logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

characters: everyone.
location: around town.
date/time: october 9-17.
content: the hallucinations begin...
warnings: psychological horror. please cw tags appropriately.

it's probably something that shouldn't be said out loud

October 9 feels like a normal day at first, save for the red lighthouse beam cutting through the darkness overhead. You know by now—or you've heard—that the lighthouse is only active during ferry arrivals and events... And there's definitely no ferry docked at the, er. Beach. The town is quiet, the forest spirits behave business-as-usual, Rastus doesn't know what's up. Whatever's going on, you'll have to figure it out for yourself.

And you will, though the hallucinations are subtle at first: objects moving when they shouldn't, people's proportions looking just a bit off, voices in an empty room, and so on. Is it just your mind playing tricks in the darkness? Might be! Will did warn you all about the effects of living without a sun and a proper day/night cycle.

As the days go on, the hallucinations are harder to ignore, no matter how much you may wish to wave them off as flukes. What's wrong with everyone's faces? When did all the howling start? Who do you hold onto when the world drops out from under you? And those hands...

While you might know it can't be real, it certainly feels real. But at least it can't last forever!

...Right?

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( the weather has changed in Beacon, it's definitely not as warm as it was when Matt arrived. (it is very unsettling to him that he's been in this place long enough for the season to change.) that said, it's probably not cold enough to merit shivering — not unless you're fresh in from the lake, after a very untimely swim.

he still hears the chattering of teeth and the vibrating of a particularly intense shiver, despite it. it's not quiet, considering he can hear it over the roar of the fire. mildly concerned, he follows the sound, heat tilted like a dog listening for something far away. ) Are you all right? ( he asks, a little uncertain. his senses aren't as good as they used to be, and Matt of all people is incredibly aware. still, he thinks he'd be able to tell if his freezing company was wet. they don't seem to be, so why are they so cold? it's not much under sixty degrees. )

[ Aziraphale gasps, but it's quickly swallowed by Crowley's lips, and he holds Crowley steadfast against him as they kiss, drinking him in like he's waited several millennia for this very moment.

In a way, it's been longer.

He allows himself to get lost in this moment, sucking in sharp, surprised breaths in the small gaps between when their mouths meet. And when it ends, everything is deafeningly still and silent, feeling lingering like fresh, powdery snowfall.

He pillows his head onto Crowley's chest, and draws Crowley's arms around him tighter, to hold him as close as could be. ]

[Crowley has waited six thousand years to kiss Aziraphale. Ever since Eden, ever since he blurted out that he gave his stupid flaming sword away. It was an infatuation that only grew and grew until----well, until---

He's almost shellshocked when the kiss is over, stunned at himself for going for it, and stunned that Aziraphale not only didn't push him away, but responded the way he did. Maybe he's been delaying too long. Or maybe now is finally the right time.

He wraps his arms around Aziraphale, leaning against him as they stand on the beach.

He swallows.]

Now what do we do?

[ He smiles into the warmth of Crowley's chest and thinks he might not leave until their time on this world, on any world, is up. ]

I don't know.

[ He's still clinging onto the glasses as if they're something of a treasure, and he pulls away only to look into Crowley's eyes again. ]

Lift home?

--Literally?

[Well, just as Bruce would come around the other side of the wall, this guy kind of walks through it. Like he just stepped out of the wall, but that's not really what happened. He just teleported through a shadow portal from the other side.

He's wearing all black and it almost looks like there are two of him, but that second one is no illusion. Thankfully both figures stopped short of walking right into Bruce. The two kind of stare at him for a moment through all white eyes.]

Who are you?

[Crowley leans over, picking up his lantern from where he discarded it on the beach. He holds onto both of them now.]

Yeah, angel. Give us a lift.

[ He lifts Crowley easily, and starts to fly them home. So he didn't get much done by way of building today, but there's always tomorrow. ]

Would you like your glasses back?

