logsinthenight | INTRO LOG: NOVEMBER

INTRO LOG: NOVEMBER

INTRO LOG: NOVEMBER
OLD FAT BOAT

characters: everyone.
location: the harbor, and around town.
date/time: november 1-3.
content: the ferry's back! yay! and it's piled high with goodies! yay!
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.

•••

To everyone's surprise, the ferry does indeed arrive on schedule. Right on time, it comes chugging along toward the beach, though its usually noisy engines are silent. And it seems to be sitting quite low in the water... Hmm.

Unfortunately for those unlucky enough to find themselves onboard, there isn't yet a replacement dock for the one that was destroyed last month. The ferry stops right where it would normally anchor, but then... that's it.

Logistically, there's good news and bad news: The good news is that the ferry is only about 25-30 feet from shore, which is well within the safety of the harbor and is a manageable distance for swimming with an open flame. The bad news? It's... 25-30 feet from shore, which is going to make unloading supplies, er, tricky.

The usual monthly stock has also come in, but, oh, what's this? There's an awful lot in the cargo hold. An awful, awful lot. As a matter of fact, the boat is absolutely filled with food and goods. The storage areas are packed tight, but the bounty spills out onto the decks, and even into the cabins. It's entirely possible that some of the newbies woke up surrounded by potatoes, or with a carton of eggs balanced on them. Maybe even in a pile of Beacon's signature standard clothing. In short, the ferry has become a proverbial horn of plenty.

Where all this stuff came from is one mystery, but another is how to get it all to shore. Better unload it before the weight sinks the ferry again! Just kidding. (Or are we?)

At a glance, the only thing out of place on the ferry is that the door to the bridge is welded shut. Seems a small price to pay for this resurrection though, doesn't it? Besides that one door and all these goodies piled high on the ship, it's almost as if the ferry crash never even happened. Maybe things will be okay after all?

Or maybe the new arrivals will have something to say about that. 🤔

And speaking of newcomers, the tablet and the town have some resources available for getting acquainted with their new situation! In fact, as soon as they're prompted to enter a network username, an app containing all sorts of useful welcome information will launch. Newcomers can always check out the weekly bulletins and the records in town hall as well, and everyone's welcome to get in touch with the NPCs through their inboxes.

ooc.

Hey there, wonderful players, and welcome to In the Night! For this intro log, you are officially without a chaperone. Rastus is back at the bonfire, Will is characteristically elusive, and Robin is, well, you know where she's at. It's up to the veteran residents to fill in the new folks.

As hinted above, it's also up to veteran residents (and newbies alike) to figure out the missing dock situation. Some efforts have already been started to rebuild the structure, but until that's done, the logistics are in your hands! Swim for it, fly for it, teleport to the beach, or maybe use one of the rafts or boats built earlier to shuttle people to and fro. Whatever you do, just make sure you get all the cargo (and people!) off the ferry before it departs.

As an additional note: We will NOT be tracking how you do all of that! There's no need to report salvage efforts to us, as by now, we trust y'all players to make things happen. So long as we see these challenges getting addressed ICly, we'll assume the town came together and figured it out somehow. Nice work, everyone!

DELIVERIES

The following packages can be found in the cargo hold:

The monthly store restock
A smorgasbord of other items; though limited in scope to the items typically found in the restock/stores, there's an abundance of everything.
And that's it. With the fate of the ferry uncertain, Rastus was unable to order deliveries last month. :(
...Except for a single box of blueberry Poptarts for Peter Parker.

QUICKNAV
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[Rosalind glances up from her book. Let's say they're in the Invincible, because she's got a glass of wine and her lantern and a fairly decent book on psychology and a long night ahead of her. But she glances up, and even shakes the offered hand.]

Madam Lutece.

[And she may call her that.]

There aren't assigned rooms. You can find an empty one and claim it, though. There's rooms upstairs, I believe, or a fair few across the river.

Welcome.

[ Holy fucking shit, that's wine. Midge's eyes zero in on it despite herself, though it's just a flicker before she's back to being her polite, chipper self. Would it be in poor taste to try to get absolutely smashed right now by way of dealing with the fact that she doesn't understand anything going on?

Probably.

She does let her gaze settle on the book--psychology. Ooh, she's a smart one. Good. ]

Kind of strange that this whole place is awfully calm. I was expecting more--I don't know, kvetshing. General panic. Ten plagues of Egypt. Pompeii--you know.

[ She indicates to the empty chair. ]

May I?

[DRINK UP MIDGE THAT'S WHAT ROS DOES.]

By all means.

[She shifts a little, setting down her book.]

It helps that a fair few of us have been here for nearly half a year now. One can only panic for so long. Add to the fact we all have wildly different experiences pre-death, and panic quickly turns to curiosity.

For example: I myself died in 1910. Judging by your clothes . . . I'd guess you're at least twenty or thirty years ahead of me.

[ At Rosalind's instructions, Midge takes off her coat and sets it on the back of her chair, dressed to the nines as she takes the spot opposite her. Half a year, Rosalind says, like it's nothing. Blue eyes widen, and her expression would be almost comical if it didn't look like she was about to throw up for a split second. Her gaze moves over to the wine glass--yeah, she's going to want some in a few moments.

Pre-death. Let's not focus on that, because Midge is firmly in denial, and anyway, Rosalind keeps talking. Her eyes are still wide, but it's with curiousity as she finds herself digging into the pockets of her wool coat to produce a bright pink notebook. She's quickly flipping to an empty page, and click goes the pen she keeps with it as she starts writing, glancing up and nodding to show she's listening. ]

Got it in one. 1910, though, wowzers. You don't look a day over 23.

[ Is that a joke? It's a joke. It's a bad joke, but she's not as quick-witted as she'd like right now. ]

[She scoffs, more surprised than amused, because she's far past the age-- and was never the temperament, frankly-- where people would flatter her in such a way.]

You're a decade off, I'm afraid.

[She looks at that notebook, and then adds:]

Ask. There's a newcomer's guide, but I imagine one-on-one is easier when it comes to the slew of questions undoubtedly banging about your head right now.

Remind me to ask you about your skincare routine. [ She's 100% serious, too, although she does stop writing once Rosalind keeps talking. Her pen gets set down carefully, head tilting to the side. ]

I didn't get a guide.

[ Has she even touched her tablet? nope. ]

Look on your device. It's right there.

[She nods down towards her own, resting on the table.]

It was written to be a very basic introduction to this world.

This tchotchke?

[ She hates feeling stupid--she's pale enough that even in the dim light there's a slight flush creeping up on her cheeks that her blush usually hides, even if she remains poised and appearing all sorts of confident. Still, she holds it with one hand and sort of just waves it around. ]

I was thinking more--you know, actual memo. Please tell me you can spare a glass of that wine, I have a feeling I'm already in way over my head and I've just got here.

[She smiles thinly, amused despite herself, and gets to her feet. Comes to Midge's side just so she can tap at her device, drawing up the newcomer's introduction.]

Read. I'll be back shortly.

[With an empty glass and a full bottle of red wine, set neatly between them. Rosalind takes her time, letting this woman fill herself in, fiddling with her own device and sipping some wine while she waits.]

Oh! [ It's a little delighted gasp as Rosalind presses the power button and she's greeted with the tablet coming to life. Like she's just seen a party trick, or a new lipstick is on sale.

The expression is gone by the time Rosalind returns. The bottle is set down, the glass next to it, but Midge's expression is fixed on the tablet as she reads, brows knit, blue eyes wide, lips parted. She's all but frozen, barely breathing. She's on her third re-read when she finally looks up at Rosalind, shock still washing over her in waves. ]

Fuck.

Quite.

[She crosses one leg over the other, setting her tablet down.]

One gets used to it. We've cultivated something of a community here. But it is rather a shock when one first arrives.

Drink some wine.

[ Don't have to tell her twice. The moment the word 'drink' leaves her lips, Midge is already reaching for the bottle and pouring generously. To her credit, her hands are only shaking marginally. ]

You have a cigarette?

[ Yup. Still processing. ]

[She reaches down, tugging out her packet of cigarettes, passing one over alongside a lighter.]

Savor it. You have to order them each month if you want them; alcohol, however, is in endless supply.

[She studies her for a few moments, then adds:]

. . . I imagine you've suffered losses. It's best not to think about them, at least at first.

I owe you twice. [ Gosh, she's got a lighter, too. Midge would make some sort of crack about Rosalind lighting it if her hands weren't shaking, just a bit. A little bit more wine and that won't be a problem. ]

I--I had a career that was really taking off. I have kids. I'm only 27.

[God. Twenty-seven, that's not too far from Rosalind herself, but far enough she feels the difference.]

Yes.

[. . .]

And now you're here. Your children aren't, which is fortunate.

[She doesn't know what else to say. She isn't good at comforting, not at all. In her mind, there's nothing but to go forward and accept the truth.]

. . . you aren't the only one here to experience loss, if that comforts you any.

It doesn't.

[ But Midge takes a heavy drink--if this is real, which she's starting to believe it is more and more, there's no point in taking it out on someone she doesn't even know.

God, this is embarrassing. She's going to cry in a public room and she's got a full face of makeup on. She inhales, gently pats the corner of her eyes, and by the time she's clasped her hands in front of her, her demeanor's back to her usual self. ]

Okay--so, that manual covered all of the nuts and bolts. That means I can press you for other things, right?

Yes. Although I'm not known to be generous.

[That said: she likes Midge already, purely thanks to that blunt answer.]

But yes. If you've need of something, I'm certain we can find an agreeable arrangement.

[ Arrangement. That's awful fancy, Midge thinks, and she cocks her head to the side just a fraction of the way. 'Arrangement,' it's a very clinical word. ]

You seem plenty generous to me. You're helpin' a gal out, after all.

[ 'Generous' and 'nice' aren't really the same thing, but Midge doesn't catch on to that. Instead, she smiles. ] I was thinking more like... 'so-and-so doesn't get along with so-and-so, so keep them apart when hosting parties,' or, 'so-and-so doesn't bathe,' or, 'the lighthouse keeper likes apples but is allergic to onions so be careful with everything bagels.' I can definitely find out myself but it's much easier if I get a head start.

[ She wants some tea, mostly so she can mentally prepare herself for when she inevitably has to butter someone up to get what she wants. ]

Ah. That kind of information.

[Hm. She sips at her wine, the nails of her left hand tapping idly against the wood of the table.]

I'm not up to date on that kind of gossip for most, I'm afraid. But Rastus is a good man to get on your side. You can request items from him, and he'll attempt to bring them the next time the ferry comes around. Irritate him, and he'll still fulfill it, but he won't go to any extra effort. Robin, too-- the lighthouse keeper?-- is worth investing in. She's . . . a child, really, and not, all at once.

[Hm. Midge is twenty-seven . . . which means she'd be old enough to--]

You know war. Or you know enough, at least, to know what it does to a person. How it ages them. Robin is a fair bit like that. Seventeen, but not. Will, our network expect, is an ass. I wouldn't bother with him; he thinks he's far smarter than he is.

Let's see. The alcohol and food are free, as is anything you can find in the general store. The spirits around town-- the Librarian, the Postmaster General, and so on-- are more friendly than the ones in the woods, and sometimes they'll go to more effort to help you if you get on their good side.

There are . . . how shall I say this . . . headstrong people among us. Rash, perhaps. Three of them crashed the ferry a month ago: Crowley, Aziraphale, and the third whose name I've never learned, but that follows them around a fair bit. I, myself, am a scientist, and quite frankly the greatest you'll find here; if you've need to an invention, by all means. Javert is a policeman; he does his best to guard us, though against the spirits, he-- all of us-- fall short at times. I would not advise you to stray past the perimeter of the town unless you're well-armed, or particularly talented at running.

Edited 2019-12-06 02:19 (UTC)

[ There it is: what Midge needs. The anxiety, the nerves, the shaking hand from before as the realization that she was, in fact, dead is almost completely gone. Is she taking notes as Rosalind says all of this?

Absolutely. God, she wishes she hadn't railed on shorthand girls. She could use that about now. ]

'Madam Lutece, greatest scientist'--you're a female scientist? [ If her expression is anything to go by, Midge is absolutely elated about this. Good for her, she thinks, deeply impressed. And from the 1910s. ]

Even if I wanted to, I can't run. Heels. Plus, the last thing anyone is to see me with calves like a bull. What about the people less...headstrong? Javert, obviously. And you.

I am, yes.

[And she's still proud of that, honestly, as evidenced by the slight smile that graces her face, there and gone. But hm . . .]

There are a few children here. Some of them are similar to the children I mentioned before: young, but aged by circumstance. Jason, Eleven, Remington . . . Riku, Vanitas. Not incapable of caring for themselves, but I think they sometimes forget how young they are. Mary is very much a child, and I don't know how she's managed to survive this long, save by sheer dumb luck.

As for the adults . . . well. There's you and I. Newton Geiszler is a competent scientist and doctor, but his pride is easily damaged. [okay, ros] Elena Gilbert is-- ah.

[A moment. She smiles thinly.]

I've informed you on the strangeness of this place. Would you accept another oddity?

Edited (words) 2019-12-07 21:44 (UTC)

[ More notes. Midge's handwriting is impeccable (and longhand, thank you), and she looks up, blue eyes surprised. ]

Yes--please, yes.

[ She looks back down, writing. 'Newton Geiszler: smart, prideful. Like Papa.' ]

There are vampires here. At least one, but likely more than one.

[ Hold up-- ]

...Dracula?

Mm. Correct idea, although not the man himself. Blood sucking, though, that's spot on.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

INTRO LOG: NOVEMBER

iii; hey u

wink wonk hey bb

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