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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It's not. It's not, really. Sorry.

[He takes a breath, makes himself slow down and cut it out. It did help, a little, though. He doesn't feel quite as much like he wants to break the coffee table in half just to try and pull the Soldier back out again.

The sound of the coffee prep is, in fact, soothing for no reason he understands, but which he's not going to question. That helps, too.]

Not always.

[He swings it casually, not like a bottle but like a weapon- and that suggests that he's more familiar with the latter than the former. It isn't the first time Bruce's safety has been threatened and the cumulative experience is the reason he's able to maintain a level head. There's no jolt to his posture or wary framing of his hands. Vanitas has always been antagonistic and conversations on the network have mentioned this aspect of his behavior, that it's to do with his nature. Bruce isn't sure if he believes that in it's entirety; everyone he's met is a combination of both nature and nurture. What does that mean for Vanitas then? How much of the boy in front of him has been cultivated?

There's a lot of night in him.

Bruce was afraid of the dark until he took it into his hands. This isn't a competition and he can't treat it that way- he knows that what Vanitas is asking for is a fight- a race to some mutually destructive point. He reaches for his own bag instead and pulls out one of the bottles he'd already taken from the shelf, turning the label into the space between them. A sweet liquor.]

People also drink it because the like the taste.

Have you tried this one before?

[Crowley leans down to press a kiss to Aziraphale's jaw. And another to his neck.

How long had it been since he'd first wanted to do that?]

I thought the point was to not talk?

"You're not my handler. Not anymore. And I like you better this way-- even if you do still talk about shit like this too much." And it doesn't deserve anything, Crowley. That's going to be an almost harder sell than the whole personhood thing.

Yes. Of course. No talking, you're completely right.

[ He says, in that voice that says, we should probably have a conversation.

But he does at least try to close his eyes and get lost in the moment. Crowley even manages to elicit a gasp. ]

[ Maybe it's the sound, or perhaps it might be the smell. Aziraphale has herbs sprouting in cups, waiting to take root in order to be placed into Misty's garden. Or perhaps just into pots, to be taking up less space.

There are certain spices about, and remnants of the scent of things having been cooked. He's been getting better at it lately. ]

No need to apologize.

[ He goes to heat up some water. ]

[Oh, no. They're going to have to talk, aren't they?

And just when Crowley had learned how to make lovely little gasps like that one come out of Aziraphale? Damn. Double damn.

He sighs, and moves back so he's looking down at the angel.]

Talk?

( Javert, perhaps, had his guard down. It's the only reason he can think of for why he takes so long to turn, to dodge the oncoming flicker of her blade. It doesn't pierce skin, not in the way that she may have intended, but it does cut through the fabric of his shirt and cause blood to blossom beneath it. He's not certain how bad it is, but it stings.

He seizes Mary by the wrist before she can take the knife back, his large hand gripping tightly. )

Have you gone mad, child?

( That's got to be what this is, isn't it? Javert would never think her capable of this otherwise. )

This isn't one of your silly games. Let go of it!

I do?

[ Elizabeth's seen enough of the hands, grasping and tugging at people, that she doesn't question what Prompto is witnessing, even if she can't see it. Is that a faint, phantom chill from where it would be touching her? She forces her legs to hold steady, determined not to quail. ]

Well. That's quite rude of... that. To happen. Isn't it?

[ She clings to her good manners like a failsafe. ]

Are you all right?

[ Elizabeth had been sitting across from the bonfire, minding her own business. The rock sails just past her, at a fast enough clip that it would have seriously hurt had it struck her. ]

Hey! Be careful with-- why are you throwing things at me!

No, no-- I liked the kissing bit. Let's do the kissing bit.

[ He doesn't sound very convincing and he knows it. ]

--It's just.

Perhaps, I think, I should explain that I've been looking your way, too. And I've been such a coward, I thought... well, we'd be careless, quite frankly. And then what would have happened to us?

And I. Wish I had been as brave as you were.

[ He takes Crowley's hand in his, and kisses his knuckles. ]

[All of it. This place is more "home" than anywhere he can remember. So why does he still feel like he should be on edge? Check the exits one more time? Verify the knife under the couch cushions is still there? Ugh. It's exhausting.]

Can I help with that?

[Might as well. He'd rather learn how to make the stuff, himself, anyway. The Soldier would like that, right?]

[ Vanitas' encounter with it hadn't been particularly pleasant. He didn't understand the allure. It wasn't like eating a bottle of honey, or sucking on a piece of chocolate. Those things he felt directly, spreading all through him like the sun coming up at daybreak and warming the bleak, cold desert— those moments before it became scorching and unpleasant. What Vanitas had encountered had been bitter and tangy, leaving something tart on the corners of his mouth and lingering in his nose.

He flips the bottle once more and catches it in a fist, right side up. It would seem like a mirror of what Bruce is doing, if it somehow didn't look like Vanitas was about to use it to stab someone instead of drink out of. ]

Those people are stupid.

[ The suggestion here being that maybe he thinks Bruce is stupid, too. It doesn't matter if Vanitas really believes it or not. He's not really saying it to have a conversation so much as to be provocative.

