EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

[inthenightmods]

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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Comments

[callada]

Rosinante watches as Soldat seems to be urged toward him, controlled by hands streaming barely-visible strings. It's as if he doesn't want to be generous, doesn't want to approach or offer a drink, but something external forces him to do it. Torture for both of them, perhaps - because in that moment, the soldier becomes one of those angry townsfolk, and the others lurk far behind, shouting insults and accusations at Rosinante all while snickering behind Soldat's back at having been unfortunate enough to be chosen for this task; to approach the helpless, wounded beast responsible for all of their suffering and offer it poison.

He locks eyes with Soldat and almost slaps the coffee away, but he's still just aware of his surroundings enough to force the nightmare into some sort of submission within his mind. It's coffee, he can smell it, and none of what happened all those years ago is relevant here. Fuck you, hallucinations, you haven't won yet - and he's determined not to let them.

"Thanks," he mutters after a moment as he shakes his head at himself and takes the drink. "You should probably go."

[worthallthis]

The brief eye contact seems to startle it, and it looks away after a beat, gaze sliding down to the more habitual shoulder. Eye contact is still kind of weird, even if it's not afraid, especially when Rosinante looked tense about it. Or about something.

(Probably seeing things, right? It's probably not actually you.) Like the way the quality of the lantern-light kept going electric blue or hospital white. Probably.

Better go, anyway. "All right. Thanks for the cigarette," the Soldier says, collecting its own mug and heading for the stairs. Maybe it's time to check on Scarlett, if she's in.