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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[ooc - please fill out permission / opt-out if you want to. Warning, possible suicide.]

« « « Grit your teeth [Event, early days]

[Quentin sits close to the bonfire, the blazing flames close enough to keep him warm, even without a coat and it brings enough light for him to read by. Better, so much better than the lantern still clipped to his belt and just watching the flicking firelight feels soothing. Not that he needs soothing, as such.

But he couldn't stay at the cabin right now. Not today, not when waking up slowly, stretching his arms and looking briefly as Eliot opens his eyes and seeing the horrible orange light flashing through them before Eliot closes them again. He's losing it, and he knows it. Maybe it's the stress of staying here, maybe it's the ferry going down with Eliot on it. Whatever it is, it's making Quentin see things. Making him hear faint whispering when he walks through the woods on the way to town, and sometimes even here.

He thinks it might be Julia, her face flashing before his eyes in the faces of strangers and Quentin keeps his head down on his books until the antsy feeling creeping under his skin becomes too much to bear, and he looks up, watching everyone at the town square. Gentle hands pushing at his head until he turns it to look up. A soft voice, whispering You're having an episode, Quentin. Come back to me]

Excuse me? Hey! Did you just--

« « « let it hurt [Event, middle] cw: suicidal ideation, blood

[He's spending more and more time at the bonfire, letting the flames warm him and letting himself get lost in the books in his lap, carried all the way from the shared cabin to here in his make-shift bag. Made from a pillowcase he stole from one of the unused cabins close by and using as little magic as possible, he made a strap, so he could sling it over his shoulder and still have his hands free and carry things at the same time.

Hands.

There are more of them now.

Sneaking up on him from out of the dark; sliding softly, too softly through his hair. Trailing down his neck and over his chest. And the fucking thing is, he knows these hands, and he hates himself for it. Hates that the touch makes him go still, go quiet and limp, hiding in his own skin, shivering from the ghost of a breath over the side of his face.

Hates what this means, that the Monster isn't gone. Isn't locked away in the Seam that Quentin gave his life for, but here. Somewhere around here, always just out of sight and his heart pounds like a jackhammer in his chest, beats so hard and so fast it leaves him breathless with it. Terror, cold and dark and endless slithering like creeping vines through his mind.]

No. No, please, you don't have to-- please, don't. We, uh, we can play a game?

« « « it will not last forever [Event, the final days] cw: suicidal ideation, bodily harm, gore, blood, possible suicide

[It doesn't end. From he opens his eyes in the dark underneath his bed in the morning and until he falls, crawls exhausted, scared, terrified back under it at night, it never stops. Julia is shouting at him now, her voice coming from the very walls themselves -you need to wake up, Quentin! Come on, Q, come back to me, her voice calling from the drains in the cabin and Quentin stops going in to the kitchen or the bathroom. He can't stand her pleading, tearful voice coming from the tiny black holes- This isn't real, Quentin! Trust me, come back to me! You NEED TO WAKE UP!.

He's avoiding the thing that's pretending to be Eliot. The flashing flames in its eyes a dead giveaway, but Quentin isn't fooled. Not again. Not when he doesn't have the axes or any bottles to push the spirit in to. He lies low, hides even when he knows, knows, knows that hiding is never going to do any good. Is never going to save him, not this time around. The hands, you see, that's how he knows. That's how he knows he's been found again, when they slide softly, so softly, so gentle and carefully over his body, over his head, his face, his hands.

But he still runs, rushes off to read at the bonfire again, fleeing in to his books again like always, this always worked before why not now? Why not here? Forcing his eyes to follow the lines, the words, the plot and it all slips away from him again, his eyes tracking over the people around the fire - walking, minding their own business WAKE UP and lost in their own WAKE UP worlds.

Hands.

Hands on him.

And Quentin leaves his books by the fire, fear coloring everything in a red haze. Leaves them by the large bonfire at the impossible town square, leaves them and follows the voice, follows as Alice, Niffin and terrifyingly beautiful, shimmering with blue fire in the dark in front of him, her hands reaching. But I saved you, he wants to say, wants to know. I saved you and Alice laughs, words spilling over her lips - with Julia, calling for him, soothing and loved- walks away from the light and in to the dark, in to the forest, following his own path as the Monster follows whispering I like you, play with me, always just a step too close, the scent of burned sugar, fresh blood and cinnamon churros heavy in the air.