[ He'd hung them from his bowtie for easy keeping. But he sort of doesn't want to return them. ]

( once everything started to spiral out of control, Matt made sure to check in with Elektra. they've been making a pattern of looking after each other, and he doesn't even feel particularly reluctant in showing that he's worried about her. she'd been shaken and a little unsteady, yes, but not out of control. not as far as he could tell. beyond looking in on her when he could, there wasn't much he could do. wasn't much he could do for anyone, really.

he's been biding his time, keeping to himself. he doesn't have as many hallucinations to worry about, just whispers here and there, and he can ignore them logically without much thought. Matt goes out on occasion to see what he can do to help those suffering more than he is, though in the end he always ends up retreating back to solace once he's sorted out someone's panic. partly to reset himself, and partly because it just seems safer, all told.

he's not expecting anyone to come to him, lost in their own little worlds. he can hear Elektra's heartbeat before she even knocks, and it's at a pace he's not accustomed to hearing from her. she's not one that fears easily, even with danger looming she has an easy and almost careless confidence. that she's frightened is enough for him to be a little frightened, too. he's quick to open the door, and he's quicker to drop to pull her into his arms, not even thinking about the lines that blur when he does. )

I'm here. Tell me what it is, sweetie, tell me what's wrong. ( it's whispered into her hair as he tries to make sense of the overload in his senses. he can smell fear, sweat, hear her heartbeat thundering out of control and even the desperate wheezes for breath, but all of it is so convincing he assumes she's hurt. it's not even a possibility he could be hallucinating, and if he was — well, he'd still rather run with the hallucination than end up wrong and ignoring her when she needs him. )

[Crowley could easily fly himself, but there's something very nice about being in Aziraphale's arms right now. The Aziraphale who is still verymuch alive. The Aziraphale he just kissed, which is still basically blowing his mind.]

Nah, I'll get them later.

[he looks down at the town]

How far do you think we could explore if we flew?

Would you like to? I don't think we can see most of it. But I also don't think we should stray too far. Not like this.

[ And, you know, for selfish reasons, like he wants to get Crowley inside and his leg propped up on pillows. ]

Not right now.

[He's had a bit too much adventure tonight.]

We might hallucinate up here.

Oh. Yes, that would be very bad.

[ Which means he's making a beeline for the house.

But he will indulge Crowley in a loop-de-loop before they land directly into the second-story window. ]

[Crowley reaches his leg down to the ground gently, reaching out a hand to check on it. His splint is pretty broken from the fall into the water, but that's not too surprising. A quick miracle will fix it back up. He waves his hand over the splintered wood]

This isn't Gabriel's doing, you know. No matter what you saw, he's not creative enough for this.

He said it was Hers, dear.

[ He also guides Crowley onto the nearest soft surface so he can do a check on his leg. ]

I know it couldn't be his.

Hey, that's great. Getting range of motion and everything. Just take it slow, right?

[He gives another swat around his head, looking put upon.]

I've just got hands fucking with my hair. Less disturbing, more annoying. That's all-- right now, at least.

[Yeah, the usual Soldier doesn't give a shit about its hair, as long as it's not accidentally eating it. The Sergeant cares a little bit more. He's also really trying to avoid telling Aziraphale what's actually going on, but if the angel keeps pushing, he's not sure he'll be able to manage. He's not the Soldier, but some of that conditioning still runs deep, and they do share the same brain.]

[ He only pushes because he cares, and because he's somehow taken the role of parent. Definitely not the more present parent, but parent nonetheless. ]

Oh, well. I'll let you know if you're acting strangely or seeing things that aren't there.

Wouldn't want you to hurt anyone. I don't mean that accusingly, I don't want to hurt anyone either.

This isn't Her, either.

There are children here, angel. She wouldn't torture children. [He knows that children dying have been part of her Plans before, but not torture, not like this.]

You may have a point.

[ But putting that aside, he'll be fussing over Crowley's leg. ]

My dear, this is never going to heal up properly. You need to take care of it.

I bet that dive wasn't very good for it.

Is this helping? At all?

[ He tries to exert some healing, but naturally his healing is stunted. ]

Yeah, it----takes away some of the pain.

[He lets out a big, frustrated sigh]

It's just never going to heal at this rate. I can't go a day without landing on it.

Have you tried just... resting, dear?

[ He looks at him, a little desperately. ]

I know you don't like staying in bed, but perhaps just around the house for a few days. Maybe a week. You're only making it worse, I think.

What, and leave you to your own devices?

[he holds up the angel's lantern as proof of the things the angel does when Crowley is not around]

You're right, I've been ungrateful.

Thank you, for saving me.

[ He shifts over, and presses a kiss to Crowley's cheek. ]

But stay in bed, and don't move around so much.

