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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This is a frown of legend, sent his way. Confused, but primarily...concerned. Nearing sad. She shakes her head, just once.

"That sounds like someone who shouldn't. That's not - nobody should be used to that, that's something you'd recover from. It's damage. You don't get used to something like a broken arm, this can't be different."

You think that gives you the right to act as my priest?

( He's irritable, much more so than usual. But she's just as stubborn as he, and Javert knows he may not be able to run from this conversation, not without hurting her in the process. It's irritating, having to care for something other than his pride. )

Very well. If that it how it must be, I will tell you. Her name was Fantine. She was a prostitute I tried to arrest in Montreuil.

( She asked for a name and he gave it to her. Somehow, though, he knows that isn't going to be the end of it. )

Finally actually registering that it's still cold, and still has its lantern slung over its back like usual, the Soldier finally shifts, pulls the lantern down to set it down and snuggles a bit more comfortably into the blankets. A nudge with one boot opens the shutter to give them a little more light. Only then does it say quietly, "It's all I know." Understanding a little more why the Soldier doesn't call itself a person, Misty?

Also not entirely true, but it's still not sure what to do with the fragments of memory it's gotten so far from the Sergeant's memory malfunctions. There was a time before HYDRA... but it doesn't remember enough about it to know what that was really like. And the Sergeant still isn't back from the imagined stint in the Chair, anyway, to remind it of those memories.

[Of all the things she'd expected from him, it hadn't been that. Truth be told, she'd thought it might be Valjean, and who else could be so important as to merit attention?]

An action you regret?

Quite distressingly, yes, but she's not about to give up whatever momentum she can drum up.

"That's never the case forever, you know? Every day that passes is more to know. Nothing like that here, and people who wouldn't let it happen even if that were the case. Take advantage of all of this." Like cozy blankets, and how much more comforting rain can be when you're listening from someplace dry.

"And when you need something, flag me down? I can't imagine this comedown, but if something to eat or bedding helps I want to be able to give that." He's got to be spent.

Consider it rationally.

( He answers, not paying any mind to the way she reaches for her weapons. These hallucinations are surely going to drive people to violence, but that's the least of his worries, now. He waves his hand, gesturing toward the small collection of people seated across the tavern. )

You are hearing voices, are you not? Tell me — are these people even here, in Beacon?

Considering the Soldier's only communication with her has been through text, it would be easier to feign. It still has a hard time imagining her not taking the chance to mete out punishment if given the chance, if she were that terrible, but maybe there's a longer game. "What purpose could she have to--"

It breaks off when Rosinante whirls away, pulls a knife just in case, but it doesn't see or hear anything. With no fear to play on, its own hallucinations are fewer and more spaced apart. (And it does note Rosinante's speed, on top of his massive size. Interesting. Fighting him would take very different strategies than a human, if that ever came up.)

"What is it?" the Soldier asks.

Except it is here. Half the time when it sleeps, there's nightmares, and now the nightmares are there when it's awake. The only real consolation it has is that none of it is real. And there's truth in the other thing she says, that there are people here who seem to... care. Who say they care, whether with words (like Misty) or with actions (like Crowley) or even pried-free tidbits of themselves (like Scarlett). People who, for whatever reason, think it deserves to be a person like them.

It's not sure it ever can... but it seems kind of them to think that, to want that for it. And the idea doesn't make it panic quite as much as it used to. (Or maybe I'm just too tired to panic.) Still silence from the Sergeant, but it can imagine what he would say to that.

"I'll try," it says after a long moment, only about half in response to what she actually said, and the rest in response to the thoughts going through its head. Then, more focused, it says, "I could go back to Crowley and Aziraphale's house. But Crowley has a broken leg, so he's spending most of his time on the couch. Where I'm supposed to sleep."

Which is the Soldier's sideways request to maybe have a nap here. She's probably familiar enough with its mannerisms to work that out.

[Stone has in fact had fire thrown at him before. Usually it comes from bulky gun things, but seeing it hovering over her hand (without much light; that's pretty creepy) makes it pretty clear what it's there for.

So he does what he normally would in situations where he's being attacked, and shifts up into his winged form. For about a second, there's nothing where he stood but dark mist, which is the moment the fire passes through where he stood. Then, instead of a gangly old man, there's what would look to her eyes like a dragon: his wingspan is about eighty feet across, his head and neck are covered in long flexible spines and frills, and he's more than two times her height at the shoulder when down on all fours.

He takes a swat at her with the back of one hand, aiming to hopefully knock her off her feet and out whatever night terror or illusion or whatever this is. At the very least, maybe it will stop her from attacking again immediately and he can get airborn. ... though how he's going to do that hemmed in by trees like this, he has no idea. If he tries to climb these trees, he's going to break them.]

She is, and she's pleased, as the mention of bedding had been her own sideways invitation. Something of a benchmark, even, as these days she's quite particular about sleeping. The whos and wheres are important, even when it isn't her.

It's mildly irritating to think he's been sleeping on a couch all this time already, but that's unimportant. Effort goes into smiling, into nodding.

"Easier to stay here, no? Spare yourself another walk in the rain, they'll manage a night alone. There's another bed upstairs, if you'd prefer that-- with at least one more blanket?"

Well, that’s definitely one of the most ominous things he’s heard all day. Which is saying something with how this day has been shaping up.

Daylight clears his staticky vocoder to address any nearby spirits who could still be around. Judging by Rosintante's reaction to something he must have missed. “Hey there, buddies! Nice to run into you all in a place like this.”

He slowly looks around, trying to find someones to properly address. No luck too far but his optics have been frizzing out on him. Perhaps it’s best to just… address the room in general. He continues to talk, doing his best to help Rosinante while ignoring the strange and echoing crying that continues around them. “Um… I’m Daylight and this is my friend, Rosinante. We were wondering if you’d, you know, cut that out?”

He stops for a second, trying to recollect his thoughts. The crying is getting really annoying now, distracting him from his train of thoughts. "Because I know we're all tense and stuff but, you know, we don't have to do this. I just think- You know- Maybe you should-“

The crying suddenly pitches into a scream and Daylight visibly flinches, looking scared and shocked for a second as his optics just happen to land on the bookshelf where, unknowingly to him, Rosinante’s own illusions were picking up again. Daylight backs away from part-shock, part-yank from his(?) own accord.

“Sorry, but how can you ignore that for so long? This is awful?” No- That shouldn't be a question. This is awful.

"Getting my sea legs," comes a murmur in return, only marginally more pleased. It's an arm she uses, but steadies herself otherwise quickly enough. Too much sitting. Cramp. "I'll make it. How, uh, long as it been-?"

[ daylight is quick to follow the man, ducking his helm and pulling his frame and armour close together in an attempt to make himself smaller and less of a threat.

(and a target, he can't help think when the screaming morphs, briefly, into hateful and spiteful words.) ]

I'm sorry- I'm so sorry. [ daylight tries to compose himself now, realising in a rare moment of clarity that someone is addressing him, not reacting. ] This is a lot and I'm sorry and I'll pay you back one day, I swear, but please help? Please?

I just need to hide them. I just need to hide them for a bit until something better or something else happens please.

[ as he speaks/blabbers, daylight struggles to bring something out from the rucksack/belt he has tied to his waist. it takes a few tugs but two sketchpads come out of view for kol. one titled 'misc' and the other titled 'personal' in surprisingly neat script.

daylight can't bear to even look at the sketchpads, terrified and ashamed by how much spots and stains of ichor he thinks he's leaving on the surface. I need to hide this. I need to hide them. ] I don't want to hurt them. They're all I have left now. They're all I have left.

Daylight, upon seeing another metal arm reach out for him, he reels back in fear. His optics flash, blanching in fear and horror at the thought of something or someone else trying to do him harm. "Please please no please- I won't do it again- Please don't-"

It takes his processes a few seconds to realise who is reaching out for him. The sight of Soldat has him freezing up, (thankfully) stopping in his desperate attempts to get the arm off him. But the arm, he realises with shock, the arm is gone. Perhaps chased away by Soldat's presence or something and honestly? At this point? Day is not going to complain.

"I can't talk," Daylight says, trying again in hopes he can be heard from the burble of noise his mess of a vocoder is making. "I can't talk I can't I can't talk- Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Hello? Hello?"

"Yeah, you and me both, pal. All those things that aren't really there." What had other people said. What had the Soldier guy been seeing? "Hands, right? And other shit, but it sounds like everybody's got the hands." And that fuckin' Word in-- what language even was that, Russian? There's been two so far, and each time he heard it, it hurt in a weird way.

He shakes his head. "I don't know what's goin' on, but at least we're all seeing it. Maybe there's a drug somewhere being pumped into the air. That could make everyone hallucinate, right?" Or, you know, magic. Which sounds insane, but apparently the Soldier guy is living with a demon and an angel, and the Sergeant's talking to a living cryofreeze creator, so, you know, everything's kind of insane around here.

"I found you almost an hour ago. You looked like you'd been there a while before that. And the last time I knocked on your door, you didn't answer, but I thought you'd been asleep." It feels a little bad, now, that it hadn't found her earlier and tried what she'd done for it, bring her inside where at least she could be dry to recover. (However the hell we would have managed that. I think not being afraid might have made it okay to carry her, if I had to. I'm still not sure how she got me inside.)

It keeps its arm available for support, taking a step towards the village cabins, waiting to make sure she can walk with it.

"Hey. Whoah, hey, it's okay." The Sergeant holds up both hands, now, not reaching for him this time but in a hopefully-recognizable gesture of peace. Do robots know standard human gestures like that? Daylight seems like such a cheerful guy, on the whole, maybe he'll at least understand the intent. "You're talkin' fine, pal. I hear you just fine."

(This is what you were talkin' about, right, Soldier? Like the table and explosions and the goddamn Words? yes.) The Soldier's answer is faint, but at least there. That's a comfort.

So it tries: "It ain't real, buddy. Your brain's playing tricks on you. You, uh, if you have a brain. I don't know what you're made out of or anything." Was that rude? That might've been rude. Hopefully Daylight doesn't hold it against him.

The bed would keep it out of her way, even if it will be unfamiliar. It literally can't remember ever sleeping in a bed. "Blankets will be. Good. It's cold." It's cold. The shivering isn't as bad, but it's still there. Some of that may be delayed reaction from being literally catatonic for however long that was, but some of it is it's just cold.

It pauses, then says, looking away from her, "If I do anything in my sleep. Yell or move around. You shouldn't come in."

"More room to stretch, too." It's a fine couch, but he's not what she would call slight. Some people can swing a couch pretty perfectly and to call him one would feel too generous.

Not a comforting statement, but workable. "Just when there's sounds, or at all? Because instinct'd be to poke my head in when you quieted."

It considers this for a long moment, brain cogs taking too long to settle into a decision. "If you don't come all the way in," it decides finally. That could allow her reassure herself if she felt the need, but not put her in danger. "I might not be. All the way awake. I might try to hurt you and not realize it. I hit Crowley in the head, the first time it happened, when he touched me." The memory makes it twitch a little, tug at the blankets more firmly. "Aziraphale wasn't happy." But Crowley had forgiven him immediately.

Maybe that's just me. Maybe I'm just lucky.

( wouldn't surprise him. he sighs and rubs at his brow. )

How did you convince your friend that what he was seeing wasn't actually happening? Go give him a hug or something?

[If only Ignis could spend his energy just by pacing around. His mind knows that there are cobwebs around his house and, the extremely neat person he is, he can't just leave it be. Also, it helps with ignoring that giggling voice he keeps hearing ever since he visited the library a day or two ago. Some forest spirits are really persistent with their pranks.]

It was hard to reach some places, [he says nonchalantly, stepping away from the windows and putting away the duster.] It's really weird to see cobwebs around, considering I didn't see a single spider in all this time we were here.

Not just the boathouse but the ferry too. [The thing is at the bottom of the lake now, and it's honestly concerning.]

That is true... it is hard to keep motivation up when there's no visible progress. Still, trying to hijack a ferry and smashing the dock is not a way to do it.

[He's definitely not expecting anyone and finally decides to write off the giggling and whispers to some forest spirit pulling a prank on him. His attention is now fully on Rosinante.]

We had a brief conversation when the ferry crashed. She asked about people that caused the accident.

"Nothing," he responds after a quiet moment of watching and listening as the strange limbs slither away.

"Just the hands. Thought I'd heard something else." But satisfied that he had imagined it, he sets his makeshift weapon back down and reaches instead into a pocket to withdraw a cigarette, then holds it between his lips for a moment so he can open the top of his lantern and light it. He's going through these faster than usual. Rastus had tried to do him a favor and get plenty extra this month, but all had ended up completely waterlogged. He'll have to ration the remainder now with the ferry gone but if any moment calls for a smoke it's this one.

[ Kettara flattens her ears, already on the defensive. ]

Most of the territory here is unexplored. Do not tell me it is impossible.

[ And part of her desperately wants her friends to be there. She doesn't want them to be dead, but she doesn't want to be alone. ]

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EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

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the iCON I'M WHEEZING

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innit great? XD I don't get to use it much

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