Quentin walks, keeps putting one foot in front of the other as hands wrap themselves around his neck, squeezing, cutting off his breath. Beyond terror, beyond the helpless slippery fear of losing his life, of this being the fucking end. Too tired, too ground down and torn up too many times in a row, and Quentin grits his teeth, clenches his jaw.]

Do it. Just fucking do it, because I'm too tired to care.

Edited 2019-10-10 16:19 (UTC)

[ things are feeling a little off in town. kol knows it, even if a part of him wants to label it the usual mikaelson paranoia. but that pesky dagger and coffin isn't here, and neither is his family—there's no need to worry about every little useless noise, expecting the next footfall behind him to be that of niklaus' or elijah's vengeful ones.

the bonfire is warm, but the warmth he feels seems… unusual. not like the bonfire's fire, but something else. he stands near it, expecting to be overcome by this realm's idea of fire, when all he feels is pinpricks of it kiss his skin. ]

Just what?

[ kol looks at quentin with a frown. he's almost on the opposite side of the bonfire to him, but he can still hear his voice as if he'd shouted it directly into his ear.

it's much easier to focus on someone else—a familiar voice, even if it takes him a moment to pinpoint the name. his feeling of becoming fire subsides as a heightened version of confusion overtakes him. kol welcomes that. ]

I--

[There's someone there, by the fire and Quentin blinks rapidly, putting the book away in the bag to get up.

There's someone there, someone he almost knows and Quentin gets up completely, slinging his make-shift bag over his shoulder to walk around the fire. It's been a rough week, since the ferry keeled over and too many days trapped in the cabin trying to get Eliot to slow down at least a little. Too many draining conversations and that's why, Quentin tells himself, that he can't get Julia's voice out of his head. That's the reason.

He's losing it a little bit, but that wouldn't be the first time. He can ride this out.]

Say something? Did you just say something?

[ kol frowns. lifting his hand, he gestures toward quentin. ] You sounded like you were having a great conversation with the bonfire.

[ it didn't really sound like a great conversation, but sometimes telling a white lie is the right way to go. he knows exactly how many people are at the bonfire—two. it's easy to surmise what he had heard wasn't directed towards anyone who takes up residence in this town.

stepping out from the bonfire, he approaches quentin. ] You alright? Is the fire talking back to you?

I just, uh, I-- I move my lips when I read?

[Quentin says, as fear rushes cold and slippery down his spine and Julia whispers from the fire again, hope so bright in her voice it kind of makes Quentin feel like a dick for not answering.]

Of course I'm not talking to the fire, what kind of-- uh, what kind of idiot do you think I am? Talking to the fire? No, that's not. That didn't happen.

[And he tries to look affronted and insulted, but probably just looks scared and confused and very much like he's lying, heart racing in his chest as he tries to shake it off.]

I- uh, hi? Do I know you? You sound-- you sound familiar, somehow?

[ quentin's heart is beating so frantically and loudly, kol almost doesn't hear him try to find himself a sliver of confidence when he speaks again. ]

I'm Kol.

[ briefly he wonders if focusing on something familiar will help. something strange is a flutter in beacon these past few days. standing near the fire has never made him feel as though it was trying to nibble him alive, and he doubts his fire talking friend makes it a point to sit near the flames and murmur to himself lines that are most definitely not written by an author.

he remains where he is, trying to appear as unimposing as possible. ] I'm almost certain we've spoken over the phone.

Quentin.

[Before shaking his head, because that sentence was missing something, and it was just hard to concentrate. Not like before, not like before the hospital, no nothing like that, because this was real. Very real. The heat of the fire, the voice coming not from inside his own head but from Kol.] My name? I'm Quentin.

[But Quentin is still walking slowly, his feet moving and he's closing the distance between them. Kol's the first person he's seen for days that wasn't Eliot and Eliot looked-- strange these days. Fire in his eyes and his hair too messy. Almost like-- he cuts off his own line of thought and shakes his head.]

You mean the tablet? Maybe. I-- I talked to a lot of people. Can you-- are you one of the people who can do things? I mean, uh, not just things-things, but extraordinary things?

[ It's not the final day but it's close. There's no way of knowing if there's an end to this - Robin had called it an event, but Riku is so used to associating hallucinations and dreaming while awake with his past experience, young and wandering lost in the Realm of Darkness.

What if this was inevitable? What if this is why resets happen, progress coming to a grinding halt while everyone is losing their minds, hearts cracking beneath the crushing weight of their own misery and despair.

