logsinthenight | 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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[In the end, it's her lab she's more fearful towards than herself. Isn't that odd? But it's her lab he's wandered into, standing in the doorframe, the light of the bonfire and his own lantern framing him and throwing his face into shadow. His axe glints, though, and she thinks of all the damage it could do, tearing down months worth of work in an instant.

And her life, too. But her life has never been worth very much, when all's said and done, stacked up against her work.]

Put down the axe, Remington.

[That being said: nor does she want to die (again). Her eyes are locked on him, but mentally she's running through the inventory of her lab. Swordplay and knifeplay are all very well and good in practice, but she's still an amateur. She hasn't a chance against a proper opponent-- but perhaps he isn't. Perhaps he's just a boy with an axe, delusional and dreamy.

Perhaps she's a chance.]

I shan't tell you again.

[It's firm, her no-nonsense-school-marm voice that so easily cows others. But she edges to the left as she says it, because if nothing else, she's at least a long length of lumber she can try to use.]

[The tone of voice has an obvious effect on him. Not that Remington drops the axe, but he flinches, hesitating, the stance becoming more defensive than anything else, like he's using it to shield himself instead of present it as an actual weapon.

What is clearly meant to be a weapon. He looks anywhere--everywhere--except for her face, and stammers impossibly, shaking his head.]

It's not...I can't...this isn't so...so s-s-simple.

It is, in fact.

[She keeps the tone up, her eyes locked on him. It's two feet to the left now, and she doesn't dare move more than an inch or two each time.]

All you have to do is set it down and take a step back. You're more than capable.

[He hasn't seemed to notice that she's moved at all, at least not yet. He shakes his head more, and it's harder and harder to avoid her eyes, but he can feel them. But he can feel Geneva, too, hear her, whispering, demanding, pleading.

He wants to swing the axe into his own head.]

No, it's not, because you can't...I know you can't see her, but she needs me. And you, and t-this. If there were other ways...but...but I don't know, I don't know...

What does she need? Blood? I'm working on an artificial copy. Or flesh? Cutting into those spirits would do the trick.

[Another inch to the left, and then she lets her hand drift slowly over her desk. She intends to grab the wood, but her hand lands on a beaker first-- and that works just fine. In one swift moment she grabs it, throwing it as quickly as she can, aiming for his head-- if she can disorient him, she can grab that axe, and hopefully knock the wind out of him and tie him up until he's less dangerous, but all that depends on if he's actually disoriented--

Because if not, she's going to get hurt pretty badly. But that's the risk one takes, and it's far better than resigning herself to her fate.]

She...

[There's a spark of hope in his eyes. He looks straight at her, finally, just in time to get a face full of glass that he didn't see coming. His glasses keep him from getting shards in his eyes, at least, but he still stumbles back, surprise helping him lose his footing just as much as the glass itself.

And then he's down. It feels like hands are dragging him there, and he lets out a cry of anguish as he falls.]

[She goes right for the ax, ignoring his cries, too focused on her own survival to care about his. If she has her way, she'll grab it and throw it out the open doorway; her second step will be to grab him, hauling him up and shoving him into a chair so she can tie him there.

Of course, that's a lot of action for a woman who isn't exactly Miss Fitness. So emphasize the word try there.]

[It's fine...it's all fine! Because it seems like he sort of...loses something, with the axe out the door. His will sort of saps out of him and he crumbles back into his pathetic, meek self, letting her drag him where she will. Remi's head lulls, almost like he's unsure of exactly what's happening as he's sat down and his hands bound.

He just...lets it happen.]

[Right. Right, and she's panting sharply as she steps back, staring down at him. A moment, and she closes the door firmly, locking it and then looking down at him.]

What the hell was that about, Remington?

[Remi flinches. He seems a bit more...himself, now, but he's still in a stance of tension, seeming somewhat far away. He closes his eyes tightly, shaking his head. All he can seem to do, at least right now, at least in response to her very, very fair anger:]

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to. It wasn't my idea. I'm sorry.

Whose damn idea was it!

[It's rare she exclaims, but also, she was being hunted by a twink with an axe and an apparently shaky grasp on reality.]

It was Geneva's! She's not--you can't see her, I know it sounds crazy!

[But he wasn't crazy, he doesn't think. At least not back home. But his head is clearing, and here...this place...it couldn't have been here, could it? He really was just...hearing voices this time, wasn't he?]

[It does sound mad, but so does life after death, and here they both are. Rosalind regards him coldly for a few seconds, and then:]

Tell me who Geneva is. In detail, please, I haven't the time and I certainly haven't the inclination to ask you a thousand follow-up questions.

EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

wake me up inside (can't wake up)

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