logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: ENTER MR. SANDMAN (DREAMERS)

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: ENTER MR. SANDMAN (DREAMERS)

characters: all characters that signed up as a dreamer for the event.
location: dreamland feat. beacon of the past.
date/time: november 16-29.
content: the dreamers investigate beacon as it once was.
warnings: psychological/existential horror. further cws will arise depending on the location; mods will cw tags appropriately, and you will too!

say your prayers, little one.

Hello, dreamers. Welcome to Beacon.

Below, each group has a toplevel ready and waiting for the investigation to begin. Feel free to tag in however to establish a tag order, and mod responses will begin once each character has tagged in. If you need a refresher on how the event will work, give the OOC info another read!

As for those of you in the ~~sin bin~~ opt out area...

The Beacon of the past isn't all too different from the Beacon of the present, frankly, except for a few notable exceptions. For one, it's far better lit: daylight leaves everything feels a lot brighter and more sensible than eternal night does. Several advertisements for community theater in the Invincible are hung up (Tryouts for the Ice Man Cometh! Cometh try your luck!) and minor lost and found posters are tacked to a community bulletin board nearby. Oh, and a merry little tune is playing on loop from a record player set up outside the Invincible.

It's cheerful, if not a little off-putting. But the signs of life are clear, even if the forest still looks darkly oppressive over yonder.

Additionally, since investigation threads 1) rely on mod responses, and 2) will likely move on the slow side given the nature of the event/size of the groups, if you would like to have your characters "mingle" in their assigned location, please feel free to write your own toplevels! We ask that you post them as separate toplevels not in response to the mod toplevels (so our inboxes don't get super flooded/we don't accidentally miss stuff). Remember that groups may only interact with each other during the event, but you're welcome to assume timey-wimey shenanigans to excuse why your characters are mingling instead of searching for clues—they do have two weeks in this dream, technically, and dreams are not always linear. If your investigation thread has not yet progressed to a point in which you've got enough of a handle on the setting to write a separate mingle starter, ask the mod you're working with! We'll fill you in on some OOC details so you can mingle accordingly while still allowing for characters to discover those details ICly in the investigation thread.

If you're still jonesing for more threading action during the event, we encourage you to check out the TDM!

QUICKNAV
comms	\|	network • logs • memes • ooc
pages	\|	rules • faq • taken • mod contact • player contact • calendar • setting • exploration • item requests • full nav

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Being a little behind Peter, she catches Bruce's shout. No exit that way then, but the doors had opened easily under his hands, she's not concerned. The stretch of time and constriction of distance bothers her more. The appearance of the bell room is almost shocking. For a moment there, she'd thought they'd be trapped on the stairs, going up and up and never getting anywhere at all.

Perhaps because of this, she doesn't bother looking out the windows. She doesn't know Night Time Beacon well enough to compare it to this Daylight one. Instead she goes directly to the bells. This close, their tolling resonates right through her bones, jarring her thoughts and filling her mind until it's hard to think.

Peter's monologue on Vertigo - a film, of course - doesn't help in that respect. Maybe he's scared of heights or something?]

There's got to be a way to stop them.

[She has to shout to make herself heard. Of course she could simply have walked away from the church, the noise would have lessened the further she got. For some reason, that solution doesn't occur to her.]

[And then, all at once...the noise stops.

It's similar to what happened with the church's door. It's not that the bell stops ringing. It's that it just isn't ringing.

In fact, how it was ringing in the first place is a good question, because it isn't attached to anything, isn't hanging like it should be. It sits, dusty and forgotten, on its side, on the floor, large and heavy and covered in dried, rusted fingerprints.

Outside, the windows show everything as it should be. Well, as the peaceful daytime Beacon apparently should be. Except, it's a bit darker now. The sky glows a lovely orange-and-pink sunset.

Back in the main area of the church, Bruce, at first, finds nothing of particular note. At least until he finds a note, folded and peeking out from one of the many unremarkable bibles.]

[It's a task that requires patience and perhaps that's why Bruce is unbothered by it. There was a time, when he smaller, when loss was fresher, that he'd hungered for solutions. That pain and anger had whittled his yearning to a fine point, and when Bruce had found himself ready to accept any solution, so long as it meant the end.