The temperature cools off more and more by the day and with his own former residence lying in shambles on the beach, Riku has at last resigned himself to taking up a sofa in the Invincible. His sleep is broken because he hears footsteps in the hall and it's years growing up with Sora and Kairi that makes him so ready to identify their characteristic pace, or feels a palm spread over the crown of his skull. He jerks awake, his skin pebbles all over and crawls every time.

It means he's hungrier for the lack of sleep, way beyond the constant and lowkey gnawing of his empty gut; he has to dip into the rations Gordon gave out and Riku does with great reluctance, screwing the cap on his thermos tight to trap the leftover stew he made of some vegetables, some cubed mystery meat, and rice.

Which is why he sees him, when he meant to go stand out by the bonfire and soak in some of its heat and light.

Riku doesn't see Quentin, not at first. He sees instead a forest spirit, something cloaked in withered leaves and bits of hanging moss, crowned in a twist of bristling branches choked with lichen.

He follows.

He's not sure why he follows. It's just some... tug in his chest. A whisper. Later he'll remember that he saw books left by the fire and tell himself that's what made him curious. Except that the spirit talks after a while, like he's daring someone to try something, and that's Quentin, that's his voice.

Riku realizes he's again put too much trust in his own eyes. ]

Quentin. That's you?

Uh-

[A choked off, strangled sound because the hands tighten, cutting off his air and Quentin goes all the way up on his tip-toes to follow them, to ease the pressure on his throat a little and when he hands, finally, finally fall away with a gentle stroke down his arm, Quentin drops like a puppet with its strings cut. Sags on the ground on his knees until he can catch his breath, until he dares open his eyes to look for the voice. The other voice, the one that doesn't sound like someone he's left behind on purpose or failed to save in just the right way.

He gets up, hands on his knees as he forces himself up and around, and he looks at Riku with tired eyes, the skin on his face feeling stretched too thin across his skull.

There's a flicker of blue light under Riku's skin, flashing lightning-quick across his cheek and it's gone before Quentin has a chance to mention it. Like it's been for days now, it's always too quick, too easily dismissed as a figment of his imagination. Because his brain breaks sometimes, and maybe this is one of those times? Where he can't trust anything he sees, because it's a lie. Again.

With more effort than he'd want to admit to, Quentin stumbles over to where Riku is standing, one hand curled inside his pocket and the other is rubbing at his neck.]

I-- yeah? It's me. I was just, uh-- I -- did you see someone? I think I saw someone? I wasn't-- alone?

[Words were a thing that he knew once, right? Like, proper words and whole sentences and sometimes even a proper question. It all seems so far away now, like something is moving his mouth for him. He tries to ignore the brush of fingers down his chest and focuses on Riku. Who helped.]

What--? Are you okay? Do you need anything?

[ Quentin drops and Riku starts forward with this, this sound, like a soft cough of alarm. There could be a pragmatic excuse - like how drawing attention to themselves could bring less benevolent spirits near - but Riku's not really given to raising his voice unless he's angry or desperate.

He stops just short of reaching for him, as Quentin begins to pull himself upright. Riku sees... cracks. Like on the bark of old and withered trees, lying over where his face should be, with two great pits hollowed out for his eyes. A spirit's mask.

Do you still trust your eyes?
A voice that makes his blood freeze, lurking in the sudden and lurching gallop of his heart. Riku's fingers curl into the gloved meat of his palm, just one hand. The other twitches, almost echoing the gesture, but the ache throbbing in his wrist reminds him to keep his fingers loose.

He shakes his head, answering both a voice the magician can't hear and the man's own question. Shutting his own eyes, Riku inhales slowly to gather himself, but at the flare of his nostrils he catches it: a deep and smothering Darkness, familiar, cloying, rolling off Quentin like heat off a fevered brow.

At last, you see.

He exhales in a brief and startled huff. This time, when Riku looks at Quentin, he sees him. ]

Me? [ Taken aback momentarily, his expression flattens out, edging a step closer. ] I-

[ Just as it may appear that Riku won't answer, he curtly admits: ]

Not really.

[ He lifts up one hand, because of the sound he had made when he first approached, his concern etching a crease between his silver eyebrows; his hand draws close to the underside of the other's chin but falls short of actual contact, staring at his throat. ]

It sounded like you were... choking. I saw no one else. [ His gaze shifts to the side a little. ] No one else actually here, anyway.

