beside him.

It is the kindest thing that anyone in Beacon has ever done for him.

For a long moment the only sound to pass between them is the rhythm of their footfalls, the crunch of leaves and brush that will, in time, become sand. He's fairly sure that he's broken two bones, one in his finger and one in his wrist, it's swollen significantly already and that bodes ill for the next few hours. He'll need to be careful about management tonight and over the days that follow to ensure that it heals properly. Not for the first time Bruce has considered that should he be hurt severely enough, if he dies here then it will act as a kind of reset. It is not, as it stands, a possibility he has discussed with anyone else.]

It's alright.

[His tone is matter of fact, a beat of acceptance the way someone might mention a scar, not an inflection meant to soothe her concerns. What Bruce means is not 'it's nothing,' or even 'it's nothing I can't handle.' Instead it's 'I've already considered it.']

I'm trying to become more familiar with pain. To strengthen my endurance.
This is good practice.

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INTRO LOG: OCTOBER

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