If he's honest with himself, those days don't feel completely behind him. He's learned to choose differently, to wait, but it's not really the same. He wouldn't call it 'easier.'

Walls clear, Bruce makes his way through the pews, slipping two fingers inside the small shelf behind each one, opening and thumbing through bibles, returning them to their places. It's a methodical process, but Bruce's deliberate nature ensures that each item is left as he found it. And then, quite suddenly, he's aware that the bells have stopped. He pauses and his head lifts, turned in the direction of the stairs, and Bruce finds that against the ringing that had echoed in his ears, he's not sure when, precisely, it ended.

His brows pinch and Bruce nearly turns, intending to make his way to the foot of the stairs and call after them again. But he's stopped before he ever gets that far by a small piece of paper. He makes a mental note of the pages between which it was placed, and unfolds it.]

[ there's got to be a way to stop them villanelle says just before the noise does stop, and peter pulls a face that says he's not entirely surprised to have had his commentary on vertigo and acrophobia ignored. instead of answering, then, he squats to one side of the bell.

day-to-day, he makes an effort to make his movements as natural as he can — a little less fluid and a little more clumsy; a little slower than any movements he makes without thinking about it. balancing in unnatural positions is easy and left entirely to his own devices, he quite often ends up perched halfway up walls or on ceilings. sometimes, when he's caught unaware or by surprise; when his spider-sense warns him of a threat entirely suddenly, he forgets.

now is somewhere in-between, and he rests his weight on the balls of his feet; he looks comfortable and at ease, and he reaches out and runs a finger through the dust. (gross, what was he really expecting, right?) he wonders, briefly, if there's anything beneath the upturned bell, but he supposes that it's too heavy for puny ol' peter parker to move out the way.

(the perils of a secret identity.)

with a sigh then, he stands back up. ]

So much for answers. [ he glances at villanelle out of the corner of his eyes. ] You know, I wish I could say I was shocked and surprised by [ he gestures vaguely at the bell ], but given everything... [ mostly the waking up in a version of beacon that's not shrouded in darkness, he means.

he wipes his hand on his trousers, and looks back towards the entrance. exit. way back downstairs. ] We should see how Bruce is getting on.

[Is he a dancer? The thought flits across her mind. There's a weightlessness to his movements that she recognises. Though with her it's usually less musical and more martial. She rubs her ears, which are, well, fine, but she feels like they ought to be popping or aching at the sudden absence of noise. She follows Peter over, chooses not to trail her fingers in grime.]

Why's it covered in dust? Are we in the same time as before?

[Could time have changed? It sounds made up, but then, all of this seems made up. Still, she feels a little foolish asking. She looks up at the windows, reddening light creeps along the walls, day fading into night. Should she be worried about that? Or is that a sign it things are returning to normal? Some kind of normal. She circles round the bell to try and get a look in the hollow, maybe just to check if there's even a clapper inside.]

Was there a point to leading us here? Maybe someone wanted to separate us.

[The thought that Bruce might have met a sticky end is intriguing and she perks up a bit at that.]

You're right. We should go and check.

[Her wide eyes may not accurately portray concern as oppose to excitement.]

[Aside from the bell being abandoned, dusty with disuse, it doesn't seem to hold any further secrets. But as the two turn back to the stairs, they'll notice that they seem much older, now. Not falling apart, really, but there's a worn-down feel about the passageway. Like many, many feet have come up and down...

...and up, and down...

Every step creaks. The walls are covered in fingernail scratches.

Downstairs, Bruce unfolds his note. It says:]

we're all going to die

[Is it a premonition, an expression of anxiety, a warning? Or simply a statement of fact? Memento mori isn't entirely out of place inside a church, though now that he holds this slip of paper in his hand he wonders once again why there isn't a graveyard. He wonders where the people who once lived here buried their dead. Remember Man that you are dust and unto dust you shall return seems less ominous in the absence of tombstones and monuments and though Bruce has never spent much time in church, his understanding of the place has always been a joining of the concerns of both heaven and earth. Actions and consequences.

