logsinthenight | INTRO LOG: JULY

INTRO LOG: JULY

characters: everyone.
location: the harbor, as well as the rest of town.
date/time: july 1-3.
content: beacon's newest batch of residents arrives on the ferry. winters, will, and rastus introduce themselves and explain the situation.
warnings: n/a.

welcome to beacon.

It's dim, and the room won't stop swaying, gently rocking you back and forth. A loud sound startles you fully awake, a deep, moaning call: a foghorn. As your eyes adjust, you note faint red light streaking through the room from a tiny, round window.

You've found yourself in a private room, lying on a bed. The last things you remember are the events that led up to your death. Beside you is a folded tablet and a lantern that glows steadily with a healthy flame.

You're on a ship. And that ship is docking.

Making your way to the deck, and eventually the pier, you find only moonlight to greet you, and a dark forest beyond. There are other people here, each with their own unique lantern, and many of them look just as lost as you are. On the ferry you've just disembarked from, the speaker system begins to play a song.

In the distance, across the waters of the lake, you can see the tall silhouette of a lighthouse, its red light slowly turning.

•••
Winters and Will are waiting for you on the beach. Winters flags you down from where he's standing atop a large rock, surveying the gathering crowd. Will stands next to him, though he's monkeying with his tablet and looks rather bored. He barely looks up as Winters speaks:

"First thing's first: I'm sorry you're here. There's no easy way to break this news, so let's just get it over with, hm? You're dead. Or, ah, you've died. Call this the afterlife if you want, or don't if that ain't your thing, but point is, you're here 'cause you died. Those are the facts.

This world's dead, too. You've noticed by now it's pretty dark, yeah? That's 'cause there's no life here, not anymore. And that lantern you've got? That's your life, so to speak. The flame goes out, you die, and vice versa. Keep it close. Should be easy enough to remember on account of how the sun don't rise. You'll need something to see by.

This place is called Beacon, and that's Lake Red Jacket. Town's 'bout a mile down the road, and we've got a bonfire there, but that's the only other light you'll see in this place. Save for the moon and all, though the sky won't do you much good out in the woods. I'll let Rastus explain the bonfire to y'all.

Ah, right. I'm Ben Winters—Winters'll do—and this here's Will Ingr— What? For christ's sake, Dr. Will Ingram. Likes to think he's the brains of the operation, as you can see. If you've got questions about these tablets, he's your guy. Rastus tends to the fire, and you'll find him in town. He's married to his job in a way. And you may never've seen a person like him back wherever you came from, but don't make a big fuss over it. He's a nice fellow. Mind your manners.

The three of us are leftovers from past resets. We came here on that ferry just like you, but it's just us left now. 'Sides the Lighthouse Keeper, but it'll be a bit before you get to meet her. She's got control over the town, see, and if she ain't satisfied with a group's performance, they get the axe. Town gets reset. If she pulls a reset on you folks, a couple of you might end up like me and Will here, giving this speech to the next crop."

The red beam of the lighthouse pulses over the group, over the trees. Winters glances up to watch it swing out over the bay.

"But don't hold it against her. Ain't her fault we're in this mess, and we've all got a job to do, including you.

For now, concentrate on accepting your lot, yeah? We're here to answer your questions, but we ain't gonna tell you all there is to know just yet. Some things are best learned on your own, and some of it we just don't want to saddle you with yet. There's a limit to how long we can stay here safely, that's true, but thing is, we do got time. Time enough to play this smart. Do better than the folks before us did. Settle in, make peace, explore a bit if you're up for it. Use these first couple weeks to come to grips. You ain't gonna be any good to the town if you don't sort yourself out before worrying about what comes next.

So listen up: You're dead. You died. Whatever your old life was, it's done now. None of us can go back, so all we've got is forward. Welcome to Beacon. Could be worse, yeah?"

ooc.

Hey there, wonderful players, and welcome to In the Night! For this intro log, all three NPCs will be available for chatting with, whether your character wants to make casual conversation or ask questions about all this. The headers on each NPC toplevel are there for easy reference as to what each of them are responsible for, but you're welcome to go to any NPC for whatever reason. You're welcome to assume your character has overheard any NPC conversation to learn more about the game. After the NPC threads have died down, we'll compile the info learned ICly and add it to the game history page. If your character would contribute something specific to the game history records, let us know!

DELIVERIES

The following packages can be found in the cargo hold:

The monthly store restock

QUICKNAV
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i. the beach
Antimony listens to Winters' speech, listens closely, sticking little mental red flags in the things that stand out as not-quite-right or worth following up on. And while she listens, she scans the crowd, noting each person she can see, height and build and facial features. The only reason she can even begin to agree with the apparent-veteran's conclusion - it could be worse - is that she doesn't find a single one of the people she's looking for. Not even the ghost she'd expect to see if she really is dead. (And she clings to that absence, with all the desperation denial can bring.)

Until she has reason not to, she'll assume that her friends are safe. That her family is as safe as any group that courts death so aggressively could possibly be.

She doesn't join the crowd seeking answers from the only people who seem to know their asses from a hole in the ground - she's not above eavesdropping, but she'll do her own asking later, once she's been able to organize the things she wants to know into some semblance of coherency. For the moment, she takes the opportunity to survey their surroundings, the dark beach and the shapes of the harbour and the moonless sky.

It's that last that catches her, breath freezing in her lungs as she searches the heavens for any sign of familiar stars, of the bright ribbon of the Milky Way that should be clearly visible on such a dark, cloudless night. Nothing.

After a moment, she lets out a low, shaky whistle. "We're definitely not in Kansas any more."

ii. general store
She takes a little while to get situated, get the lay of the land - what little there is within the ring of too-dark trees - and take stock of what she has and what she needs before venturing into the general store. Shopping has never been her favourite activity, and shopping in the dark doesn't much improve the experience. She manages to find the clothing easily enough, and snags a few pieces that look like they would be roughly her size, within tolerances for alterations she can manage manually. A notebook and pens, likewise, aren't too difficult to track down. It's once she moves on to utility supplies that she starts running into trouble with the idiosyncratic layout of the shop and its shelves.

It takes her a while, and several instances of backtracking to where something might have been, before she finally breaks down and asks the nearest person, "Have you seen any fishing line?"

iii. the invincible
Eventually, Annie runs out of town to explore - or at least town that isn't concealed within the looming forest, and she's given herself a strict 72-hour ban on haring off to see what dangers that forest holds - and so settles in at a table in the barroom. She has a cup of coffee, half-empty, and an order of fries that she occasionally remembers enough to eat from, though she's been here a while and they've almost certainly gone cold. Her attention is on the notebook in front of her, alternately flipping between pages to jot something down in its proper section in some nigh-incomprehensible shorthand, and reviewing her notes with a frown that digs a deep furrow in her brow.

She probably won't bite, if you're looking for a seat.

iv. wildcard
((Feel free to hit me up with something else, if you want! You can PM this journal or catch me on plurk at

quantumvelvet if you want to plot something.

Also, I'm happy to consider any TDM threads canon, and either handwave an end to them or continue them here. Just let me know if you have a preference.

Note: I'll match tag format as needed.))

Coraline had been on her way out of the general store when she is suddenly stopped with an ask for help. She simply blinks at the other person for a moment (though whether this could be seen through her sunglasses or not is another question) as she tries to remember if she had seen any fishing line. She hadn’t, but she also hadn’t lingered in this aisle beyond what was necessary to get to the clothing.

“Uh…” She looks around helplessly, senses sharpening for a moment in desperation as she picks through shadowed item after shadowed item until…

“There… I think?” She said, pointing. Indeed, hidden in the back of a bottom shelf out of sight is few packages of fishing line. God, now her head hurt. She didn’t know she could do that (though it makes sense now that she thinks about it).

Edited 2019-07-03 14:42 (UTC)

Between the sunglasses and the lack of any strong light, the blinking goes unnoticed. The initial hesitation doesnt, nor does the silence as the girl casts around for - recollection, maybe? That's fair; if she didn't have very specific uses for it, fishing line isn't something Annie would remember spotting offhand either.

Still, it's just unusual enough that her eyes narrow slightly in concern.

"Thanks," she says. And then, "Hey, are you all right? You looked a little out of it there for a sec."

“...You’re welcome.” She says after a moment’s pause, shaking her head slightly to clear the pain. This whole deal was so weird considering her powers had remained stable for 3 years. She thought struggling to form some walls and tendrils was as far as she’d ever go. Apparently not, and th—nope. Not going to think about it.

“Oh, I’m fine. I was just… thinking.” She smiles nervously (though to be fair, that’s how she usually smiles).

"Guess there's a lot of that going around."

That, and the opposite. It's not that she's joining in on the ransacking of the general store in a bid not to think too hard about anything beyond immediate necessities, it's just...exactly that.

She offers a hand, and her own smile is a little wry, a little aware of just how absurd the normal pleasantries seem surrounded by apparently permanent darkness and the supposedly permanently dead. "I'm Annie."

“Yeah… there’s a lot to think about.” She laughs nervously as she says this, glancing around a bit. Coraline is also doing her best to do as little thinking as possible, and staring at the clothing in the General Store? Well. It sure does take up time!

“Oh, uh. I’m Coraline. Nice to meet you.” She said politely, taking the hand and giving it a small shake. She’s also smiling, but it’s a bit hard to tell through all the layers.

"Likewise. You know, circumstances aside."

Is it possible to truly be happy to meet someone in the nominal afterlife? All signs point to no, because every person she meets is one more person she has to worry about trying to get back where they belong.

(Overachievement, thy name is Price.)

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for here? You helped me out, only fair that I return the favor."

“Uh…” Her new sense(?) going wild for a moment as whatever it is pings around the store, her mind going from place to place. It leaves her a bit dizzy.

“Not… really. Just kinda… familiarizing myself I guess? And wandered back here again… Sorry.” She looks to the ground, worried she’s just wasting this random woman’s time now.

Edited 2019-07-24 18:07 (UTC)

[ Peter's not ordinarily one for feeling self-conscious in his suit, but there's a moment, a very long moment, where it hits him that despite Central Park, despite being surrounded by a whole host of other costumed individuals, here he's pretty much alone in wearing questionable spandex. It's fine though — in all the ways that matter, he supposes, he'd rather be here in the capacity of Spider-Man than as Peter Parker, at least until he has the measure of where they are, how and why with a side of: thanks to who?

(Yes, okay, the "Keeper", whoever that is.)

(The latter is totally his favourite question, and there had been a part of him that had wanted to take a moment to yell KRAAAAAVEN a la Shatner-and-Khan once he'd heard the proclamation that they're dead, but he'd refrained himself.)

He'd been prepared to leave the beach, to scout the area and explore where they are — he's never been much for the countryside, and this isn't doing anything to change that: there are no skyscrapers or tall buildings to scale and climb and sit on and watch from — when he hears the that comment. His attention shifts from the town up ahead (quote unquote; Peter's fairly certain there's, like, a minimum number of buildings required for a town—) to Antimony.

A sidelong glance, then, and beneath the mask — torn and tattered in places, so his features are more visible than he'd ordinarily like — there's a quirk of his lips. ] Hey, I know I'm cute, Dorothy, but I didn't think I'd hit Toto levels of adorable.

( ooc: unless you're married to matching tag formats, I'm totally not fussed btw — I'm just super used to brackets and I know I'm going to end up forgetting halfway through a tag, but if you prefer writing in prose, that's totally cool with me if you continue with that! )

It's possible that she comes up with a witty reply. It's possible it's on the tip of her tongue when she turns to look at Peter. And then stops. And blinks. Once, twice, an air of utter bemusement settling over her.

Because yeah, sure, she's familiar with the concept of superheroes. A lot more familiar than the majority of her peer group. But her immediate association with themed spandex with mask isn't 'ah, yes, you must clearly be some sort of crime fighting vigilante in your own dimension, props on choosing the most unnerving animal motif possible'. It's, well.

Hadn't there been a book about a zombie attack at a convention?

"Well, you can actually pull off the skintight look, so bonus points for that. It's a bold choice."

[ occasionally, peter's thought that leo might have had a point with the reversible jacket idea — something about a less deep and desperate need to change on rooftops or down alleys that smell of things peter would really rather not think about, but there's something to be said about the aerodynamics and freedom of movement afforded by spandex.

still, there's a light shrug at the comment, and: ]

—But it does clash with the ruby red slippers, so those got left somewhere between 59th and exit right of Earth.

"The things we risk for fashion," Annie sighs, and the corners of her mouth twitch slightly, as though it's only the dire circumstances they currently find themselves in that keeps her from snickering out loud at the mental image conjured.

"Maybe we'll get really lucky, and there'll be a magic wardrobe at the other end of the interdimensional convention from hell."

[ annie's comment earns a quirk of a smile from peter and a huff of breath that's almost a laugh, before-- ]

—Wait, are you trying to say we're in Narnia? Because I had a whole host of jokes about going to see the Wizard and [ he spreads his hands out, ] now they're irrelevant. [ it's followed by a breath of a pause and peter's attention shifts from annie back to the beach for a moment: there had been that time when he'd ended up under new york, but this is definitely not that, and he's pretty sure there isn't going to be a talking lion waiting for them once they—

—well, do whatever it is they're supposed to do here.

(although a talking lion would be really cool.) ] —Narnia's probably more thematically appropriate, [ he concedes, before adding (or, not adding so much as segueing terribly): ] Spider-Man, by the way. Not from Kansas, Narnia, or uh, England?

"Annie. Really feeling the lack of any nicknames I'd be willing to share with, oh. Anyone."

It does cross her mind, just briefly, to offer the name she skates under, trade obvious pseudonym for obvious pseudonym. But that exists in the real world. It can be traced back. There are enough Annies in the world that giving a piece of her own name is actually more anonymous.

"I don't suppose you remember the portal that brought you here? Tornado, furniture, or otherwise."

No. The last thing I remember, I was in Central Park with a variety of uh animal-themed villains, a handful of robotic hunters, all courtesy of a psychotic Russian and his Chucky-lookalike new best friend. [ a pause, then: ] Interdimensional kidnapping actually isn't really their thing, so as much as I'd love to point fingers and angrily yell you! or 'them!', I guess, I don't think I'm going to get that satisfaction.

[ and for as much as he would love to blame this on kraven and-or arcade? he's pretty sure that doing as much would only succeed in spiting himself; it's more likely to be a mysterio thing (ugh) or an inadvertent doc strange thing (eh), but even then—

—there's really nothing to indicate as much. ] Why, do you?

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INTRO LOG: JULY

Antimony Price | InCryptid | OTA

general store

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the beach.

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