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

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Okay!

[She says...without un-blocking the door.]

Put your handprint next to mine, first! Everybody will know this is our special house, because it has the red door!

[He looks at her, at the door, and at the paint. Boy, oh boy. If this were Baby he'd just pick her up and move her himself but this kid he barely knows and he doesn't really want her to hate him. It had been fine with the others, and it hadn't worked anyway. This one seems more fragile, but maybe he's just being sentimental. There are a lot of emotions running high in this place.

But he also doesn't really want to get paint all over himself. She can paint the door all she wants, that can be her thing. So he kneels down, closer to her level, and holds his hand out, fingers spread wide, a few inches over the top of the open paint can.]

Dunno, I think my hand's too big. Sorry.

Oh, no!

[She looks horribly, terribly disappointed.]

Then the door won't look nearly as special...

[How committed to not getting paint on his hand is he? After a moment he decides - not very. He could probably talk his way out of it, but there's also a sink inside. If he leaves to sleep somewhere else someday, he can scrape the paint off the door. It's not that big a deal.]

Well, maybe I can...

[What a revelation, as he curls his hand into a fist and sinks it into the paint. That is not a pleasant feeling, really. It's cold and slick and not. great. But he's apparently cursed to feel sentimental toward her out of regret for the others, so what's done is done. He squeezes his hand back out of the can, then presses a very large red handprint next to hers.]

Oh! Oh! Rosi, you're a puzzle solver!

[He's a genius! She jumps up and down in delight as his gargantuan handprint settles beside her, and then, mercifully, moves herself and the bucket out of his way.]

I think it looks so pretty. Red is the prettiest color!

[He smiles, both at the familiar shortening of his name and her immediate change in attitude, then rises to his feet once more.]

Yeah? I like red too. Here, I'll come back in just a minute.

[With his entry unobstructed, he steps through the door - banging his head yet again on the doorframe as he enters, which sends him straight back down to the floor and it's only by sheer luck he doesn't knock her bucket over in the process. But he shakes off the fall and rolls to his feet, goes to wash his hands of paint, and then slings his bag of belongings off onto the mattress. That done, he comes back to join her and just sits in the hallway, blocking it more effectively than she ever had.]

Where'd you find that paint?

Oops!

[It's an automatic exclamation as her very tall friend goes tumbling down...but then he's back on his feet again so it's fine?! Mary waits patiently for his return, because she's a very well-mannered young lady, and then beams.]

At the general store! I wanted...I wanted something less messy, but I'll have to ask Mister Birdie--I mean Rastus.

[He will probably not give her crayons if she calls him a bird.]

Well you're doing better than I am so far. I tried to find a pen but if there was one, someone must've grabbed it. I want to make a map of this place and all I've got to draw with is makeup.

[Which earns itself a bitter chuckle because hell no he's not using the last of his eyeliner to draw a crude map, that's just a tragic waste.]

I'll find you something, and...I'll help, because drawing is my favorite!

[But she, too, mourns the loss of his makeup.]

Do you think you'll get more soon? I like it when you put colors on your face!

Yeah? All right.

[Sure, why not, the kid can help him with a map. Probably a good thing for her to learn to do anyway, she's old enough to figure out some practical skills. They'll all have to pull their weight one way or another while they're here.]

Oh, I've still got some in my bag over there. I'm just not wearing any right now. You like it though, huh?

I do, I do! It makes me smile. Does it make you smile, too?

[If it's something he's saving, something he treasures, then it must make him happy, she's sure of it. It's good to have things that you love, because it keeps your heart from getting sad.]

Yeah. It's, uh. I didn't wear it at all, years ago. And then I had to for a job, and it kind of grew on me. It looks pretty cool.

[Or pretty. Look, sometimes a ginormous dude just wants to look pretty too, all right? But it's also not that unusual back home for guys to wear lipstick and eyeliner and sometimes more than that. Like the height differences, he's finding how plain most of these people are a little surprising.]

You want to try some?

...you'd let me?

[Even though it's his? Isn't it too special?]

Sure. That's the point of it, right? To be worn, not to sit in a bag.