Beacon is, in this too, uneven.

He looks back at the place where it was found and then, because he is only human, checks the rest of the pages for anything else. Holds the paper up to the light to see if any words might have been written and then erased. The sun is beginning to sink and it changes the aesthetic within the chapel- the color from each piece of stained glass is beginning to wane, to shorten it's slide across the floor. He folds the note back up and tucks it into his pocket- resumes inspecting the church until he's satisfied that he hasn't missed anything else that appears to be left behind.]

I'm going to say no. [ peter answers villanelle as she circles the bell; there's little hesitation in his answer — it wouldn't have been the first time he'd have time travelled — once or twice had been outside of his specific timeline, and once or twice had been to his past, to an alternate present and to an alternate future. it wouldn't, in all honesty, hit top ten strangest events — maybe it'd struggle to hit top fifteen.

he looks up and over at her. ] There's a possibility we're in Beacon's past or its future. [ beat; concession. ] There's even a possibility we're in its present, but it's an alternate timeline — one where different decisions were made, maybe one where the World Eaters are less of a threat. [ breath of a pause. ] There's really no way of knowing.

[ not for the first time, he finds himself wishing bleecker street was just down the road and he'd be able to get doc strange a call. he'd have some idea of what this was and how to fix it — as it stands, all peter's got is guesses, and the majority of the answers (quote unquote) that they've been given seem to rely on "magic!" as rationale; and it's not that he dislikes magic, it's just that—

okay, it's that he dislikes magic. he does, he really does. couldn't it just be something nice and simple and scientific? god, it's like when ezekiel decided to tell him that he'd been chosen by the spider and — yeah, okay, so spiders don't actually have a spider-sense, but it's a metaphor, right?

regardless, if he notices the slight offness of villanelle's expression, it's not reflected in his expression or his manner. he hesitates for a moment at the top of the stairs, a sudden lack of surety flashing across his features. had the stairs looked like that on the way up? had he just been distracted by how unending they'd seemed to notice?

several steps, then— ] Uh, —Villanelle, right? I don't want to seem jumpy, but— [ are those fingernail scratches? (he remembers, suddenly, waking up buried beneath the earth, crawling back to the surface with only the thought of mj to spur him on.) a stair creaks.]

—does this seem different to you?

[ —god, bruce—. he barely waits for an answer before picking up his pace in a rush to the bottom. ]

[This time it's Villanelle who gets left behind as she makes her way across the room and down the stairs. Does it seem different? Yeah different is one word for it. Skipping time, skipping universes, she's not particularly bothered, at least it's something different. She raises her hand to the scratch marks, measuring the space between her fingers. Could it have been them walking up and down over and over, scratching at the walls? She tilts her head. On second thought, that doesn't sound like something any version of herself would do. The boys maybe. Seems strange though. They could just walk right out the doors couldn't they?]

We could just leave.

[Villanelle calls down to Peter and Bruce too if he's still alive.]

[She skips lightly down the stairs, counting steps, waiting to see if it'll stretch just like before. Things are getting strange, she twitches her nose, sneezes at dust. Things are getting interesting. In the absence of fear, she tends to see the funny side of things. Anyway, apparently they're all dead already. What's the worst that can happen?]

[It's clear enough that the scratches couldn't have come from them--at least, their nails seem fine, no chips or damage done. These seem old, deep. Nothing hinders them on their downward path. This time, the stairs, although creaky and worn, don't display any other unnatural effects. They reach the bottom quickly.

And when they do, Bruce will just have noticed a splash of red underneath one of the pews. It's hard to make out what it is, exactly, but there's definitely a marking there. Paint, maybe? It's definitely something else to look into, as the note seemed innocuous enough, no further clues arising upon a deeper inspection of it.]

[It doesn't seem that they've been away for very long, but then, the passage of time itself is questionable. After all, it'd looked like midday when they arrived and now the sun is sinking. Bruce is not alarmed by this outright because there is no reason to believe that Beacon obeys any other rules about day and night or the length of an hour. It's possible that the stairs are long, he hasn't seen them for himself. And the bell has stopped ringing, which means it's possible that they've found the cause. To pursue them in a pique of worry would probably hinder their progress.