He smirks and wiggles the bottle, barely glancing at what Bruce is trying to show him. The label doesn't mean anything to him, anyway. ]

How many more of these do you need on your own?

Those hands will just smash all the bottles before you get back.

So you were worried we'd do something stupid? To be honest, angel, that's pretty fair considering it's us you're talking about. Even in death we can't be exactly competent in our plans.

[his eyes follow his hands where the angel is kissing his knuckles. It's such a simple gesture, such a sweet and intimate gesture, it really floors him.]

No one can find us here, you said? We're totally cut off from Heaven and Hell here?

It's alright. Just needs to be heated, steeped and filtered.

[ He goes to get the filters.

It is dark, French-pressed tasting this way. But, you know. No coffee machine. ]

[ For Elizabeth's first few weeks in Beacon, this was definitely the worst one yet. The hallucinations grip her even in her room at the Invincible, making her stumble out into the hall to try and escape them. The reassuring press of a warm mug in her hands jerks her out of its thrall with a soft, pained sound and she clings to it, literally and figuratively. ]

I-- I...

[ She tries to get her staccato heartbeat under control. ]

They're... getting worse. They're so real...

Well, yes, I'm worried constantly about us doing something stupid, but-- I think, when it comes to this. That, if we return home, I don't know that I can take this back.

[ He brings Crowley's hand to his cheek. ]

But no. No, I don't think they can see us here.

[ He turns his cheek and presses a kiss into Crowley's palm. ]

[The thought hadn't occurred to Crowley when he kissed Aziraphale. The thought that they'd have to go back to the way it was before. They'd have to be arm's length apart again to protect themselves. They couldn't have this because----well, because---]

Why can't we?

Why would we have to take this back when we get back?

[ He doesn't miss, he's sure of it, but Ventus doesn't even flinch. Instead, it's the woman next to him that almost unseats herself in surprise. Vanitas, his chin in his palm, barely moves at all to acknowledge her. It's just his yellow eyes that slide those few inches to the right, coming off Ventus to settle on the unfamiliar face.

His lip curls, derisive. ]

Maybe you should sit somewhere else.

[The response is a little unusual- not wholly strange, but instead just enough to register. People have a complicated relationship to their own significance, no one likes to be reminded of it and they're conditioned from childhood to push back against it. It's not simply natural he's found, but also somewhat universal. The desire to be seen. To be someone or do something that matters.

Let's have it Master B Alfred says, from somewhere to his left.
Bruce doesn't turn to look. He continues scanning the bottle instead, aware of the way that his companion adjusts his weight, turns off and leans against the wall. It isn't an uncomfortable silence that hangs over them but it isn't companionable either. This might be because they aren't companions, but Bruce suspects that the larger cause is his inability to cultivate them.

When his voice does break the air it's sharp, at the very last syllable of aspirin] Parker! [He says, one finger extended from the bottle he's holding; a visible lightbulb moment. And as quickly as it happens, it's over. Bruce gives the bottle a little toss so that he has it by the neck instead, and tucks it into the bag over his shoulder.] I'm not really sure it matters, [His head cants in Peter's direction, a substitute for the air quotes he doesn't make.] Given the circumstances.

Worse case scenario I pass out, right? Or throw up in a bush.
And who hasn't done that a few times?

[There's a kind of posture he's learned to adopt. He stands up straight but not to his full height, he doesn't iron out his limbs or fall into the careful, precise angles that come naturally. His shoulders roll instead, a cavalier angle. His chin lifts an inch.]

But I tell you what- if I give you some aspirin, can we skip the cautionary tale and just say you did your due diligence?

[ It's this moment that it really sinks in; if they return to Earth, they will both be targets, regardless of whether or not Heaven and Hell suspect them of fraternizing. ]

We... don't have to.

[ It feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. His face softens with a smile spreading, and at the very ends, he scrunches his nose in excitement. ]

We don't have to pretend anymore.

They've already killed us once.

[he traces his fingertips down Aziraphale's face, past where he scrunches his nose up in that bizarre and adorable way to show he's excited.]

They can't pull us apart again.

"It's good that he's not here, but it puts us no closer to figuring out what is happening," he frowns, because actually it puts them even further away. Rosinante seems to have seen such things before - almost identical to whats happening. But Kuai is certain he's not being controlled, just hallucinating. Could they all be seeing something from Rosinante's memories?

"I've found the directory to be accurate, those who have died permanently are removed, and when the ferry docks many more are added. There may be some way to suppress your own entry, but that seems like something Will would have to assist with."

And with what he knows of Will that doesn't seem like a thing he'd want to do.

"What do the hands look like to you? For me they're shadowy, a sort of purple glow falling off of them."

No.

[ And this also settles his nerves over whether Crowley thinks this is a temporary arrangement. He should've been tipped off by the six thousand years. ]

I wouldn't let them, if they tried.

It seems foreboding. There's simply something...

[He trails off because he can't really articulate what he's feeling, just that there's this sense of things being not right.]

Have you had any odd occurrences lately? Perhaps it's me. They may be upset with me for forcing them inside during the party. I was keeping them from harm, but I'm not sure if they realize that.

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EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

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around - invincible;

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