logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: LIGHT UP THE NIGHT

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: LIGHT UP THE NIGHT

characters: everyone.
location: around town.
date/time: november 5-7.
content: use that bonfire!
warnings: n/a. please cw tags appropriately.

maybe we can bring back the light

Shortly after Robin's network post, a magnificent display of fireworks will start to launch from the lighthouse! They're odd-looking, though, given that they glow but don't cast light. But still cool to watch! The best place to view the show is at the beach, but some of the bigger explosions can be seen just over the treetops from town, and they can certainly be heard from all over Beacon. Exciting! Maybe! Robin sure thinks so! The fireworks will continue for a couple of hours before a very colorful grand finale, after which the lighthouse beam will shine red again for the duration of the event.

Meanwhile, back in town, Rastus has set up a magnificent display of his own. Torches are set up in a wide circle around the bonfire (which looks a bit less bright, given how many torches he's pulled from it), ready for the taking. You don't even have to talk to him first! He's lingering nearby, though, and... has looked more excited about things in the past. This is gonna be a bookkeeping nightmare, he can tell.

In any case, the torches are free for the taking, but do remember to report any torch movement to the event header on the item requests page. Don't let Rastus's fears become reality!

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I. Not A Fan Of Fireworks CW: PTSD, minor WW2 flashbacks

The word "fireworks" doesn't actually bring up any obvious associations for the Soldier, so they wander down to the beach at the requested time, curious.

Turns out that's a bad idea. The fireworks may not generate any actual carrying light, but they are still basically explosions, and they make both a lot of noise and a lot of smoke. Veterans of various wars often don't mix well with that sort of thing. Even the colors, in this case, make things worse.

The first bloom of fireworks gets a flinch, the second a low-pitched but wordless whine of both voice and servos in the metal arm, and the third has the Soldier covering its head with both arms, metal and flesh. When one explodes in blue, the Soldier outright bolts back for the nearest building, which in this case is the church. And there they'll stay until the show is over, huddled on the floor between the pews, mentally reliving disjointed pieces of several battles in swift succession.

II. But a Fan of Light

Given some time to calm down, and the end of the show, the Soldier takes it slow on their way to the bonfire to collect a torch. Robin said it would help to spread the light around, and Aziraphale does like to read.... It smiles just faintly at Rastus, then carts its prize back across town to Miner's Castle circle, and installs the new light in front of Aziraphale and Crowley's house, where it can shine through the front window into the living room and kitchen.

Not inside, of course. That would make it a lot harder to see out, and clock any potential threats. But this is still more light than they had before.

After that, satisfied that their housemates will have better light for reading and working and making out or whatever else they do, it circles the village and surrounds, not quite a patrol, to see what everyone else has done with the torches.

The fireworks are stunning, Rosinante thinks. Not like anything he's seen before. He's perfectly familiar with explosives - well-trained in them, uses them regularly on assignments, and is a little bummed out he only has the one grenade remaining in his pack. He's always thought them to be dramatic, but never beautiful. Not like this.

But he catches movement out of the corner of his eye while watching the display. Is that - yes, that's Soldat, bolting for the church. Concerned, he lingers a moment longer at the shore, but then follows. On arriving at the church, he sees the figure barely visible among the pews, and knocks on the frame to announce his entry. He's familiar enough with the difficulties of soldiers to have a feeling as to what's going on, and doesn't want to take him by surprise.

"Hey. It's Rosinante. You all right?" he asks quietly as he steps forward into the room.

1. Clumsy

"Want to come for a walk?"

Rosinante is hefting a torch, and gives it an experimental toss. It sure would be cool if he caught it by the lower half, as if practiced in torch-juggling. Instead, he reaches to catch it and the burning side strikes him in the palm. Alarmed, he jerks his hand back and squeaks with pain as the torch falls to the ground.

Reassuring, isn't it?

2. Fireworks

The show is absolutely stunning. Nothing like he's ever seen before. Rosinante lies on the pebble-covered shore with his hands behind his head and a cigarette in his mouth, staring up at the sky.

"How do you suppose they make them so colorful?" he asks to whoever is nearby.

Stone hasn't seen anything like it, either. He's sitting, rather than laying, because the ground is cold and he's a frail old man (damn aging), but he's watching fairly avidly himself. It's far enough away that he can actually see it clearly, which is amazing these days. Occasionally one of the louder ones will make his hands twitch, like they might have claws and might want to swipe at something, but mostly he's just enjoying the show.