He must, against his nature, trust them.

He doesn't hear the drumming of their feet on the stairs but perhaps it's a testament to light-footedness, or the insulation of the church- or distraction. Bruce isn't immediately visible to his companions but that's because he hasn't just paused over the strange streak of color. One hand reaches out and he touches the tip of two fingers to the edge of the mark, testing its wetness but also its texture. Any lingering scent.

Instead of upending the pew to examine it directly, Bruce's tendencies have been shaped by the people around him- who were, in no small number, detectives themselves. Whatever it is he's going to see, he wants to see it in context. So he sinks down onto hands and knees on the floor, lower now than the rows of seats around him, until he's all but laying on the ground- looking for the mark.]

[ that the journey down feels much quicker than the way up is a thought that occurs to peter. he thinks that it could be a quirk of beacon, a mind game not entirely unlike the hallucinations; or it could simply be that it feels quicker in much the same way that the journey to anywhere — like, say, the journey to shea stadium — always feels so much slower than the way back.

bruce's lack of immediate visibility is momentary startling and peter shifts his weight, glancing over the tops of the pews and towards the door. maybe he'd left? unlikely, given what peter had ascertained of his personality from their previous interactions, but not out of the realms of possibility. still, what else? it's unusual, to have nothing from his spider-sense — it's ordinarily a constant, a kind of background noise that warns of him tiny threats that frankly barely deserve recognition; peter had commented once to mj that he could write a book on the many, many dangers of new york city that no-one ever thinks about and the same had seemed to hold true for beacon so far.

peter thinks that, perhaps ironically (and not in the alanis morisette way), it's more unsettling than having it at all. ]

—Bruce? [ beat; a moment of consideration. he continues conversationally: ] There wasn't anyone up there, [ punctuated by a pause, and peter takes several steps forward, scanning the rows of pews one by one ], and the bell looks like it hasn't physically been used in years.

But the stairs do. [She calls from the stairwell.] They're old all of a sudden, creaky. [She bounces on the bottom step.] See?

[She jumps off the bottom step and walks into the church.] Oh, has he gone? [Was Peter talking to an empty room?]

[Bruce already tried the doors, maybe he tried them again while they were upstairs and walked out. Or maybe he's dead, only, there's no sign of struggle. Either way, since the doors have already been looked at, she decides to go in the opposite direction, to where the altar would sit.]

Shouldn't there be more things in here? [Soviet Russia has never been big on religion, so church going didn't feature in her childhood, but she has an idea of what a church should look like and this one seems lacking.] Aren't churches supposed to have those wooden stands for the preacher to go up and tell us we're all going to burn in hell. [She spins on her heel, directing the last to the others, her fingers waggling in the universal 'spooky' gesture.]

[Bruce will discover the red substance is dry. It flakes lightly as it's touched. It stretches on beneath the pew, some kind of object that he can't make out with the furniture covering it.

As Villanelle approaches the front, as she makes her statement, the walls between the stained glass begin to ooze.]

[They're old all of the sudden, she says. The bell looks like it hasn't physically been used in years.

Bruce's brows come together despite the otherwise stillness of his body, despite the way his gaze follows the shape until he can't follow it any further. A puzzle piece then. He'll need to move it. Around the corner and presumably still on the staircase, he can hear the creak and groan of a well-worn step. It's the kind of demonstrative performance he would expect from Mary, a child seeing the details separated from the context.

Their voices continue conversationally and Bruce's palms find the stone floor underneath him, a point of leverage to push himself up.]

Your observations suggest that the passage of time happened in seconds. But perhaps they didn't change at all.

[For the angle and for his height, it means that only his hair and the top half of his face are visible around the pews.]

Those hallucinations just finished. It's possible that the stairs and the bell have been like that all along, that they haven't changed and instead only our perception of them has.