[ He isn't unaffected by what's happening. The hands come for him, too, but Vanitas thinks maybe he has a leg up on everyone else. Is it the Darkness itself? Because he is Darkness? Is it that he doesn't fight them so much as let them exist around him? Is it the way everyone's stress and anxiety feed into him, making him stronger, a direct correlation to all the negative emotion they pour all over everything? He doesn't know, but he doesn't really care to know, either. The old man would; but Vanitas knows now that the figure he's been seeing isn't actually him. So there's nobody left to wonder.

The stores dwindle. He's seen more than one person come this way to pick at the alcohol. It's funny, in a way, given what that man on the network had been going on about: rationing. Did liquor count for that sort of thing? Maybe it doesn't matter. Everyone is so distracted that Vanitas doubts anyone will notice until this is all over.

Bruce reaches for a bottle— Vanitas knows it's him, despite the way he's got his face covered— and something unseen jerks him away from the bar. Glasses behind him clatter to the ground, smashing on impact. Vanitas rolls his shoulder underneath one groping hand, slips under the counter and in between Bruce and the backbar. He pulls the bottle off and turns around, shaking it and it's mostly full contents at the other boy. His eyes gleam like twin suns in the dim. ]

After this?

"Oh." That's different from the expected, and kind of baffling, but honestly, much easier to handle than more insistance that it's a damn person. Simple instructions, hopefully with something to learn at the end. It drops to a crouch to collect the butt, pausing a moment when it flares up with blue light (it doesn't, and picking it up with the metal hand proves that it's not glowing or on fire or anything; fucking hallucinations), then gives Rosinante a questioning look as it stands. "Then what do I do with it."

my lucifer is lonely (early hallucinations)

[ He doesn't see it head on. Not at first. When he sees is a flicker of gold, what he feels is the press of light. It's like the sun moving between two giant rocks, there one moment and then gone the next. Vanitas turns his head to look for it, and sees nothing.

It takes time, before he realizes who it is. He's not sure what drives him, when he finally sees him. Full bodied, in that back and white outfit, with his hair like sunlight. He looks to his right, Vanitas doesn't see his face, but he doesn't need to— he would know Ventus anywhere. He would know Ventus blind.

Initially, the surge of excitement that pushes through him is indescribable— but he stays just out of reach. Vanitas starts chasing him in earnest, and he slips behind a tree. He disappears. Over and over. And as the frustration takes over— he realizes what the real problem is.

He can't feel Ventus.

He's not really there.

But Vanitas can't stop looking at him.

Vanitas sits at the edge of the bonfire, watching, almost unblinking. Ventus never turns to look at him. He didn't, not even when Vanitas finally caved and screamed for his attention— he's facing away, always. Even now, sitting on the log opposite Vanitas, his back is to him. Vanitas picks up a rock from his feet, flips it over twice in his hand, then hucks at the still figure of his other half. ]

Peter's on vacation (trash mob fight)

[ He really starts to feel it midway through the week. When the word has gotten out, when everyone knows that the hallucinations are happening. It doesn't really matter if they know, though, because the feelings don't change.

All that misery. All that despair. It fills him up in a way he hasn't been full since Sora disappeared— so Vanitas cleaves to it. He spreads his Unversed out, lets them run rabid all through Beacon, all into the woods, through the square, swallowing up all that emotion.

They attack at the slightest provocation, with claws and teeth. Scratching and biting, swarming. Maybe they look like someone, or something, familiar— but they don't need to be approached to be instigated. ]

an open invitation (full on villain mode)

[ The hands are incessant. They pull and push, and Vanitas watches them yank and shove other people to the ground without ever trying to intervene. They don't affect him the same way. Maybe it's because of his Darkness, maybe it's all the strength all this negative emotion pours into him. Maybe it's because he doesn't resist them the way everyone else does. After all, isn't this what Darkness does? Pull you this way and that.

Vanitas lets it happen. The grip buffets him like a storm, and he lets himself fall into the cradle of the hands. It has the effect of making him look almost like a doll, like the strings have been cut. But they set him down, as they always do, and Vanitas pulls himself up to his full height— inhales deeply. Rolls his head against his shoulders.

He can feel a steadying hand on the back of his neck. It stays there. Lingers.

When he opens his eyes, his pupils are full and the gold of his irises are slivers. It has less to do with the hands, though, and more to do with the high of all the power he's siphoning off all the residents of Beacon. He smiles toothily at whomever stopped to witness it. ]

Are you still fighting it?

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EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

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lil jon voice: shots shots shots

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vanitas | ota