logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: LOSE YOUR SOUL

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: LOSE YOUR SOUL

characters: everyone.
location: bonfire square, around town.
date/time: october 30-31.
content: the spirits stage a play! and then the thefts begin...
warnings: none. just mischief.

you're gonna lose your soul tonight, tonight

It's probably something you're used to by now: waking up to some new, strange thing suddenly appearing somewhere around town. This time it's a ramshackle stage sitting prominently in the center of the square. It's complete with benches and a haggard-looking red curtain, and it's clear by the amount of forest spirits milling and fussing around it that they're the ones responsible. For most of the day, the spirits seem concerned only with attracting as many people as possible, trying to herd them into the seats. But as the moon rises, the performance finally begins.

There's an awkward shuffling behind the curtain before it lifts, revealing a very crude set made of actual branches used as trees. Various pieces of junk have been shined up and stuck to the back wall to serve as the night sky. In the midst of it all stand several spirits holding very small torches taken from the Bonfire. Sticks, really, placed inside empty cans with holes punched in them and rusted wires for handles. These spirits wave their "lanterns" about for the benefit of the audience before miming the act of walking across the stage without actually going anywhere. From somewhere above them, a pair of long arms descends to shake the "trees" on either side; seems the Postmaster General wanted to lend their talents to the cause.

The protagonists of this pantomime talk amongst themselves, in the chirps, hoots, and whistles that make up their language. They motion to one another, pointing at things and conferring before finally nodding and, apparently, continuing on whatever "journey" they're supposed to be on. This goes on for a few minutes before another set of players enter the stage— or at least reveal themselves.

Perhaps a few eagle-eyed viewers have spotted them already, but the second group of spirits pops out of the set itself. One detaches itself from a "tree", one drops from the poorly-painted sky, and two more emerge from where they've been hiding behind the foliage. These spirits are holding prop lanterns, too, though theirs are shielded, giving off very little light. But their most notable feature is that they're wearing animal masks; a deer, a fox, a raccoon, and a rabbit for the tallest one. These aren't the masks that make up their faces, they're extras, seemingly tied on over their own.

As the second group jumps up, the first reacts with emphatic shock, and then a brief scuffle ensues. In the chaos, the animal-masked spirits make off with the others' lanterns, dashing away and off the stage. The original few begin to wail, to writhe, to clutch at their throats, and then, ultimately, to fall very over-dramatically to the floor. Other spirits sneak out to drag them out of view, but that isn't quite the end of the performance.

A spirit dressed in a cloak and garish feathers stomps onto the stage with a wooden beak affixed to its face. In one hand it holds a full-sized torch as it waves its fake wing-arms around and tries to squawk. Suddenly, the masked— double masked? spirits arrive again, grabbing the feathered creature, snatching the torch, and tossing the poor feathered spirit to the ground. Victorious, they hoot loudly, and then rush offstage once more. (Probably to return those torches before Rastus has a fit.)

Finally, the Postmaster General, done with their role as the entire set, unfurls a banner from the eaves. Clearly courtesy of the Librarian, it reads, in smeared black paint: BWAR FIRE SNACTHERS!!! with two X-ed out bonfires on either side.

And... that's it, apparently. The forest spirits all gather back on stage to bow before starting to dismantle the set. But their strange cautionary tale isn't over, oh no. It's time for a more personal demonstration. They've got to send home the message. Literally.

Throughout the night and the following day, things start to go missing. Perhaps even out of their owner's hands. Chase the spirits down for your stuff, hold someone else's things for ransom, or just break down and cry in your room because life is unfair— the choice is yours! Just let this be a reminder to heed what the spirits said: beware the Fire Snatchers.

Whatever those are.

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After spending the last few days chafing in the cabin, alternating between extreme worry for Eliot and the urge to still go out, still do something to save everyone, even if it means throwing himself at the forest and hoping for the best, Quentin finds himself in the church.

Not because he's all that religious, or because he missed company. It's not, and he's actively avoiding everyone else who might be there, while still heading towards the big pile in the center.

Not that he's missing anything, not that he'd notice unless a spirit ran off with Eliot and that doesn't seem like something they're abut to do. Yet. He's not discounting anything right now, not after the hell that was last week.

But the pile.

It's just a bunch of stuff, all thrown together with no rhyme or reason, but there- at the edge. There's something very familiar. A sword, with a blue kind of gemstone set in the handle and he knows this one. Picking it up, and it's as heavy and easy to wield as last time he held it.

Quentin takes it, holding it down along his side as he hurries out of the church and out in to the free air, just to see how it would feel. To get more than one practice swing in, and without anyone watching.