[This isn't a difficult leap for him to make. Of course it seems less possible for time to run in reverse and then move in fast forward, treated like a cassette tape of Beacon's history meant for only their viewing. But Bruce has seen less-possible things happen hundreds of times in Gotham. He's seen people do things they shouldn't be capable of, he's seen people die only to walk down the city streets again. But it's more plausible, he's found, to control people than to control a space. It wouldn't be unlike Crane's fear toxin; the mind has always been more powerful than the body.

He climbs to his feet and lingers there, too close to the pew.]

Peter, could you help me move this please?

Edited 2019-11-24 02:46 (UTC)

They don't normally tell you you're going to Hell, [ peter replies, glancing over at villanelle. ] And maybe the point is avoiding pointed iconography and allowing people private, quiet worship.

[ when bruce's head pops out from behind a pew, peter finds himself relaxing a little; at bruce's request, he makes his way over the pew and eyes it just for a moment, and then eyes bruce. peter tends to opt for layers: loose shirts and sweaters worn over t-shirts; it had never been a conscious decision to hide the fact that he's not quite the skinny nerd he'd been pre-spider bite, but the result is the same. ]

Lift with your legs, right? [ it's easy enough for him to move, but as with everything, it's a careful balancing act of making sure it doesn't seem too easy, otherwise you get marnie watching your bedroom window and discovering you're spider-man, all because you carried some groceries up some stairs because some people don't like elevators. ]

There was a— [ the corners of peter's lips twitch in slight amusement ], I think he was a special effects artist, back home. [ beck seems like a safer topic than kraven the hunter, even if kraven's jungle potions are a little more on the nose than quentin's illusions. ] I think he died. [ it didn't stick, but when does it ever? that beck's still alive isn't relevant to the conversation at hand. beside, he's died, both actually and technically, and it didn't stick — and now he's here and it's debatable whether it'd stuck this time. ]

He ended up pursuing crime because he was tired of not having his genius recognised. [ beat. peter still wishes all of this — beacon, from beginning to end, was the work of mysterio or arcade. it'd make things so much easier. ] His thing was illusions. He mostly used hallucinogens and robotics, and they were all pretty large scale, worst fears kind of thing. [ peter shoots bruce a glance; if he leaves it at that, there'd be a question. ] I covered him a couple of times for the paper I used to work at. It's possible this is something like that. [ semi-agreement then, with bruce. he's doubtful that's the full story, because he should have noticed, but it's a loose, workable theory, although the more important question right now is why. ] We were all at the party, right? Something could have been in, or released into the room, and now— [ they're here. peter's attention flickers briefly to one of the walls, then away, then back again.

oh boy, is that—? ugh. once the pew's been set back down, he starts to edge towards one of the walls. ] But for the record, I don't think we're in Vertigo any more.

[He ended up pursuing crime because he was tired of not having his genius recognised. Sounds like an entirely reasonable career choice.]

[She watches them lift the pew but doesn't offer to help.] Hallucinations? I did say it was drugs... but, not any drug I know. They don't usually work like this. [Then again, her pharmaceutical expertise is limited to poisons and knockouts, not hallucinogens.]

[She's about to join them at the pew, ask why exactly they're rearranging church furniture, when she notices movement from the corner of her eyes, turns in time to see the walls lose their form.] All right, I take it back, maybe it is hallucinations.

[She takes a step toward the walls. The oozing slime is thick and dark, black and reflective like an oil slick. Makes her think of dead birds, fish drowning in an ocean suddenly turned hostile. She licks her lips. Up close, the walls seem to glisten. She breathes deep, has the smell in the church changed? No longer dust and disuse, there's something almost organic about the way the slime drips down to the floor. She turns to look at Peter, smirk on her lips.] What did I say? Going to hell.

[She walks back to the pews, picks up a bible and, completely casual, rips the cover off. Then she returns to the wall, and runs the cover up it in an attempt to scrape off some of the gloop.] This is a lot more dramatic than a crying Madonna. [Her tone of voice says she approves. This place is fucking strange, but she appreciates the change of pace. True hell is boredom.]

[The smell has changed. It's faint, underneath the smell of many, many burning candles: disease.

And there are more candles, now, scattered around, like they'd always been there. Not an altar, not yet, not exactly, but clusters of wax in different stages of use, lining the walls, away from the center of the room.

