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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I. Around Beacon | Anytime

_{[In the Badlands, it's a commonly accepted fact that altruism paints a target on your back. Safer to mind your business, and protect what's yours by being the biggest prick in the room holding the sharpest knife. And besides that--M.K.'s spent his whole life on the wrong side of dividing lines. He's never held much stock in the we're all in this together, be kind to one another sentiment when it's so rarely been true in practice.

It says something about how bad these mind games are getting, that those lines are smudging in the need to keep each other present and accounted.]}

_{[If he should see someone in the throes of an episode around the bonfire, or in the Invincible, or along the shoreline, or in any of his usual haunts, he steps up with a firm grip on a shoulder or a hand. An anchoring touch, unlike the phantoms that aim to push and pull.]}

_{[If it's a particularly nasty one, maybe he'll even presses a canteen of water, or a warm mug with the spicy smell of apple cider wafting from it, into their hand.

Kindness isn't the right word for it, in his mind. But it's easy to empathize with people on the same sinking boat.]}

II. Village | Oct. 15th

_{[He's managing, if barely. It seems to him the only way through this is to bear it until whatever madness this is sees fit to wither and die on the vine like the corpse-smelling flowers. When he boils it down to grit your teeth, this will be over (soon) (eventually) (if there's any mercy), he's able to endure his days, if not comfortably, or all that gracefully. Each time an invisible hand takes hold, he stiffens. Closes his eyes. Breathes. Forces himself not to flinch. Each time he hears a sound in the trees that calls to be investigated, he remembers--this isn't real. Each time he finds a baby crying black tears in a nest of blankets, he accepts the stab of guilt and carries on with his business.

The real test of endurance comes not with a bang or a whimper, but a deafening boom. He's walking down a path in the village when the explosion happens--a dozen steel drums packed with explosive material go off in a concussive, flaming blast. That this has all happened before doesn't make his hard landing feel any less real, nor the scorching pain up the right side of his body.

The burns were always real, it was this place that took them away and almost let him forget the sensation of his skin bubbling. Almost. Fortunately, the phantom hands are here to remind him what that fresh pain feels like. One brushes his burned shoulder. He doesn't scream until it squeezes.]}

III. Wildcard

_{[OOC: Plotting comment is here for reference, heyo. Feel free to roll with a different scenario. Come at me, bros.]}

Closed to Riku | Oct. 11th

_{[It's a good thing Riku's hair is already on its way to being white, because it might shock him to learn that ever since finding out about his dark gift, he and Vanitas are near the top of his "people to hit up when I need a break from all this crazy shit" list. He just hasn't succumbed to the pressure to cash in on that yet--but these visions. Hallucinations. They sure make a fellow want to get as far out of their own head as possible.

And the way things are looking, he thinks maybe they could all use a similar break, too.

The thing is-- With the untimely demise of the boathouse, he's not actually sure where the other is shacking up these days, and it takes a little asking around to put him on the right track. He doesn't mind all that much. It gets him out of the cabin, gives him something to do besides sit, and stew, and chafe his nerves raw wondering when the next inexplicable thing is going to dart by the corner of his eye.

Knock, knock. That's the sound of a (for now) sober dark one at the door. It was either this or drink, and he doesn't think they have enough liquor for the job.]}

[ For Elizabeth's first few weeks in Beacon, this was definitely the worst one yet. The hallucinations grip her even in her room at the Invincible, making her stumble out into the hall to try and escape them. The reassuring press of a warm mug in her hands jerks her out of its thrall with a soft, pained sound and she clings to it, literally and figuratively. ]

I-- I...

[ She tries to get her staccato heartbeat under control. ]

They're... getting worse. They're so real...

_{[He waits until he's confident she has a firm hold and her jittering isn't simply going to send the drink falling from loose fingers.]}

They're not.

_{[Of that, he's sure. Far more than sure than he'd be if these visions were invading so deep in they were rewriting the validity of their memories. Only oneself and the other people present could confirm the truth of a memory. These aren't that--these are lies more easily spotted and rooted out.]}

Just focus on this. This is real--the rest is just this place messing with your head.

[ Elizabeth shoots him a grateful look for the concern and tries to steady her nerves. Raising the mug to her lips she takes a small drink, letting the warmth suffuse her. ]

I should be better able to tell what's... an illusion and what's not.

_{[Although he catches the glance, he opts not to acknowledge it. His relationship with gratitude is a tumultuous one; best to ignore and carry on. He takes a step back, crossing his arms.

She doesn't look quite so much like she's about to go tripping down the stairs and break her neck, so that's at least an improvement on the way she'd come rushing out of one of the rooms.]}

No sense blaming yourself. This place doesn't play by any normal rules.

_{[M.K. had been in Beacon when it'd treated them to a graveyard with their own headstones and the chance to live through the memories of each other's last moments. If whatever power at work can do that, what can't it do?

A tilt of his head betrays the question before he even asks it.]}

... What did you see?