"Magic?" he guesses. "That's what they'd do on my world. If they did anything like this anywhere on my world. We have fire guns and flying boats, but not colored explosions, that I know of."

"Mm." He's thoughtful a moment. It's not the response he had hoped for, but admittedly it's one he had expected.

"Is that how things are in your world, then? Enough magic where if you don't know how something works, 'magic' is a good answer for everything?"

After months here, he's becoming sort of torn on this particular topic. Magic is interesting, but it's also kind of a letdown when used to explain anything at all, as if no deeper understanding is needed. It seems dismissive, rather than engaging.

There's a clank of metal on wood as the Soldier twitches in surprise and the arm bangs onto a pew, but then the familiar head peeks up over the back of the pew, takes in who it is and where he is, then sinks back down to put its head in its hands, still sitting on the floor. (Not even thinking about pronouns at the moment. There are still explosions playing in its brain. That's too distracting.)

"Not really. Will be later." A pause, then a little more quietly, "Probably."

He takes stock of the situation. Soldat is cowering, looking for cover in the nearest safe place even though there's logically no threat. The explosions bringing back waking nightmares aren't new to him in concept and rather than ask what he can do, he simply does.

With a muttered "Silent" and a snap of his fingers, a faintly blue-tinted bubble emerges, centered on his hand, which then expands to fill the room. The explosions, the chatter and oohs and aaws, all sound outside the church itself ceases. Rosinante sits on top of a pew with his feet on the seat and looks toward the altar, rather than staring at Soldat.

"Better?"

There's a pause, then another peek above the pew a moment later. The Soldier still looks a little wild-eyed, but at least mostly present. Things are still shaky inside its brain, but there's nothing outside making it worse. "You. Yes. What did you do."

"Sound barrier. Everything outside can't get through it," he says, casting a sideways glance toward Soldat for a brief moment as he moves.

He's sparing with his ability, but after months here, he's no longer so secretive about it. It has come in useful a good few times to shelter private conversations, or to help him and Mary sleep through whatever passes for night here. It feels good to be able to use his abilities openly, to help someone suffering.

The Soldier drops its head again, this time directly onto the pew, with a little groan. "Thank you. That's. Thank you. It's better. If I can't hear it." Just going to keep eyes away from the windows, so it can't see the colored flashes, and then it can pretend nothing bad is happening at all.

Once the reel of devastation stops playing behind its eyes, anyway.

Talking. Talking is a distraction. That will help. "How did you do it."

"I'm a shapeshifter, my people live in a giant sentient tree, and I've sired two mentors who regularly got visions of the future," Stone says, sounding vaguely amused. "There was a magister I knew who could make people invisible, and another who could make rocks open like flowers. Magic is a perfectly reasonable answer."

"Back home, I ate the calm-calm fruit," he explains, as he glances toward the stained glass, admiring how the colors filter through the panes. Stunning. A shame it's so terrifying to Soldat, who must have lost people - or himself - in bombs and gunfire. It reminds him of the medics again, Gene and Wade - the latter in particular, whose fate had been sealed by one, but Gene hadn't fared well in the shells and explosives either.

"It rewrote my lineage factor. Gave me the ability to manipulate sound. Or to silence it, anyway."

Yeah, okay, fine. He can't really argue, even though he finds himself frowning in the dim lantern light.

"Yeah, I guess. Not sure if it's the same here or not. These must have come in on the ferry. Could've been made in another world."

Which is wild to think about, but it's what Robin had confirmed in her latest series of messages to them all. Everything they ask for comes from some other distant corner of the universe. It would be hard to accept if he hadn't already come to terms with being dead and now reanimated with his soul, or something like it, trapped in a lantern.

"Have you asked Rastus to deliver you anything since you've been here?"

Damn right, he can't argue. Stone doesn't know much about science, sadly, but he's seen a lot of magic. The only science he's really been involved with had been designed to destroy an entire species, and had been falling apart anyway, it was so old.

"No, there's not really anything I need. Besides fresh meat, and that comes anyway." He can't very well ask for live animals to hunt. Even though that would be great. He glances aside at Rosinante, brows up. "Have you?"

"Cigarettes." Lots and lots of those. "Makeup. A sextant. I didn't think much about where they were coming from, just that they would be nice to have. Funny to think it's all from one of those stars out there."

But it confirms his impression that out in the distance, those other worlds hold life. All the planets the people here come from and more are out there, winking out one by one as the World Eaters render them lifeless and dark.

"Useful."

The flickers of destructive memory let up enough to give it a real, complete memory, of during the hallucinations. Finding Rosinante crouched over the ruins of the boathouse, completely silent. It had thought that was part of the hallucinations, at the time, but... maybe not.

"But I can hear you now."

"We're inside something like a bubble. Sound can't go through it. We can hear each other since we're both inside, but we can't hear anything out there, and anyone out there wouldn't be able to hear us in here. Barrier's right about where the doors and walls are. It's not the only thing I can do, but it's the most useful for a situation like this one."

Been a while since he had a smoke, and it's a relief to know now that he'll be able to request more soon so long as the newest batch doesn't destroy their new ferry. He takes a moment to unscrew his lantern and light a cigarette on the exposed flame, then has a deep breath.

"Want one?"

That does make sense. Enough that it can stop asking questions about it, since it's probably some kind of magic, if it came from a fruit.

And the offer of the cigarette is an even better distraction. "Yes. Please. You are a fuckin' saint," the Soldier says, only a little shakily, and heaves itself up onto the pew instead of sitting on the damn floor.

He withdraws a cigarette from the pack and lights it, then holds it out to take while he seals the lantern back up. The claim of "saint" earns him a brief odd look, but he lets it go. One of those words that has deeply different connotations between worlds, and Soldat can surely be excused for that.

"Just keeping an eye out," he says with a shrug. "Gotta watch each other's backs here." It's been a long time since he had recruits to look after, and he never cared for it anyway. Thankfully his title of Commander was primarily a formality and only briefly literal truth before Sengoku made sure his career became, and remained, solo work as the Fleet Admiral's preferred spy.

The Soldier accepts gratefully, using the metal hand just in case: though the plates are shivering a little, the internal structures are sound, and so the whole limb isn't trembling. The first drag already makes it feel better.

Them. Makes them feel better. That's right, supposed to not be an "it" anymore. After a second, they agree wearily, "Yeah, we do. I'm trying, too. Apparently not so well, if things are exploding, though." Feels like a fucking idiot now, it's not like anyone else freaked out, but there's not much to be done about it. Fear isn't rational. It knows this. They know this.

"It's all right. Just try and focus on what's here, in the present."

Never mind caring for others, really - it's advice he's been told before to keep himself from slipping into places he doesn't want to be. Advice he relied on as a lifeline as a child, and still sometimes has to return to even now to keep the ghosts at bay.

It's been a little while since he's been in the church. He doesn't come often, not having any real attachment to any sort of worship, but it's a nice building in its own right. Rebuilt after whatever had happened to it, it functions as yet another sign of their stubborn persistence in the darkness.

"Did you follow any kind of religion at home?" he asks.

The Soldier shakes their head, keeping their gaze focused narrowly on the cigarette, for now. "If I did. I don't remember." Which doesn't bother it very much, to be honest, though now it's a little curious. Religion isn't something they've ever really thought about much. Rosinante gets a glance, though, before looking back at the cigarette and having another puff. "Did you?"

"No. Never saw much point in it. Couldn't figure out which gods are made up by men and which might be real. All seemed about the same to me."

But he doesn't judge those who do. Sometimes it just makes him wonder if he's missing out on something he should have learned about as a child.

"I believe in people, though. Humanity as a whole can do so much together. There's something that unites us all, across seas and maybe across worlds, too." It's a modest sort of spirituality, but it's all he really needs. It gives him hope.

It's a nice thought. Naive, but nice. "I would never have believed that. In my life. Ever. All the people I knew were evil." Maybe there were good people Before HYDRA, but the only one the Soldier remembers is Steve, and him only in snatches.

The Soldier is trying to make the cigarette last, but it's hard when it does really help with the background buzz and shudders of the disjointed flashbacks. So it has another drag, thinks of Misty, and Crowley, and even Rosinante here sharing a cigarette and some much-needed silence... admits, "It's a little easier, here. Maybe."

"Simpler, with fewer people," he agrees. "And we all have death in common, for what that's worth. I've known evil, don't get me wrong. But not everyone is like that."

In fact, he's content to pass off the evil he's seen as something minor. He doesn't really want to elaborate. The kind of cruelty people are capable of is deeply horrifying, as personal experience has taught him. But the good in most people goes beyond that. And whether good or evil, people are variable, creative, and capable of so much. It fills him with awe, and it keeps him pushing forward even when things get dark.

Maybe that's why people like churches. They're a good space for quiet contemplation.

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EVENT LOG: LIGHT UP THE NIGHT

Bucky/Soldat | OTA (CW for first prompt: PTSD, minor WW2 flashbacks)

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Rosinante | OTA

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