[Apparently he shouldn't have just sat right down so quickly. He pushes himself back up and steps into the room to pull the kit out of his bag, and then sits cross-legged on a mattress. The set is barebones, of course - just the colors he'd needed, and a few others for fun or for disguises.]

Go wash that paint off and then I'll help you put some on.

[Beside herself with delight, Mary lets out a squeal and darts inside, nearly forgetting her paint bucket and having to double around to bring it inside and stash it in a corner. She giggles her whole way to the sink, where she only quiets as she watches the red paint slip off of her hands and down the drain. There's an instant where she seems pacified, cooing in wonder at the sight. That color, thinning, swirling, dripping, dropping...

It reminds her of something.

But then it's gone, and she turns off the water and dries her hands to come back and sit with Rosi. She can barely contain her excitement.]

Make me look as cool and as pretty as you!

[Baby 5 would have loved this. He can't help but keep comparing the two. Yeah, okay, there were days when he legitimately got mad at her for pulling her godawful pranks, but he deserved worse for what he'd done to her. But if she had just run, had found any other family around that trash heap, then his efforts would still have helped her in the long run.

Too late now, so Mary gets to benefit from his guilt. He pulls out the eyeliner pencil to start with, and reaches to cup her cheek to keep her face still - though it's more like the entire side of her head, given the size difference between them.]

This is going to feel funny, so try and keep still for me, all right?

Okay!

[She keeps as still as she can. It's a bit easier with his giant-handed support, but her feet definitely tap and wiggle in her poorly-contained excitement. It's all she can do not to chatter away at him during his work, too.]

[Better make it quick before she jitters out of her seat, then. He gets the eyeliner on good enough, then studies her face in deep contemplation before deciding on a cute little flower petal design in pink below one of her eyes, simple and delicate. She'd said she wanted something like what he does, after all. And since she said she likes red, he goes for the same red shade of lipstick he's been using for the last few years to neatly color her lips. It's cute! Or he thinks so anyway, and with a grin, he puts the tube down and lets go with his other hand.]

Here, tell me what you think.

[There's a little mirror in the kit for when he has to do touch-ups on the go and he hands it to her.]

[Mary's quiet as she eagerly takes the mirror and holds it up to examine herself. She feels like her breath's been stolen. There's an impulse to touch her face, but realizing that it would ruin it, she touches the mirror instead, tracing the lines of his handiwork.]

It's perfect.

[She's a flower, a flower with red and pink petals. Nice flowers, real flowers.]

[Pleased with that answer, he leans back in his seat and supports himself with his palms against the mattress. Always a good feeling, making someone else happy like that.]

Glad you like it. I think I'll see if Rastus can get me a few more colors when he brings in the next shipment of supplies. If I had green, you could have a couple leaves with those flowers too.

And then we can be decorated like this together?

[Imagining it, she flops over onto her back and raises her palms up to the sky.]

Like...matching! I've never matched with anybody before. I've always been different.

Maybe.

[Nope, he's not going to wear matching makeup with some child he barely knows, even if she's sweet and lonely and probably in need of some looking after. Whatever design he settles on, if he chooses one at all, should be something unique. Or it'll just change daily, depending on his mood. Who knows.]

Nothing wrong with being different. It's the different stuff that's important. Makes you you and not someone else.

[Look, it's matching even if it isn't matching. At least, it's enough to make her feel excited.]

Really?

[She turns onto her side to look at him better.]

I thought what was different about me...is what made me alone. It's okay to be different...and to be me?

Yeah. Of course it's okay. I'm different from everyone else here too, aren't I?

[And she likes him, apparently, so it's the first comparison that jumps to mind. It's not one he'd normally otherwise be very fond of, for he too prefers to emphasize how he's like the rest. Unity, equality, humanity. All those good things. Independence is a recent discovery in his life but he's grown to value it.]

Yeah! You're special!

[That, she has no arguments for. And thinking that it could mean the same for her fills her with a strange feeling of warmth that sets her to happy giggling.]

Different and special and special and different!

INTRO LOG: JULY

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