[ Elizabeth likes to think she doesn't play by any normal rules either, given what she can do, but that's not something she's keen to share. In any case, she does understand M.K.'s words and what he means by them, and takes the reassurance with quiet appreciation. ]

I saw my... a creature. Called Songbird.

But it wasn't just sight, it was sound too...

_{["My"...? The aborted thought hides a story behind it, he suspects. He can't help but think these mind games to be not unlike the Mirror Chamber, reflecting things from deep inside each of them, for good or ill.

He'd also suspect more for ill. He's experienced for himself the spirits' powers to twist the senses. Fearing this is their doing keeps him on edge.]}

Songbird?

_{[It's a quaint, peaceful-sounding name next to the distress it's inspired.]}

[ A break is exactly what they could probably all use, but how many of them are actually good about taking them?

Riku sure isn't; he presses forward like slowing down isn't an option, he affords himself only as much rest as he needs to avoid needing to help himself to the rations Gordon doled out, trying to stretch their depleted resources as much as possible.

Even that's failing him. Although his couch surfing means most of the time he's shacking up at the Invincible, his sleep has degraded and not for a lack of want for it. Riku sleeps lightly, and hearing the familiar gait of his absent friends ringing down the hall, or the feel of a broad hand covering over the back of his skull always jolts him out of sleep with his heart galloping (or his skin crawling).

Appearances have Riku seemingly calm if more alert. Inside, he's full of that awful, jittery buzzing that comes with fatigue and adrenaline knocking up against each other at intervals. Sometimes, he thinks he notices others being a little twitchy, but he's been hallucinating since around when Kairi and Dawn died and Sora went away - symptomatic of prolonged exposure to the dark - how can he be sure his eyes aren't playing tricks on him?

It's why, when he pulls open the door to find M.K. on the other side, he's grateful for the company and the distraction - there's an abrupt glimmer of mischief in his eyes when he abruptly tries to close the door again in his face.

Anticipating M.K. might force his way in, Riku puts his shoulder against the door; if his prediction turns out right, he might even hear a laugh in his throat as he leans his back against the door, letting his weight do the resisting. ]

Not buying. Sorry.

_{[Why is he here, at this door of all doors? There's no straight answer to that, other than to say even people who have a PhD in the fields of loneliness and doubting the sanctity of their own mind would sometimes like to feel a little less lonely and a little less doubtful.

But right in this split second of time? He's feeling like this may have been a bad idea. Who answers a call like that? The answer to that is more simple: this guy does, apparently.

The small, brief opening in the door suffices to frame M.K.'s face and the way his brows already start to knit together in bewilderment before Riku tries to abruptly slam the door on him. Without thinking, he puts a hand out to smack against the wood, holding the door open before it can click all the way closed.]}

Hey!

_{[Riku's guess the indignation on the tail end of his surprise won't let him take this sitting down is correct.

It wouldn't be half so aggravating if not for that, despite being of a similar height, he'd surmise Riku has anywhere from fifteen to twenty pounds on him, all of it pure muscle. Holding the door even this much requires digging his feet in.]}

You do know you couldn't stop me if I wanted to get in, don't you?

_{[That's an objective fact, the put-out tone in his voice is just a figment of your imagination.]}

[ M.K. is always quick to resist, to fight back or butt heads and Riku likes that about him. He doesn't let things slide. He protests, says Riku couldn't stop him if he'd wanted to get in, and the other boy has the audacity to laugh on the opposite side of the door. Of course he could. Riku doesn't doubt for a second that M.K. would break down a door to get done whatever it was he set his mind to.

This is just... fun, messing around for a moment as if the world isn't lightless and dead, as if they aren't here on borrowed time before world-destroying horrors show up and snuff them out.

To Riku's credit - and in an act of mercy for the creaking door - he relents suddenly, sidestepping to allow the door to swing all the way open. If M.K. had continued trying to push his way inside, he might just end up falling straight through. The question is if his reflexes are keen enough to avoid taking a tumble. ]

_{[Oh, in another context--less the grousing of a sourpuss caught by surprise by Riku's playacting--his assertion could most definitely be taken for a threat. He means it. In his dark mode, he'd take this door down and Riku along with it.

But then Riku laughs and--well. That saps what minor irritation might threaten to crop up. He's had so little cause to hear Riku's laughter, he can't be mad about it even if it's at his expense.

So much is he willing to forgive to stoke that ember of good humor, he only glowers a little when the other gives up his side of the resistance, causing M.K. to do a quick-step into the room as the door abruptly gives way. Of course he catches himself. Does this guy really think that'd work? Nice try, his look says plainly.]}

Do you have something against answering the door like a normal person? Or am I just special?

Edited 2019-11-07 00:51 (UTC)

[ Nice try, that look says, and the other boy answers him with a smirk. Planting one palm to his hip, Riku shakes his head at him. Nothing personal with the door, but special? In a world so dark and having found another who understands some of what has shaped him into who he is today, knowing a little about how MK's life and experiences have shaped him?

Pretty special.

But Riku's not prone to saying sappy things like that. ]

You're not usually the one dropping in. What's up?

_{[M.K.'s relationship with standing a cut above the rest is a complicated one. He'd come into the world different from most, but not in a way worth lauding--not until he'd met Pilgrim, who'd soothed away the suffering of his dark ones with the comfort that being different from the rest meant being above the rest. Better.

But Pilgrim had been wrong. On many counts.

A better fighter, yes, but a better person? Is his life inherently worth more? Why? Because he can kill? These days M.K.'s scraping the bottom of the barrel to find a reason he's better than anyone else--which may go to explain why he doesn't likewise presume Riku treats him any different as he would anyone else. As far as he knows, Riku's this way with everyone.

On the other hand, he doesn't go out of his way for just anyone like this. It's fair to say Riku is special in his own right.]}

It would've been easier, but it looks like you're living elsewhere now.

_{[Pointed. There's moving out, and then there's leaving your last residence in tatters. You lead an interesting life, don't you, Riku?

Oh, but he supposes there's no getting around the real reason, despite the prank throwing him off what he'd been planning to say. He steps all the way inside, taking the liberty of closing the door behind him.]}

I came to see if you were busy doing anything. _[...] And how you're getting by.

[ She moves through the darkness, blindfold on, ears stuffed with wax, and carrying only her lantern. Decrease the amount of things she has to keep track of, that she knows absolutely for sure are real. Part of her can’t help but be thankful that her senses are already as dulled as they are, making the tug of phantom hands and faint familiar whispers almost completely ignorable. And if they became too strong to ignore? She retreats to the only Sense she can trust now, as much as she hates it. Still, she’s on a mission, as much as she wants to go back to cowering in her room. She needs to fin—

Suddenly, a vaguely familiar figure enters her general range, as if flung by some force. And while she may not hear them scream, she certainly feels the disruption around their mouth. That’s enough for her to head over, ripping out one wax plug while shouting ]

Are you okay!?

[ Ignore the whispers. Ignore the whispers. Ignore. ]

_{[Physical pain is nothing new in the hard world he comes from. He'd thought months of training with Sunny, months more getting whalloped by Ava, and months of being bled through thin cuts like a stuck pig had taught him a thing or two about pain--but this. The second time around makes burned flesh no less a fresh hell.

If anything, the relief of being pain and scar-free here makes the descent back into that state all the worse, remembering how unbearable those long days and nights had been, every move, every bit of clothing touching his skin an agony. This isn't really happening, you know it's not, it's the spirits, he tries to tell himself.

But his body remembers better than his mind.

He can't answer--can't, because for one, the phantom detonation is deafening, and for another, he couldn't relax his jaw from its pained clench even if he tried. He can only roll from his left side onto his right, taking his weight off the worst of the perceived injury.]}

[ Coraline on the other hand is absolutely floundering here. Look, she barely knows basic first aid, let alone possibly complicated first aid for an imaginary wound. Still, she does what she can to help, helping to shift him to the side that seems to be hurting less. God. What is she supposed to do??? She’s supposed to put lukewarm water for like, regular burns but… for this??? ]

useless [ useless ] useless [ useless ] useless [ useless ] usele--- I’m so sorry.

[ She says, shaking as she does her best to help him alleviate the pressure on the perceived wound. ]

I just… I’m sorry… just… it’s not real. Remember it’s not real.

None of this is real. You destroyed everything like you were meant to. There’s nothing left.

_{[Triage had proved difficult on a battlefield half on fire with body parts scattered to and fro, too, as he remembers, though he hadn't recalled much between when they had pulled him from the bodies and when they had rowed the survivors back across the lake. He'd drifted in and out on a wave of fuzzy shock as he does now, so that what words of hers filter through do so at a great distance.

Yes.

This isn't real. It happened a while ago, it's over and done with, and it hardly matters anymore when the rest of his carcass is rotting on his bones somewhere. Pain is an illusion when you're already dead.

Oh, but it feels real--

Unintentionally, perhaps, given she can't see the devastation the detonation at the main gate had wrought on those about to breach it, her hand brushes the spot shrapnel had sliced cleanly through his armor. He makes an animal noise of pain, writhing with his eyes still closed like a newborn who can't bear to take his first look.]}

Stop! Just--stop.

_{[He chokes. Even his throat feels raw with scorched air.]}

[ She pulls her hand back like it was burnt, wincing in sympathy at his pain. Fuck. ]

What. What do you want me to do? How can I help???

[ She asks, voice pleading and nearly at a shout as she tries to drown out the taunting voices surrounding her like phantoms. She. She needs to be useful, even if it’s just to this one person. She can’t prove them (everyone) right.

Actually no, fuck the voices. Remember Coraline. They aren’t real. ]

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EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

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II. I hope this is ok!!

so sorry re: lateness, this is great!!

adklsghlskgh your wriiting is always so good im sobbing

are you sobbing because of that or me never tagging on time...

i mean same, I say not realizing i had marked this as read on accident