logsinthenight | 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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The Soldier holds very still, now. Is it going to get punished for losing its weaponry? It probably should be, it was so stupid. Even after getting a handful back from Noctis, the spirits had just redoubled their efforts. Stupid spirits. Stupid Soldier, too.

It takes a breath, and admits, "All of them. I have twelve. Had twelve. Also two of my guns and one grenade. But those are here." Thank fuck for that. The thought of losing one of only three grenades to a random explosion in the woods had been painful.

Javert makes a considering noise, setting the blade down on one of the tables before reaching into his coat and saying, "It seems I have counted correctly, then."

And then he draws out the remaining eleven knives, one by one, setting them on top of the table in a slow, dramatic fashion. Each pocket seems to house at least one, and some of them come from the inside of his sleeves. Once they are all laid out before him, Javert quirks a brow and wonders,

"How on earth did they manage to steal so many from you?"

The Soldier stares a little as the first couple come out. Breaks into a hesitant, surprised, but very real smile at the next few. By the last one, it's actually laughing weakly. It is a day of firsts for you, Javert. You made the Soldier laugh.

"Jesus. Bad luck, mostly. And determination. And being wily little fucks that even I can't hear coming, sometimes." Whoops, language. It starts collecting its knives and tucking them away as neatly and completely as Javert had produced them-- since apparently the "punishment" was dealing with Javert being dramatic. That is the best punishment in the world, okay. Its handler has a ridiculous dramatic streak, and that has endeared him to the Soldier so much, now.

Some have to go in its pockets rather than various sheaths, because it does not actually have that many sheaths on its person, to add to its emergency stashes around the house and at Misty's. But still. So many knives.

His laughter is a bit disorienting, considering how reserved the other man usually is around him. But if Javert is being honest — and he always is —it's not entirely unwelcome. He watches him stow away his knives, and hides his face a little further into his collar. His voice is muffled by the wool as he hums,

"That is disconcerting."

He's not going to mention that he, too, had something stolen from him. That is not something the Soldier needs to know, especially when it has long since been retrieved. Instead, he asks, "It is your habit to carry so many weapons?"

"Not all at once," the Soldier allows, sliding the biggest knife-- almost as long as his forearm, recently gained from the armory because it couldn't not top off its blade supply when faced with that place for the first time-- at home in an actual sheath at its thigh. That one isn't a spare but part of its standard setup, it's actually pretty attached to it already. Has a nice weight to it. "Usually just one or two guns and five knives. But I have to take them home somehow." That's... still a lot of weapons, Soldier.

How many knives are too many? Not five, apparently, but twelve. Javert doesn't make any sort of expression, but the thought brings him amusement. Once he's finished stowing away his weapons, he asks,

"Is this a personal preference, or are you simply preparing for the unlikely event of someone disarming you?" He's assuming this incident with the forest spirits is an anomaly.

Uh. Well. The Soldier hesitates, but the unattractive truth pops out in the end. "I don't feel safe without being fully armed." It doesn't feel safe even then, but it feels safeer. "It's what I would be kitted out with on missions. Less than for missions. Usually that was four guns and seven knives and backup with larger weapons on hand."

He considers this a moment and then nods. "I understand."

The inspector himself can hardly fathom going anywhere without his club, modest a weapon as it is. Javert doesn't harm unless he absolutely must, but it's a comfort to have it with.

"I may have offered them back to you sooner, had I known."

The Soldier shrugs, tucking the last weapon away. "Then I would have missed your very dramatic return." It tilts its head, as if considering, then says firmly, "Worth it."

It may not be a habit of Javert's to smile, but he very nearly does at the Soldier's words. "You like that, do you?"

He'll have to remember that. People are usually not so impressed by his dramatics. "Shame you could not have seen the arrests I have made. They were much the same."

Impressed might not be the right word. Amused, certainly. Enlightened, definitely. Impressed? Maybe a little less, what with the reminder of arrests and such. "It's new," the Soldier says. "A new thing I've seen from you. That's good."

Perhaps he should impress a reminder of his employment a little more often, then. The way the Soldier speaks of him make it seem as if they are becoming familiar with each other, and Javert does not appreciate the reminder.

"Don't get used to it," he snaps. He already knows he is becoming soft, by socializing himself with others, and he detests it.

The Soldier swallows the faint smile, even if it still feels it, and ducks its head obediently. Their voice is perfectly bland again when they answer: "Of course. Thank you for my knives, sir." Reminds it of Crowley. Pretending so hard not to care.

EVENT LOG: LOSE YOUR SOUL

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