Well, pants, check. Tablet...check, eventually. But where is Pure Havoc? Cao Pi dodges the others also picking up their items long enough to verify that his sword is not in the pile, which sends him storming out of the church in a snit. Where is it? Who dares? Did someone take advantage of the spirits' little trick to make off with his weapon?

It takes him a short while to search the area, but eventually he does come across the culprit - from behind, drawn by the sound of a metal blade whistling through the air as it do. He's still fairly irate, but it's tempered by a touch of exasperation. So instead of charging in to confront Quentin, Cao Pi prowls up like a tiger, brow knit darkly. "Having a good time?"

It's a nice sword. The winding gold filigree on the handle, that goes up the first part of it, the hilt just wide enough and padded enough to feel like it's almost made for a hand. Not like the swords of his childhood, all wooden and hard to hold. Or the ones he tired in Fillory, made for bigger hands than his. Or maybe just better ones. Steady ones.

He swishes the blade back and forth, a small smile on his face that slide right off when he hears that voice, and he almost stumbles trying to turn around too fast and not let go.

"Uh. Yes?"

He hasn't even taken a moment to change back into his pants, they're slung over his arm, so he still cuts a weird figure in those jeans and the ornate armor. Cao Pi strolls forward but there's something vaguely threatening in his stance. "Would you care to explain how my sword ended up in your hand?"

"Uh...no? Yes? I mean, I just-- I found it?"

Which sounds like a stupid excuse to Quentin's own ears, even if it is the truth. He does stop swishing the sword around and just holds it loosely at his side, before wrinkling his nose.

"I found it in the church, and I didn't want anyone else to take it. I knew it was yours. Because- uh, because of last time?"

The prowling continues! Though it's only a few short steps before Zihuan is in front of Quentin, eyes flicking down to the blade. Found it in the church is the right answer or there'd be worse than just some sassy snark in repayment. "Did you. But, of course, you were simply coming to find me and happened to pause here to swing around a bit, hmm?"

"Uh--"

Wow, Cao Pi is right in his face and Quentin steps back, blinking fast. "I-- yes? No? I don't really know where you, uh. I don't know where you live?"

And it was a nice sword. So. Quentin is still holding on to it, and it's starting to feel weird still doing that. "I was going to-- oh, I was going to write to you on the network. Uh huh, yeah. So, okay. That's what I was going to do. I just-- maybe I left my tablet back at-- back where I live?"

Intimidation factor max: success! Cao Pi makes a completely exasperated face, since he can't blame someone for thinking that's the right solution. It would be...if his tablet hadn't been in the church.

"I would not have gotten that message," he says flatly. "My tablet was among the things pilfered from my room and my person. Not that you could have known that, but..." Eyes down to the blade and back up again. "Are you going to just stand there and hold it all day?"

"That sounds like a trick question,"

Quentin states, not even close to flatly and he makes a face. "Someone stole this from your room? What do you mean from your person?"

Quentin, who was also missing a thing or two, had noticed it not at all, being too caught up in everything else going on and he just stares at little. Because, what the hell did that mean? Like a pickpocket?

Cao Pi waggles his arm to show his recovered pants. "Yes. I set my blades aside to take care of something and when I turned back, one was gone. My clothing disappeared while I was bathing. One of the little brats even took the tie from my hair while I was standing around in public." Which, at least, finally clued him in to the thieves. "It was a forest spirit. I'm sure a number of them were all involved in this...prank."

"Oh--!"

Because that explains so much, and now that's Cao Pi mentions it-- Quentin looks him over more carefully, a slow smile spreading across his face. "They stole your pants."

Which, okay, might not be the best thing to say, considering, but still. It's pretty funny. "But hey, look-- look, at least you had extra? That's a good thing, right? And-- and I found your sword. That's some of it. There's loads more in the pile in the church, so--" Quentin tries valiantly to hide his giggling behind his free hand. "Maybe-- maybe your pants are in there."

Cao Pi's look is complete exasperation. Yeah. Yeah. Stole his pants, isn't that awesome?

"I just want my sword back," he says firmly, this time holding out a hand in demand. Fun time is over, Quentin, give it back.

"I wasn't going to keep it," Quentin insists, handing it over with one last lingering touch to the handle before handing it over properly. "It's just a very nice sword."

He's probably already mentioned that, but it bears repeating. Quentin stuffs his now empty hands in to his pockets and tilts his head with a small smile. "Are you going to go look for pants now? Oh. Hey, maybe someone is wearing them?"

"On second thought, no. Probably not. No one would wear some stranger's pants that were just lying around, right? That's not a thing people do?"

Everything is better when his sword is in its rightful place, Cao Pi doesn't relax until he slides it home next to its partner and re-hooks the hanging loop of his lantern over both of them. Now stay. "I appreciate it. But next time, you would do well to simply hand it over and not play with it. My patience is already stretched thin by all of this."

Now that his hands are free again, he moves an arm to indicate the fold of purply-blue silk that was hiding in the crook of his elbow. "I have them, but going to my room to change was not nearly as important as finding my sword. Now that I have, I should like to get out of these." Meaning the jeans he's been stuffed into for the last day or so. He clearly has no idea how to pick a size given how stupidly tight they are. "How do you people stand these?"

"Jesus, I didn't steal it. And I gave it back?"

He's not saying that he didn't have to, that he was being kind, but he wants to and there's a frown on his face until Cao Pi points to his pants, carefully perched over his arm.

"Oh, I have no idea. I don't wear them. They pinch, and-- and also, I think you're wearing ones that are too small? Or, maybe they're supposed to look good and feel like crap? They make clothes like that where I'm from."

If they're too small that would explain pretty much everything but Cao Pi genuinely has to stop and stare at Quentin again. I'm sorry what. "Where you come from they...deliberately wear uncomfortable clothing?"

Not that armor can't be uncomfortable at times but there are a million benefits to his luxurious silk clothing and one of them is, it's always comfortable.

"Oh yeah, it's a whole thing? With high heels and underwear that, I swear, are designed to wedge themselves in to places you don't want underwear in. And pants that are so tight, you can't even sit down in them. It's fashion."

He shrugs, "I don't get it either."

Which is why he's always wearing slightly baggy clothes, t-shirt sand hoodies and shirts that don't wedge themselves anywhere until he tries to take them off.

Oof, that deserves an eye-roll, despite the fact that if his wife were here he'd be all into those high heels. "Will wonders never cease," he mutters. "Well. I suppose a thank you is in order for making sure no one else ran off with my sword."

Which he doesn't exactly say openly, and also makes another face like, you do that again and I'll kick your ass with the sword I have left. But he doesn't say it.

“You’re welcome,” Quentin says, voice a little quieter, a little more distant than it was a few minutes ago or how curious he seemed in the woods. He shrugs and stuffs his hands in to his pockets again and looks off towards the forest.

It’s still dark, impenetrable and really fucking creepy.

“You could write your name on your things? That way, everyone would know they were yours. Just. Maybe you’d want to do that.”

Cao Pi casts him a dry look but doesn't entertain the idea. Write his name on his swords? Yeah right.

"I take it you either had nothing stolen, or you already found it. There is quite a pile in the church, some people may be there a while. Though, today is the day we find out whether we'll continue to get newcomers..."

"I don't think so? But, I don't have a lot of things to actually steal, so. That might be it. Or, not a lot of things I'd miss."

Honestly, the spirits or whoever was out there, grabbing things, could have packed down most of the cabin and Quentin wouldn't have known. Not unless someone pointed it out very loudly or shoved something of him in to his hands.

There were more important things to worry about, and he throws another half-longing, half-scared look at the woods.

"But you've found most of yours? That's great."

"Yes..."

This time he notices, and cranes his neck as if to try to see past Quentin. "What is it? Was there something out there worth attacking after all?"

"Uh?"

Quentin snaps his attention back to Cao Pi and the swords, the almost ridiculously tight pants and he shrugs. "No? Maybe. I don't know. I just-- things have been weird lately and. Nevermind, it's probably nothing and if it's something, it can keep until everything is a little more settled."

But. And there's always a 'but' isn't there, and Quentin ignores the urge to giggle like a five year old over that saying. But, there could be something. There could be the way out, a way to get away from this place and it could very well be right out there. In the dark.

Yeah he can almost sense that 'but,' and itches to ask after it, but he's still a bit ruffled over not being able to find his sword easily, plus it's a banner day and if he wants to go down to the beach and smugly crow about the collective failure of certain ferry-crashing idiots, well, he'd best go and change first. It's going to really come in handy when he gets there and realizes there will be no I-told-you-sos today. "Well," he concedes. "I should hope it's nothing, we have more than enough to deal with at the moment. But if it's something, do try not to keep it to yourself."

If there's nothing more, he'll be off to go get comfortable before seeing to the new ferry.

"Yeah, right. I'll, uh, get right on that?"

Quentin does a small wave, and stays there, watching the trees speculatively while Cao Pi walks away.

It's ferry day, if there's a ferry coming after what happened last month. And that still gets his blood boiling and makes his hands clench. Fucking dammit. And thus cheered up, Quentin heads for what used to be the docks to see what will happen this time.

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EVENT LOG: LOSE YOUR SOUL

Nov 1

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lmfao THAT FACE

:)

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