Villanelle will be able to scrape it off without any issues. Removed from the wall, it seems to grow thicker and sticker still, foul smelling, like tar.

When Bruce and Peter move the pew, the design stretches on to the next one. Literally, it stretches itself, growing as the space is revealed, racing forward in an arc, almost as if urging them on.]

[He's less inclined to believe their meal has been dosed because if that is the case then he thinks- why only the three of them? Where is everyone else? But instead of mentioning it aloud he focuses instead on the muscle that pulls through his knees and back, the warmth in his arms that tells him that his body is working. That he's not just lifting the pew but holding it aloft, holding it steady. They seem to fall into step with relative ease, though Bruce has no memories of helping friends haul furniture into new apartments to compare it to. His experience with synchronization has involved heists instead- breaking into buildings and vaults, coordinating rescue missions and infiltrating high security areas. He suspects that the spirit of it must be the same.

Still, this concern for tandem is exercise is the reason that he nods in the direction they should put it down, instead of interrupting Peter's train of thought. This seems to be a thing he just, does. Elaborating. Filling the space. Bruce wonders what it is he's trying to avoid- what the silence represents that prompts him to it.

The pew comes down and wood creaks quietly, it doesn't groan. Unfortunately it reveals only a small fraction of their puzzle, the necessity of moving a few more. Bruce straightens and looks over at Villanelle, watches her approach the wall without apparent reluctance or fear. He makes a conscious choice, to keep his expression clear. To nod instead in the direction of another pew to be lifted- to take his position and trust Peter to join him.

He makes a similar choice not to look at the candles that have manifested. They have enough distractions at the moment.]

What drugs were those, by the way?

[ he gives villanelle a moment to answer bruce: he's interested in the answer, too. his own thoughts remain with kraven, with the last hallucination-slash-vision he'd had before waking up in central park, the one that kraven had taunted him with. the one that kraven warned him that there was no way of knowing if it was premonition or imagination.

whilst the sun outside is setting and the church should, in theory, be darker than it had been when they first entered, the increase in candles is a sudden, valiant attempt to create a little more light. peter's never been good with surprises — part and parcel of being, ostensibly, difficult to surprise, at least negatively, which means he stiffens; a mild look of distaste and discomfort grace his features, though he manages to remain silent, at least for a moment.

it's not always a deliberate ploy, spider-man being funnier than peter parker: sometimes it's simply that the mask hides the minutiae of his expression. for all intents and purposes, peter's an open book — his emotions are almost always plain and easy to read, if not in his face than in his mannerisms and his body language. now it's hard to deny that he's less than happy with the situation at hand. the design beneath the pews is — well, it's certainly something, and as peter moves towards a second bench, ready to lift it again with bruce, he looks up at the ceiling. maybe it'd be easier to work out what it is from up there — easy enough for him to do, less easy for him to explain.

perhaps there's a feasible vantage point slightly higher up. ]

[Villanelle recognises the smell and rears back, flicking the bible cover away from her.]

Sickness.

[She hisses the word. It's not exactly fear that tightens here expression, but it's something very close. She can imagine little worse than hacking and coughing your way into an early grave. She wipes her hands on her clothes, studies her fingertips carefully. Did any get on her? She's distracted, still studying her hands when Bruce's question comes.]

Chl- [Chloroform] Coke. [She recovers, it's only a small slip, unfortunately for her, she's in a room with the kind of people who'll notice. She's supposed to be keeping these things a secret, isn't she? She had a plan, didn't she? Before today, before they ended up here.] Maybe some E. [She turns, and her grin is all bashful party girl.] Just a little, you know, to get the party started. [She gives Bruce an obvious once over.] Okay, maybe you don't know, but you do right? [She turns to Peter.] Takes the edge off.

[Subject change please.] There's something on the floor? Oh that's what you're doing. [She approaches them, a wary eye on the walls.]

Edited 2019-11-27 00:40 (UTC)

[The more pews they move, the more the picture becomes clear. It stretches and stretches until it forms a circle. But it's not a circle, of course. A circle is just the shape it takes. When all the pews are moved out of the way, the image becomes clear.]

