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?

QUICKNAV
comms	\|	network • logs • memes • ooc
pages	\|	rules • faq • taken • mod contact • player contact • calendar • setting • exploration • item requests • full nav

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If she had an answer to anything like this dilemma, he'd be talking to a much healthier person. Her smile dives for apologetic, shoulders rising and falling to emphasize the lack of answer oncoming.

"You're allowed not to, you know. It's awful, but there's no great way to handle things messing with your head. Maybe not something anybody should get too used to."

The Soldier gives a soft, hollow-sounding laugh, tugging its hair out of its face and sitting up straighter. Its expression is pained and weary. "If anyone is used to anyone messing with their head, it should be me. I've been programmed and frozen and had my brains fucking scrambled. I should be handling this better."

Of course, there's the fact that even before all this started, times when the Soldier wasn't afraid of pretty much everything came very few and far between. Adding more fear on top of that just made it harder to handle what was already there.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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.

Reasonable terms once he's explained, and she nods her agreement. The look of concern doesn't fade in the slightest as she rises to her feet. "Understood. Only peeking, if it comes to that. I'm gonna go make the bed, alright? No rush, come up whenever."

Hadn't ever considered the other bed would be in use, after all, and he's earned a moment to collect himself.

The Soldier nods, and settles in for to rub at its arms under the blanket and get the last of its shakes under control. Feels unnatural to be sitting doing absolutely nothing while Misty is moving around upstairs, but she said it could. In the end, it manages to stay put for a good couple minutes before creeping upstairs after her and checking on her progress and whether she needs help, lantern in one hand and the other holding the blanket around its shoulders still. She's probably almost done by then.

His timing is accidentally dead on, as she's doing nothing beyond straightening out blankets by the time he comes up. The lantern signals a new presence before any sound can, and she smiles over her shoulder.

"It'll do, yeah?"

Seriously. What could the Soldier have possibly done to deserve such a good handler. It smiles wearily. "Yeah." It doesn't think it can manage a touch without having a meltdown right now, even if part of it thinks this would be an appropriate time to touch a shoulder or arm or something. Why is this all so hard.

If it can't do that, it can at least use words. So it says with as much feeling as it can, "Thank you, Misty." She brought it inside, got it warm, calmed it down, and now is giving it one of her beds. That deserves something.

Funny that the only people that thank her are the ones who have hardly any reason to. His smile is returned and accompanied with a bow of the head, and she steps back to give him a wide path to it if he's in any hurry.

"More than welcome. It'll always be here, don't hesitate to take it up if you're inclined. Really."

Maybe. There's even a door it can shut to keep people out, if it really wants to, unlike sleeping on Crowley and Aziraphale's couch. (Don't go getting carried away, now, pal. Sergeant, there you are.) There shouldn't be relief at hearing a voice in your own head come back online, but oh well, it's still feeling it.

It drifts over to the bed and sits on the edge, looking around from the new vantage point. Its brain is fully (mal)functioning again. Its warmer, if still a little damp from the rain. It's tired.

It makes a sudden, jaw-popping yawn. How's that for personhood, Misty.

It's a shockingly endearing little gesture, all said. Only because he's ordinarily so void of such things, but it's refreshing. Cute. Expecting he wouldn't want attention called to it (and that he must be spent), she makes the merciful choice to leave it without verbal acknowledgement. The smile can't be helped.

She gestures, urging him to lay down, and steps slowly toward the door.

"Good night. Call, if you need anything."

The smile earns a brief little glower, mostly out of embarrassment, but that doesn't last long. She's been kind, and it's nice when she smiles, anyway. Much better than the alternative. So it says in her wake, "Okay. Thanks." Probability of actually calling her for anything is like 9% or something, but it's a nice thought.

No matter how safe she is or how grateful it is to her, though, it can't actually start settling in and divesting of some of the wet clothes (and the boots; sleeping in boots sucks) until the door is safely shut behind her.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject