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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He had been about to ask, but then the soldier clarifies what sort of chair - sort of. A chair that fries brains doesn't make much sense to him, but Soldat is right that it doesn't sound pleasant either, so with a shrug, he finally pushes himself up to his feet and takes his lantern in hand, and takes a few long strides to follow along with Soldat.

"I'm sorry," he says, quiet. However it is that the man had to experience such a thing, whether personally or having to witness others in it, it's a horrifying thought, even if he's picturing it wrong.

Picturing it doesn't last long anyway because his gaze is soon directed to those hands again. How they operate both their legs, and lurk at the corners of his vision with their crude weapons. They're whispering amongst themselves, too. Questioning which one is the monster. Wondering if perhaps they both are, in their own ways.

Soldat is in the lead, and Rosinante trails a half-step behind, but the world changes abruptly so that he's seeing the world from the height of a child, barely to the other man's knees. He's injured and cold and starving and so very small, and the sheer vertigo of the transition causes him to stumble and drop to the ground again with a gasp.

The Soldier hitches its shoulders in a shrug, has more of the cigarette. "It is what it is. And it's not really here, so at least nobody's brains are in any actual danger. Even hallucinating being in it didn't--"

The sound of someone Rosinante's size falling down makes it break off and turn. Ah, hell. (Poor guy. Yeah. I wish I could drag everyone in this dumb town to Crowley for a fix.) Cigarette in its fingers, it drops slowly to a crouch and asks carefully: "What happened. What do you see."

"Nothing new, I just fell. It's normal. I'm clumsy like that."

It's much easier to talk about than what he didn't quite see but certainly did experience for a moment there. Everything feels the right size now that he's been jarred back into reality, so he shakes his head and stands again to continue walking.

(Yeah, like we believe that, pal. It doesn't matter. He knows whatever it was, wasn't real. He doesn't have to tell us.)

The Soldier doesn't offer him a hand up, but does keep to whatever pace Rosinante sets. "You should stay near other people," it suggests. "Talk to them whenever you see something. Even if it doesn't make things stop, it can at least be a distraction, right? We can go back to the Invincible."

"Right. Let's do that."

Being around other people is the last thing he wants right now, but he's not bothered by heading in that direction. He can just step out for a smoke and wander off once they're there. Say that he got distracted, or something. The hands seem worse around people, and he can't tune them out as easily as he did the first few days this was happening. Not just the hands, but the strings, winding and spiraling their way around, helping those hands to control everyone's movements. And the screaming, the shouting, the accusations of things a child would never do. Will those words be drowned out by conversation?

Maybe he'll try, just a little. He'll give it a few minutes. He continues toward the tavern, still occasionally stumbling over nothing in particular - but that's always the case, hallucinations or not.

Ironically, being around other people is the thing the Soldier likes the most, even now. Maybe not necessarily interacting, but watching. It's soothing. Even if they're all twitchy and nervous and occasionally try to sit down on hallucinatory brain-wiping chairs.

Drowning out hallucinations is what it's trying to do, though, so it attempts to keep up the conversation here, too. Only problem is, the Soldier is Not Good at making conversation. What do you even talk about? "Is that where you're staying?" it asks, a little uncertainly. Is that regular conversation? "Or do you have a place in the village?"

"Yeah, uh," he replies quickly as he tries to gather his thoughts back into the present. The hallucinations have done great work dragging up a lot of things he'd managed to try and move past in his adult years. He's stronger than that, he just has to remind himself of it more persistently right now.

"The Invincible. Top floor on the end, room three-ten. Staying there with Mary, the little blonde girl who's always drawing. Have you met her?"

"Mary. Yeah. I killed a dragon-bush for her," the Soldier says with something that's actually mostly a smile. "She wanted to be a princess and said I could be her knight. Apparently knights kill dragons." And she also told it she wasn't a person, either, and got really creepy. (The memory still twinges, a little.) "Is she all right? I saw her earlier, and. She didn't seem like she was taking all this. Well."

"Sounds noble," he sighs. Dragon-killing probably usually is. But then he shrugs. "I haven't seen her much this week. Might have to go track her down."

Because man, it's not great to hear she's not doing well. But he's been intentionally avoiding her, especially after the first few days once he realized the consistent patterns in the hallucinations, because he doesn't want to frighten her.

"I'd be surprised if anyone at all is taking this sort of thing well. That would require a pretty strong lack of awareness."

Or a demon's blessing. Not that the Soldier would say it's doing well, exactly, right now... but a hell of a lot better than most people. Even for its own usual baseline, this isn't bad.

It considers for a moment, with another puff on the cigarette and then practiced tap to rid it of some ash, then says, "Maybe you should find her. She was unhappy, said people kept leaving her. Also kind of creepy. Did you know she doesn't think she's a person?" Because, really. That's an important thing for a roommate to know, it figures.

"Yeah, I know. She's had a rough shot at life. She's probably better off here than where she was."

At least here she can be cared for and treated like an actual child, rather than someone's discarded project. He keeps having these stray, wayward children cross his path and while he can't save them all, he does try his best to give them a better future. Hard to say now if he's ever really succeeded in doing that, though.

He certainly hopes so for at least one of them.

"I'll find her. Where did you see her last?"

"The benches by the bonfire," the Soldier answers. "That was a few days ago, though. She's probably moved somewhere else." I mean... of course she's moved by now. That was a very dumb thing to say.

The Soldier hesitates, then asks, "Do you know why she thinks that?" It will understand if Rosinante doesn't want to share, as Mary's story might have been said in confidence or be too personal for Mary to want discussed, but there doesn't seem to be any harm in asking. Less than 30% risk of punishment from Rosinante.

Days ago, yeah. Who knows where she is now, then. Well, as long as she hasn't wandered into the forest, or somehow been dragged there by all these intangible hands with their seeking, string-spinning fingers, he'll find her. The place isn't that big.

"I do," he replies. "But it's not my place to share it." He'd had to bargain for that information. Had to promise to her that no matter what he learned, he wouldn't hate or fear her, and wouldn't abandon her like others had done.

"She's lucky here. A lot of people care about her, I've noticed."

"There are. Good people here," the Soldier says slowly. "People who don't want a little girl sad, no matter what she is." Honestly, it always assumed that death would be better than life, but more along the line of "an end to suffering" than "finding people who actually care". Maybe she's lucky the same way the Soldier is, in that way.

Of course, they still have to deal with the fucking nightmares and hallucinations. That isn't great. But right now, the Soldier might even consider that worth it.

"Who she is, not what," he corrects gently. Soldat may not think of himself as a person, and so frequently refers to himself as a thing, and that's his choice - but it would be a shame to misspeak around Mary even if he didn't mean to offend. She is a person, no matter her origins, and it's best for her if they all help to reinforce that.

"And you don't have to consider yourself property either, you know. You're your own person here. In control of your own life."

Well, most of the time, since it literally looks like he's being controlled by an invisible puppeteer and too many hands right now, but he's glad that at least in this moment, he's certain those things aren't real.

The Soldier might not be afraid of anything, as such, right now-- but it sure can still be startled, as that produces a twitch so unexpected it almost drops the nearly-gone cigarette. It looks over at Rosinante with an aggrieved expression. You almost cost it the last two hits, pal, not nice.

"Not a person," it says, though it's more automatic than painful at this point. Aside from Mary's statement the other day, anyway. "My own, or otherwise. Not exactly property, either, though. Just a weapon that needs a hand to point it in the right direction." It shrugs, finishes off the cigarette finally, and drops it into the dirt to rub the last spark out under its boot. "But Mary deserves better than that."

Well, that's not an opinion that's going to change any time soon, then. The reaction was reflexive. Beyond training and into something like brainwashing, which he'd noted before but had hoped by no there was some chance it might not hold with enough insistence. Does it matter to him? Not really. It's a shame, but if the soldier is going to insist, then he'll let it be.

"Pick that up," he says, nodding to the butt. "My agreement with Rastus. He doesn't want litter sitting around."

"Oh." That's different from the expected, and kind of baffling, but honestly, much easier to handle than more insistance that it's a damn person. Simple instructions, hopefully with something to learn at the end. It drops to a crouch to collect the butt, pausing a moment when it flares up with blue light (it doesn't, and picking it up with the metal hand proves that it's not glowing or on fire or anything; fucking hallucinations), then gives Rosinante a questioning look as it stands. "Then what do I do with it."

"Here-"

He stops and reaches into a pocket, and retrieves a bag that had once contained sweets he'd found to share with Mary. It's clearly been in use as a cigarette butt container for a while now though as there are a few in there already.

"I'll toss them in the bonfire next time I go past it. Seems to be the easiest way to get rid of them," he says as he holds it out.

"I would've done the same as you, normally. But Rastus won't get me more if he sees them on the ground. Of course, not sure how I'll get more now anyway." A bummer, but so be it - and he's not saying that to make Soldat feel guilty, either. They've already had that conversation so now it's just a sad fact.

Still feels bad, though, even if he doesn't mean it. The Soldier looks a resigned, but at least doesn't try to apologize again. "The Keeper did say something about calling in a favor." It drops the butt into the bag obligingly. Then pauses to eye the bag narrowly, as a pair of hands rise out of it to catch the butt and toss it aside. (Not real. It went where it belonged. I know it did.) "And that I should help rebuild the dock. Maybe there is another ferry."

It can hope, can't it?

Likewise, Rosinante watches with a grimace as, from his perspective, hands reach up from below to tear open the bag and dump the contents to the ground. For a brief moment he stoops down and slaps at the air, then pauses and looks at the bag again. Okay, no. Still intact with its trash contents. Ugh.

"Right," he sighs as he pockets the baggie and retrieves his lantern so they can continue on toward the inn, just ahead now. "I saw her mention that favor of hers. I would love to know what sort of contact she has with the world outside this town."

Nice that the idea wasn't rejected out of hand. The Soldier frowns, expression thoughtful. "I wonder if she would say anything if we asked. I was too upset at the time to ask. And I don't really like using the network."

"Oh? Why not?"

It strikes him as an odd preference. Sure, it's well outside what he knew from home, but the network is damn handy. It does have its downfalls when sticking to text rather than voice, but it's much easier to write a short message than a full letter, and the fact that said messages get delivered instantly rather than taking weeks is pretty astonishing.

"Too permanent and too insecure. Could be hacked, and leaves a record that can't be destroyed but can also be accessed from anywhere in the village if you have another device." It starts for the Invincible again. They're almost there, anyway. And, with a glance over its shoulder at Rosinante, it adds (maybe possibly not seriously): "Also, metal fingers on touchscreens are hard."

Okay, the latter part is definitely fair. The rest, well. Permanency doesn't bother him too much because there are plenty of alternatives. Don't want something permanent? Just talk to them in person. No reason to avoid the network itself otherwise.

"Not like we have a choice when it comes to Robin, though. But maybe you can explain - I've seen that word here and there, 'hacked'. What exactly does that mean, and how does someone do it?"

He's got the implications, he thinks. Somehow involving messing with someone's tablet remotely, but a real definition would be more helpful than guessing based on context.

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