...Why are you all the way out here?

Edited 2019-10-19 13:05 (UTC)

I, uh--

[Quentin takes a quick step back, putting some space between them and between Riku's hand reaching out, clearing his throat and stuffing both of his hands in to his pockets as if that's going to take the attention away from his neck.]

I was just taking a walk? And I thought I saw-- I heard. But, uh, it's all a little confusing? Maybe I swallowed a bug? Yeah, uh, yeah I think that's it. I swallowed a bug and it... it flew down wrong?

[Lies, and his eyes slide off to the side, watching Alice beckon him with a curl of her small hand. Or at least he thinks it's Alice, since he can only make out the hand and nothing else in the darkness, but that's alright. He just has to follow her, right? Find out what she knows.

Or he doesn't, because she might just be something his mind has made up. Because of the stress and the dark and the fucking ferry going under and maybe, maybe, maybe it's just his ordinary brain breaking in the worst possible time.

Quentin's eyes flick back to Riku after a very long period of silence, and he's holding himself to still. So quiet, a neutral kind of apathy forced on to his face and he makes himself smile - wholly fake and terrified, heart pounding in fear and his hands are shaking too hard to hold on to anything, except inside his pockets where he can fist his hands in to the fabric and hold on rightly.]

It's just a walk? I just wanted to see the river?

[ His hand draws back as Quentin backs away. That could have been enough, a line drawn and Riku reminded to respect the distance, but the magician proves better at tutting than he is at lying. Riku would cross his arms if flexibility wasn't currently limited and he unwilling to expose his vulnerability.

That look of dissatisfaction and skepticism ebbs away the longer Quentin's attention drifts. He realizes, in those long moments that pass, that he's looking at something, nothing he himself can see, but he can see the tension drawn so taut in him he shakes. Can see that terror has seized his pupils.

He yet sees how the darkness in his heart is eating away at him, you can sense it. You can feel it.

Riku jerks his shoulder away from the sensation of gloved fingers settling there, masks the motion by turning so only one side faces Quentin. ]

The only ones visiting the river have a death wish. It's not safe when you're seeing things.

[ It's pointed, the observation Riku makes, and when he hears that voice again, he shuts his eyes with a small frown.

He welcomes it, did you not hear him? Soon he will fall into darkness. A fitting end for such a fool. ]

Shut up.

[ He exhales. ]

Not you. Sorry.

Not me what?

[The conversation is drifting away from him, like dandelion seeds in the wind, blown away with careless abandon or like they are talking about two different things, or talking to different people. It's hard, so hard, to keep his focus on Riku, the moonlight glinting off his hair like pale fire, the only light aside from their lanterns and Quentin's had been acting up lately. As if it's dimming or flicking more than it used to. Or maybe he's just too tired to remember how it used to look. It's a chore, taking so long just getting out of the cabin every day and food and showers have been lacking for the better part of three days now and today is not looking up either.

It's his brain, Quentin thinks hazily, voice almost dream-like and washed out with fatigue once he blinks away the hands brushing so carefully over Riku's arm, patting his hair and those hands will always too naked and too cruel without the rings on them.]

Of course I don't have a death wish? That's--that's crazy, and I'm not--

[Not yet, but I'm getting you there, Alice whispers soft as anything in his ear, and Quentin's breath hitches.]

I-- I have problems sometimes? It's been that way for years, but. Uh, I think-- I think maybe I should just go? Now?

[ He sounds so tired. Like he's been scared for so long he's forgotten what it's like to be anything else, wrung out from bracing for the worst too much, too often. Then Quentin tells him he has problems sometimes, like this isn't even anything new, that it's been that way for years and-

Riku thinks he understands a little bit better what lies behind some of his quirks.

There's a lot in his head, there's a lot he's tried to share with others, so he speaks in a rush like he might skip something if he doesn't get it all out, but there's a fear in him, too. So he stops himself, he backtracks, or starts over. Isn't he doing that right now? Saying too much, realizing he's said too much, and trying to retreat? ]

Quentin-

[ Pathetic.

Riku's eyes tighten, resentfully. He doesn't turn to look at the imposing figure he senses lingering on the periphery of his vision, he isn't real. He can't smell his Darkness. He's only an echo of the shadows in his own heart. But still he speaks, low and deep, dripping its dark poison into Riku's ear.

He but returns to his heart's true nature. Leave him to embrace his shadows. ]

I'm not leaving you alone.

[ He opens his hand, non-threateningly. Twice he begins to speak, but the way Riku's eyes keep making these small movements, searching Quentin's expression, the manner in which he carries himself, all suggests he's trying to measure what he says next. ]

You're seeing things. You're probably feeling them and hearing them, too. Shadows of the past.

It doesn't matter if I try telling you they aren't there because it feels real.

[ He places his palm over his own heart, the other hand moving at his side. There's something open about it, imploring. ]

How it all feels is exactly-

[ Riku drops to the floor like he's been struck unexpectedly, his breath puffing at the withered leaves and shriveled grass against his cheek. He doesn't seem hurt, just frustrated, making no effort to pry away the pressure he feels on his back and the curve of his skull. Knowing the hands aren't there doesn't help the fact that they're quite capable of knocking things and people around.

Still you shun his fate? Riku squeezes shut his eyes against the voice in his ear, lips peeling back from his gritted teeth. He's not there. He's not. Foolish boy, you cannot snatch back every heart teetering on the cusp of all-consuming darkness! ]

-ngh! You're not alone! Robin called this an event, which means it will pass. You don't have to deal with this by yourself!

[ The pressure evaporates at once, Riku shoves himself up by a forearm, looking up again through the veil of his fringe. ]

[Riku keeps talking but somewhere between the second and the fifth word, Quentin's concentration breaks and he looks away, towards the river and the gently rushing water. Someone built a bridge over it once.

And when he turns back, it doesn't look like Riku anymore, the hair honey-colored and the wire-framed glasses perched delicately on a slender nose, piercing blue eyes. Alice.

The words sound nothing like Alice's crisp vowels and cut-off sentences, however and he tries, tries to pay attention, just this fucking once, to the tone of voice and words, that it only feels real like that's some kind of revelation. Like Quentin hasn't done this before, had a break with reality and suffered for it, like he wasn't exactly the kind of asshole who'd kill himself in front of his girlfriend, and then be pathetically grateful that it's Eliot here with him and not her. And after that, after being just that much of a shit, he'd go around seeing Alice everywhere, like he shouldn't be getting down on his knees to thank the gods he never believed in that Eliot was willing to try, but instead he's just picturing Alice, powerful and brilliant, like he misses her.

This train of thought could go on for a long time, and had, previously. By the bonfire and yesterday, when he took the same stroll to the forest and the river, but this time, oh this time, Riku falls down and that snaps Quentin out of it, out of his own self-recriminations and in to the now.

He rushes over, falling down on his knees in the dead leaves and the wet grass to reach out to him, to help him get up or maybe make sure he's okay, whatever that means these days, when Riku looks up, eyes serious and burning behind the silver fringe of his hair and Quentin ends up with one hand outstretched.]

An event? What? I don't-- understand? What? Riku, what are you talking about?

[ Someone built a bridge over that river, and if you looked long enough at its deceptively gentle current you'll see something beautiful like galaxies swirling, or you'll hear cries and shouts for help as unseen drowned splash about and beg and plead for salvation. The spirits in the river are hungry and their lures are many.

Riku rubs a damp leaf from his cheekbone with the heel of his hand. It leaves a smudge. Much as he wants to shrug these hallucinations off, knowing they're hallucinations doesn't help when those same hallucinations can physically engage with him. He feels more than he means to.

The awful, buzzy feeling all over. The angry and urgent thudding of his heart. The hot-cold prickle of a cold sweat. Adrenaline surges in him and he's been doing that too much, too long. These hallucinations can't be real. Yet that giant dissonant note between what he feels and what he knows keeps punching enough holes in reality to make the walls between what's in and out of his head more porous.

Quentin suggested this isn't even new for him. He'd go so far as to say it might even be a little routine for the magician. But here he is, offering a hand, trying to help in spite of everything. In spite of all that darkness, the shadows that run so deep.

The brightest light always cast the darkest shadows. ]

What we're seeing, hearing- the hands? All of it. They're happening to everyone.

[ Or near enough to count. Riku finally takes the offered hand and uses it to sit up. ]

The lighthouse keeper, Robin, she said stuff like this can happen. Weird stuff. Like the monuments that popped up back when we first started coming here.

Quentin Coldwater | The Magicians|open to all (cw; blood, gore, suicidal ideation, possible suicide)

grit your teeth

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it will not last forever

Re: it will not last forever

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the end.

The end.

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