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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Not now. I only saw you. You and the forest and your axe and wolves.

[He assumes the wolves have something to do with her and not a hallucination his own mind is playing. They're similar to ones he's seen before, but it would be odd to be seeing them when he hasn't thought about Nightwolf in years.]

I have been seeing... well shadows. Strange moving ones that do not cast properly and avoid being looked at directly.

"No if it were some airborne poison it would affect us all differently. Same if the food was tainted; some I've met do not need to eat. It must be a sorcery of some kind. Though to what end..."

He doesn't like that idea either, it's familiar to him, but the kind of magic that would manipulate their senses like this is powerful and alarming, "A magic to make us see things from our past? What makes us uneasy amplified? If it's specifically tailored to each person, given the population, that is a powerful spell. I know little of sorcery but I would imagine that would take some time."

Unless there's a whole bunch of sorcerers which is a terrifying thought.

"Shit, I can't even remember most of my past, so whoever or whatever is behind this, they've got more idea of what to scare me with than me." The Sergeant shrugs helplessly. "You're right. It's gotta be magic somehow. I don't know jack shit about magic except that you can probably shoot whoever's making it and it'll stop. Maybe."

Those words should bring a smile to her face but they only serve to twist her insides, Scarlett painfully aware that with just a few words she could put an end to that growing sentiment. It would be easy, like stealing candy from a baby and yet when she looks at him her mouth goes dry. Those very words turning to ash on her tongue.

"Because I can take care of myself." Her tone not unkind, Scarlett unable to reject him completely. "I've been through a helluva lot worse than anything you can throw my way." Her smile a little forced, not quite reaching her eyes.

There it is again. That thing where people seem to think they can do things alone, endure awful things without help, when they don't have to. Is that why Scarlett is... uncomfortable? Is that what that tightness to her features means? The Soldier watches her a long minute while it considers her reaction. She didn't say it was her friend... but it doesn't exactly expect that. Its designations are its own. They don't have to be reciprocated the same way.

Besides. She cares. She's proved it many times, now.

Maybe it's the hallucinations. They make everyone act more upset and unhappy than usual. The Sergeant doesn't offer any insight, so the Soldier decides to accept that explanation for her stress, and it finally answers, reiterating something it'd said on their second meeting. When she first said it could hang around if it wanted to, because she didn't mind having it there.

"That doesn't mean you should have to." And it shrugs just a little. "But I know you're shit at accepting help, anyway. I'm used to it."

[It takes everything in her not to flinch from that touch, but she'd never forgive herself if she did. Instead: she pauses for only a moment, swallowing tightly, before gripping his hand and rising.]

That wasn't an answer.

[But if it's a spirit, it's unlike any she's ever seen.]

But I think it a foolish idea indeed to wander about in a mask if you aren't one. You may not be so fast next time.

[It's not a threat. Just a warning.]

[Ah. And that is why he is haunted, she thinks. The other things were awful, yes, but not damning, not like this is. He has her blood on his hands, no matter that he never drew a sword or struck a blow. He killed her all the same, and he will never forget that.]

And it's a mistake you'll never be able to rectify.

[And that's really it, isn't it? There's no words of comfort she can offer him, even if she was inclined to try. He is the villain here, and how ironic, that this man so obsessed with being righteous should fail in such a clear way.]

[ that's… interesting. also semi-realistic—kol thinks he remembers a witch way, way back who excelled in melting people. or maybe that was just his recollection of the wizard of oz… ]

You wouldn't be the only one with that preference.

[ maiming people is fun, but kol's not really a fan of all the gross stuff under the skin. some people just can't wear exposed bone. ambrose probably could, but that's not something kol feels like confirming. ]

Did you start seeing them recently? Right after those horrid smelling flowers?

I don't think I've ever spoken with Rastus.

( but. )

But when you say the Keeper, do you mean Robin? She likes me okay, I think.

While we jump the gun and blame the spirits most of the time for what happens, I cannot deny that they are... odd. Still, if they wanted attention, playing mind tricks is not a way to go.

[Perhaps this is how the other groups went crazy...]

If we ever meet Ardyn again, I will show him what he deserves. And you could. You just didn't have the opportunity.

[That's what Ignis not just believes, but knows. He knows how hard Noct would fight for them all, which in turn makes him a great prince and king. Unfortunately, the things turned for the worse for all of them and this is where they are now. Ignis still didn't change his mind about it, however, and he's sure that Noctis would be amazing leader. The only leader he'd ever follow.

But he is also glad he gets to spend the time with real Noctis now. Something he wanted so much ever since they were forced to part ways from their friendship and focus on their duties. They still spent time together but there was that heavy air always around them. Not anymore. Now- they are just Noctis and Ignis. And he loves the sound of it.

Their hut comes into view and Ignis quickly leads them inside, closing the door tightly behind them. For some reason he feels ten times better now that he's inside.]

Finally... [Ignis gently cups Noct's face, carefully inspecting it,] How are you feeling?

Yes? [ problem, jason? ]

Listen, this might be a really weird conversation, but against all odds I trust you to a, tell me the truth, b, tell me if I'm cracking up, and uh, I feel like there should be a c, but I can't really think of one so I'll just dive straight into the question of:

Have you noticed any hands? I mean— [ peter pauses and glances to one side. ostensibly, he's not actually looking at anything, he's just thinking of how to phrase the question. he knows the hands aren't actually there, but it doesn't make it any easier. it actually makes it a harder conversation. he holds both his hands out in front of him and gestures in a loose way that says actually, I don't know. ] Not just hands, I know— I've dealt with illusions before, you know? [ he looks back to jason, head cocked to one side. masked, it'd perhaps look almost birdlike; unmasked, it still does, but peter's expression adds the bonuses of 'contemplative' and 'unsure'. ]

I thought I was losing the plot, before I remembered that my spider-sense doesn't react to threats that aren't really there. [ peter pauses and shifts his weight, swinging his legs forward so that he's actually sitting on top of the frame. ] Which is fine when you know that someone is making you see those things.

[ another pause. uuuuugh, this is the worst, is what the pause says — there's an obvious discomfort there, in peter's mannerisms and in the tone of his voice. he doesn't like uncomfortable truths, he's happier circling around the issue and making terrible jokes to relieve the tension: the possibility that the dark really is affecting him is absolutely an uncomfortable truth. ]

And, honestly, I'm kind of used to being the only disturbingly large creepy crawly in the vicinity of most people. It shouldn't bother me, but it does: I hate it when people out-schtick my schtick. Hands aren't even supposed to crawl.

Edited 2019-10-25 13:18 (UTC)

[ Right now, Riku doesn't see a future worth being in that doesn't have his friends in it. Sora always had this... knack. This keen instinct for getting his way into someone's heart. Maybe that's why he made Riku promise. Like some part of him knew how necessary it would be for reasons that aren't as obvious as being the light that guides Sora back.

It works. Riku presses forward and tries to contribute to a future that might see the return of the light. He reaches out, forges new connections, tries to impart on them the experience of those who came before. The progression isn't the problem, it's the moments when he pauses long enough to think, the reminders that knock him around inside this box of broken glass that is his grief.

Bruce knows a lot about that. This is easier than questions like what has prompted Sora's return and why he isn't speaking to him, this is direct, a target when they usually aren't afforded the luxury of a direct outlet that won't annihilate them where they stand.

It happens quick. One second when Bruce's eyes widen behind his mask and Riku's teal gaze locks on, sharp and angry.

To Bruce's credit, he doesn't cringe at the pain, he retaliates with the sort of reflexes that could have impressed Riku if his head wasn't a violent shatter looking for something else to cut as badly as he's been. He grew up a soft hearted kid with an old soul, somewhere along the way he acquired a temper. Bruce lunges and they both go down hard, Riku's breath gusting out of his lungs.

The struggle that ensues is desperate, the longer he's on the ground the greater the distance between him and Sora will grow; Riku can't exactly throw off easily someone who is proving as tenacious as the masked man, either. They grapple, this close even the short jabs Riku attempts to aim at his side don't have much force behind them, but if he can manage to turn, it'll be Bruce with less room to maneuver. ]

Pretty recently, yes. I didn't connect it to the flowers until...

( just now. he rubs a hand over his face and shakes his head. )

Do you think we've been poisoned?

[the look he gives him is at first mildly tired, but bemused. But then he gets to the crux of the question, and his expression filters from confusion, mild surprise, and then a realization. all too quickly for him to necessarily hide all those transitions. he's not nearly as guarded as he should be.

while he's friendly with peter, he doesn't want to necessarily confuse that with being friends, even though he doesn't have a good enough word to exactly capture what they are. But still. he runs a hand through his hair.]

Yeah, I've noticed the hands.

[that explains so much. and it honestly makes him feel a little better about his frayed nerves. he had been completely prepared to write off the day as just a bad one, a day where he'd have to go home and rethink his entire sleeping schedule, or "schedule". To have to acknowledge that there really wasn't anything helping them keep time, except possibly an obsessive need to verify the time on the clocks on the tablet.

a solution Jason wasn't fond of, for so many reasons.]

And trust me, they're not out stealing your schtick.

[Riku doesn't look willowy, he looks strong. He carries it differently than the thugs roaming the streets in Gotham, who roll their shoulders walk with an exaggerated confidence, drawing attention to their arms and chests while meandering- slow on their feet. Riku's figure is different, the muscle in his arms looks earned, perhaps through labor. He'd known about the boathouse as the ferry was sinking which suggests more than a passing familiarity so perhaps he worked dockside or as a fisherman. He's never overstated his presence, as if he has nothing to prove and no reason to do so. Bruce's surprise comes when they connect and Riku doesn't bodily startle, he rolls into it.

He'd made mention of his history in passing over the network, combat experience. It's apparent here not in the strength with which he retaliates, but in the ease of the transition. Riku lands on his back but there's no moment of shock or hesitation; he moves easily onto the offensive.

Bruce inhales through his mouth, and recalculates.
Riku's expression twists. Bruce grapples for his arm, tries to hook his leg- he succeeds and is dislodged just as readily, and that too becomes an exchange. He isn't, at any moment, afraid for his life because despite the pain on Riku's face, killing Bruce isn't his priority. He still wants to pursue whatever that vision was, it's the reason he still glances up and the reason his blows aren't as devastating as they could be. The fabric of the mask smears blood across his face- into his mouth and around his nostrils. Sweat plasters his hair to his forehead and streaks down his temple, over his brow, into his eye.

His stomach goes taut and Bruce has to fight the instinct to double over- to draw his arms and knees in to protect the ribcage that Riku's knuckles continue to smash against. Pain crackles through him, radiating across his body. But with Riku on top of him, pinning him to the earth, he loses the advantage of gravity. He has to endure it instead. Bruce grunts through clenched teeth and jerks the arm caught over his head, smacks Riku's face and promises a black eye in the process- but that isn't his goal. He needs Riku to bear down harder on that side because it leaves him off balance, if he's going to try and keep Bruce from striking him again and keep peppering his side with jabs.

That imbalance is what Bruce is banking on. The moment he feels his weight tip just beyond the halfway point, one leg will snap up and bend, curl around Riku's leg and Bruce will push- roll them over, reverse their positions to land on top.]

[It speaks tremendously to her character that despite the expression she wears and the tension corded in her body, despite the unknown and the adrenaline in her veins, she reaches back for his hand. How much of this is habit for her? How many times has she made a decision like this- to continue on where others fear to tread? Where she fears to tread.

His gaze is heavy on her face and Bruce is aware of how firm her grip is in return, the pitch of her voice. How precisely she watches him.

How far would she go, for the right motivation?

Bruce takes a step backwards and in the process, reaches not just for the grappling gun at his back, but for a small pellet along his belt. He doesn't know her very well and hasn't known her for very long, but he suspects that her tenacity rivals his own. He can't presume that she wouldn't follow him. His voice is strange- too old, almost animalistic for the gravel in it.]

Thanks for the advice.

[The pellet drops and Bruce crushes it with his heel, causing smoke to erupt around them. It's theatricality more than anything else- a diversion, as he fires into the treeline and vanishes into the dark.]

If nothing else, it's good to know his concern about Kuai's brother was warranted. He'd come off as a threatening asshole, but not all threatening assholes are actually dangerous. Yet somehow it's also reassuring that this Noob is not typically a murderer. Hopefully he'll opt not to stoop so far.

"We'll have to keep an eye on him. Possibly others, too. If this was caused by the spirits, they could easily use this as an opportunity to attack again. They haven't yet, but who knows how long it will last. This is exactly the sort of situation where we should have been encouraging people to get to shelter, and keeping track of who is where." But disappointingly, he didn't realize the full extent of the danger until just recently, and he's not in much of a state to protect people. This encounter has proven that handily, and again he's thankful that Kuai is fast, accurate, and yet also merciful.

He touches a hand to his chest again and comes away with fresh blood on his fingers, but it's light. Not much cause for concern. Still, it's a good excuse for getting out of the way for a few minutes so he can try to clear his head. "I'm going to head back to my room and get this taken care of. I feel funny thanking someone for attacking me, but... thanks."

Yes - Robin, the Lighthouse Keeper.

But oh, that's good. I don't think she likes me.

Why not?

( what'd you do, aziraphale? )

Get off on the wrong foot?

Yes, well. I doubt she is pleased after the, um.

Ferry incident, shall we say.

If she were to be truly honest she'd be able to admit that he is her friend. She certainly feels that when she's around him, has the emotions a person usually feels when they have somebody they've come to care about. She even says and does things that suggest it's true, but acknowledging makes it that much harder to process. If she doesn't recognize it as truth, then she won't need to feel that rising panic that comes from allowing another person to get too close.

What she can't do, however, is reject that statement. It's one thing if she holds back and waits for this to blow up like she's sure it will and then he leaves but another thing to lash out and hurt him in order to hasten what she sees as his inevitable departure.

"That's - I'm not..." she can't even disagree with him with a straight face. Scarlett's features twisting with annoyance as if to mask the flash of vulnerability beneath. Every argument she wants to make in her defense will make a hypocrite out of her and while she still believes that not allowing herself to need others is the best thing for her, she doesn't actually want that for him. He'd be better off with other friends, other people to care about. She couldn't be what he deserved and protect herself at the same time.

"It's the only way I know how to be." Finally managing to be honest, perhaps more than she'd like.

[ Vanitas can feel a heat curling in his belly, one he's unfamiliar with. Like in swallowing the liquid in that little glass, it struck a flint against a rock and set off sparks. Like someone has cast Fira straight into the inside of his belly. The sensation is strange, but it fills him up— distracts him from the other things that take up his attention. The yawning void in his chest where a piece of his heart has been yanked out. The creeping, humid cold that's slowly been reaching it's icy fingers across Beacon as the weather turns. The hollow apathy that's kept him in bed for days on end.

The other shot glass stays on the counter for a beat longer. Bruce speaks instead of reaching for it— so Vanitas makes the decision for him and picks it up, tips that one back, too. That chocolate flavor spreads out all over him, burns his mouth and reaches up into his face, pinching his cheeks pink. When he puts the glass down, it's just a little too hard, a little clumsy.

Vanitas turns, then, and reaches for the first bottle Bruce had been using to pour. ]

What do you care?

[ It's not that Vanitas is less aggressive now, but the viciousness with which he'd come at Bruce with when they first met has been successfully diverted. Instead of putting his energy into making Bruce feel as bad as possible, Vanitas redirects that focus into trying to recreate the layered effect Bruce had made in the tiny glass.

He messes up the first one, the colors pool together into something muddy. Vanitas picks that one up and tosses it back, throat working around the burn, and tries again— this time with a little more success. ]

You got what you came here for.

Oh. The Soldier has said that before, or something close to it. As much as everyone tells it to be a person, to find its name or pick a new one, as much as it or anyone else would want it to learn to live without fear or find things for itself to do without orders... it doesn't know how to do any of those things. Orders and punishment and the ice are all it knows.

Except now it knows grilled cheese and origami and Queen. And a little bit about friends.

The Soldier thinks for a long moment, turning that over, looking a little sad, maybe. "You have programming, too," it says at last, looking into the middle distance. "Maybe not the same kind as mine. But you have it. And you don't know how to get around it, either." It blinks and looks up in the direction of her face again, expression evening out. "It's okay. I understand."

She stiffens at his words, wanting to reject them but there's more truth in what he's saying than she cares to admit. She didn't have handlers and trigger words and memory wipes that shaped her the way that he did. She did, however, have a father who was more like a General than a Dad and she had years of life teaching her that she had to be a certain way or she was only going to end up hurt or dead. She couldn't change the way she viewed the world any easier than he could, but until he'd said those words she'd never really seen it that way.

"You know." Shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "For somebody who is supposed to be incapable of relating to people and the world around you? You manage to do it a lot better than I ever have." She could fake it better, but she never felt like she fit in anywhere. She never really understood what drove people if they weren't homicidal Vampires. In a lot of ways, she was still a child. Stunted in her emotional and social growth at the age of fifteen.

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EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

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me??? torturing you?? that sounds like inaccurate slander 😇 💪🏻

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so unfair!!!!

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