[The second pew is moved, then a third. A fourth. Bruce watches her from his periphery, the way that she leans away from the wall in immediate, reflexive disgust. The way she looks at her fingertips and the way her syllables clip, sound like cloak. It's a curious stumbling block. Bruce has not known cocaine to be easily mistaken for anything else.

He watches as Peter's gaze travels up instead of following the movements of their feet- trying to be sure he doesn't bump or knock or stumble. Conscious of the way the face betrays, of the truths an expression will tell, Bruce is very aware of his eyebrows and the way they remain even slopes across his head, the absence of furrow between them. And without changing anything else at all, Bruce slowly begins to slacken his grip- lowering his elbows in degrees at a time to allow Peter to take incrementally more weight. It tests a theory, but it also comes with the veneer of laziness, the perception of a lack of strength, a lack of competence.

And slowly the image comes into view.]

Ouroboros?

[Is this also a message? He's disinclined to believe it is simple coincidence. The bell is broken, the stairs are old and weathered, the light is waning. It suggests that time is passing and not just hours but perhaps even years. The ouroboros. Repetition. A cycle?]

Uh, no, not really... [ it's not quite awkward, but not not awkward either: he'd always been teased for his distinctly unpartying ways, but drugs had otherwise never entered the picture for any of them, not even quintessential party girl mary jane watson, until — harry. they'd all wondered what had set harry off on that path, which had been stupid of them, him most of all. he knew norman osborn, knew what he was capable of even then. it shouldn't have been a surprise that harry might have searched for a way to try and deal with all of that.

otherwise distracted then, the shift in weight is slow and incremental enough that peter doesn't notice, not at first. when he does his attention snaps back to bruce, expression a somewhat startled, questioning frown. jason has told him enough about bruce and it hadn't been that peter hadn't taken it on board — he had, only he'd filed it away as something to be dealt with later. peter doesn't know enough of what had happened there to make a judgement call, can't say that the way jason's dealing with it is entirely the way that peter would recommend, but with all of that said and done, peter's managed to gather the distinct impression that bruce doesn't make it easy.

any version of him, he supposes. ] —Look, if you're getting tired, all you had to do was say.

[ when they set the final pew down, peter wipes his hands on his trousers, attention shifting to the pattern in the meantime. villanelle had hissed something about sickness, and now— ]

Life, death, and rebirth. [ he comments, in response to bruce's half-question. peter doesn't think it's a question about what the ouroboros is or what it stands for; peter thinks it's likelier a statement, the question being what it means here and now, for them, for their situation. ] I think I read something about the transmigration of souls as well, but the ancient Greeks were never my favorite, I always had more of a thing for Egypt... [ he runs a hand through his hair, thinking. it's been a while since he's read anything on the subject matter — there'd been that incident with jennifer, but that... was hardly this. that had been cats. ] I want to say ... it was used to represent the beginning and end of time. [ beat. ] And periodic renewal. [ resets?

to bruce, then: ] Did you find anything else down here?

Edited 2019-11-27 09:11 (UTC)

[Neither seem particularly bothered by her slip, though the younger one, Bruce, has quite the poker face, she's not entirely sure.]

[She looks down at the symbol. She's not up on her mythology. Ouroburos to her means hackers, cyber warfare, that job in Ukraine where she'd worn a scratchy black wig and painted her eyelids neon green. Knowledge of a subculture that had been hard to fake, but a death that had been easy as spiking an energy drink and watching a hacker choke on his own vomit. He'd gone on twitching for so long. Talking about drugs, that had been a good one.]

[It takes her a moment, but eventually she refocuses on the subject at hand. Pokes the snake symbol with the toe of her boot.] Round and round it goes. [It feels laid out for them, like a music box, waiting to be opened, like they've stepped inside of a film, or a ghost's looped recreation of its final moments.]

If we're seeing what happened to Beacon, then where are the people that it happened to? The ones who scratched up the walls and painted this on the floor? [She looks up at the walls, at the candles clustering around them.] Isn't that why you light candles? For the dead?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject