logsinthenight | O LIGHT THAT FOLLOWEST ALL MY WAY, I YIELD MY FLICKERING TORCH TO THEE;

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elektra natchios (carlee)

O LIGHT THAT FOLLOWEST ALL MY WAY, I YIELD MY FLICKERING TORCH TO THEE;

characters: matt, & other people
location: many places
date/time: first half of november
content: matt is doing things
warnings: i'm still hot garbage at this... and i'll add if anything comes up

see below for starters, or hit me with a wildcard! just some stuff to tag at during the event, feel free to pm me or hit me up at

meowed to chat about setting something up!

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( they've been searching for hours.

longer than they should. sleep is less pertinent here, sure, though it's far from unnecessary. Elektra hasn't pushed him to stop, Matt has ignored the fact that he should. so many hours without a sign, or a clue, or even much of anything in the darkness. nothing that can remotely be traced back to the boy that's missing. not in enough hours to stretch an entire day, and then some.

part of him wants to keep going. mostly because he doesn't want to slow down, which would allow time for thoughts he's avoiding fixating on to catch up. not to say he hasn't been thinking this whole time... it's just they tend to circle more vicious when he slows down.

as much as he wishes he could keep pushing father, even Matt knows they have to stop sooner rather than later. he can tell Elektra is slowing, tiring, almost as clearly as he can feel his own weariness. it's the end of a long pointless slog, and sleep offers only the limited prospect of relief. they have to stop for some anyway. for her sake, and he knows better than to think she'd let him get away with not taking the same. )

We can stop here for the night. ( it is technically night, the moon hanging above the trees. not that Matt knows based on that; the spirits sound different at night, he's noticed. the little ones that resemble bugs, different ones seemed to sing depending on the time. he doesn't suspect she will argue with him, and he's already easing the pack with supplies from his shoulders before she can answer. ) There's enough of a clearing here to rest.

( the knock comes late, with not much in the way of warning.

in Matt's defense, he had messaged that he'd be by in advance. Back today. I'll be by to get Ivy. thoughtful to mention, though less helpful when Matt had not specified an exact time. that was on purpose, he figured it was foolish to make an estimate when he didn't know exactly how long it would be. he was determined to stay out looking until he didn't have it in him to look any longer. another night out in the dark seemed too dangerous to risk when in all the hours they'd been searching, they hadn't found any sign of Grizz.

when he realizes what time it is, he considers taking the night. there's at least a chance Misty might be sleeping, it's highly likely the spirit is, and he could probably use some himself before he tries to socialize. there's an ugly little idea in the back of his mind that the sad little tree spirit is probably in better hands as it is. probably true, it's a tempting to just accept that as reality. all things considered it might just be selfishness talking that he persists on taking care of Ivy himself, but apparently it's selfishness he's not willing to relinquish just yet.

because even bone tired, he's not willing to spend another night without checking on the spirit. so the knock might be late, but there's a knock at Misty's door all the same. when she opens the door Matt looks about as exhausted as he feels, and the fact he isn't wearing his glasses means there's no hiding that fact. )

Sleeping? ( does he mean Misty herself, the spirit, or both? Matt doesn't clarify. he also doesn't say hello. sorry, Misty... )

( matt can't exactly see the spread, but the commotion and excitement and the smell is enough for him to be aware of it. seems like a bad idea to indulge, truth be told, though he's also nervous that ignoring the generosity of the spirits has gone notably south in the past. so he supposes he can at least make appearances of being appreciative. he has a seat and leans slightly in the direction of the person next to him. )

Does it look as good as it smells? ( this would be easier to avoid if it smelled less delectable, that's for sure, but he's incredibly skeptical. after everything the spirits have pulled, it doesn't seem wise to just accept the spread as harmless. )

[ she hasn't voiced her suspicions yet - that their search is likely for naught, that they're not going to find any evidence of the boy except for whatever belongings he'd left behind in town. but she can sense that the confirmation is something he needs, something he's not going to rest without.

talking of rest, she knows why he's been avoiding it. she might bring it up just to get him to talk about everything; the guilt she knows he's feeling for the boy disappearing, even though he'd had nothing to do with it and that he's searching to avoid thinking about it and what it means. they're in a more comfortable place lately than they had been, but bringing it up too soon is just going to result in denial and anger, which isn't going to help either of them. that he brings up the necessity of rest first is promising, but it might only be a concession to her needs.

she lowers her lantern to the ground before easing off her own pack, standing and rolling her shoulders, feeling something shift back into place along her vertebrae. ]

I'll set the bags out, you listen for any oncomers?

( It's a day the same as any other.

Javert readies himself for it the same as he always does — by getting dressed, cleaning himself up, then grabbing a mug of coffee on the way out the door. He's got himself into a strict routine, one that he only strays from for emergencies, and with great reluctance. Anyone who's been in Beacon as long as Matt has surely has noticed him, patrolling the town with a purposeful gait. He's keeping an eye out for wrongdoers, certainly, and anything that may be suspicious. But he's also doing it because it's familiar, because it gives him a sense of purpose.

That's something that he could use these days, with his head still in turmoil and his heart growing traitorously soft. If he notices the other man as he walks, he doesn't seem to show it. He simply continues on, with his coat drawn high at the collar and his cudgel under his arm. )

Mmm. ( not really an answer, though Elektra knows him well enough that he doesn't really need to vocalize. he'll listen for trouble, in fact he's not like to sleep much or well tonight thanks to a need to stay alert in the woods that are notoriously dangerous. for all the sociable spirits in town, out here in the darkened wild? there was no sense of security that any spirit they encountered would be a friendly one.

he hangs his lantern from a tree, pulling it far enough along the branch there's no chance of it falling. that'd be a horrible way to die again, from falling lantern. between hers and his, there's enough dim light to see by. he picks open his own pack to pull out a coat he'd stowed away. walking has kept him warm enough, but now that they're slowing, he's going to want it. )

So far, it's been quiet. It's almost like anything out here is avoiding us. ( doubtful, though it compounds his annoyance. it's as if the entire universe is conspiring against them, refusing to let them find anything at all. )

[ her own lantern is set towards the middle of their gathered belongings once she sets out the sleeping bags, carefully placed somewhere close enough to illuminate their surroundings but not so close that one of them will accidentally knock it over in their sleep. (if either of them ended up dying due to sheer thoughtlessness or stupidity, she'd be furious.) once that's done, she turns her attention to pulling out warmer clothing, tugging her own coat on before beginning to undo her boots. ]

Well, hopefully that means there's no one out there to deter us. [ probably because there's no one to be found, but she doesn't voice that yet. ] What direction did you want to start heading after this? [ she'd say 'in the morning' or 'tomorrow', but given the eternal darkness of this place, neither feel appropriate or accurate. ]

['Sleep' might have been pushing it, but Misty had dozing just enough for the knock to startle. One quick, private jerk of the head that will obviously go unremarked upon once a second has been had to adjust. It's hardly difficult to tell who it is -- Soldat is shockingly punctual for the lack of clocks and unerringly consistent, Aziraphale doesn't visit this late, and really, only the three people have any business finding themselves at her door. It's relieving.

The door is swung open as quickly as she can manage without waking Ivy, who she does presume is who that question is about.]

Mhm. Tragic, they'd have wanted to be up to catch you. Tried to steer me toward your house pretty much any time we made it off the porch. [Said with some small amount of (admittedly tired) fondness. It's evident this odd adoption has been good for all involved.] You alright?

( as far as Matt is concerned, the only real threat they have out here is a potential spirit attack. there's not been any residents of Beacon riled enough that he expects any would attack for no reason, though that doesn't make it impossible. they've gone far enough from the town now that it'd be a concentrated effort to track them this far.

the spirits, though... those are unpredictable and likely more of a threat than anyone in town would be. he isn't sure how he feels about their utter absence through their hike. it's a good thing, surely... but it also makes him wonder where they are, if not somewhere adjacent to town. )

We can move west, then backtrack. A circle is the most efficient way to cover ground. ( he doesn't have illusions about pushing much farther than they already have, though, not without evidence. and they have yet to find any that Grizz had ever left Beacon proper. )

( it's been awhile since Matt ended up at the Invincible.

usually he's pretty habitual. he heads off every two or three days for a meal he doesn't have to fuss at himself. it's not to see he eats that rarely, he does eat sparse meals at his place. mostly uncooked, easy assembly sort of stuff. still, it gets old after awhile, and there are at least a few gracious cooks that are willing to make enough food for all of them to live on most of the time.

the thing is, he'd had most of his meals with Grizz. so the fact that he's more or less had to accept the boy is gone makes it a little harder to face the place they'd spent most of their time together.

he's still a little reluctant, though it had to happen sooner or later. rip the bandaid off, right? he's here earlier than usual, trying for breakfast instead of dinner, as if that would make it easier. the oatmeal is sitting in front of him, mostly untouched. he hears the scuff of sneakers and for a moment, he's fool enough to wonder if he's wrong. but the heartbeat is different. it's a male, young, sneakered feet, but different all the same. he pushes his uneaten breakfast away, giving up on the venture for now. he notices the kid stalling, maybe looking for someone. something? )

There's food in the kitchen. If that's what you're after. ( should he not know that the kid is lingering near the doorway? maybe. but whatever. he's blind, not deaf, that's his story and he's sticking to it. )

( he's been in the church a lot lately.

not to say he hadn't been there frequently before, he had. whether it's a catholic church or not, Matt has always treated it about as such. there might be a creature hiding beneath the floorboards, and it might be incredibly lacking a priest, but it's close enough and it's a good place to pray. he'd managed to fish a rosary he requested out of the drink and especially now, he goes to pray every morning.

for the people he has here, for the things that he doesn't want to lose. if God can hear him, even here, even now, he hopes that his prayers will mean something for the people he cares about.

he notices, sooner or later, that he's often not alone here in the mornings. they don't talk, but they're here for the same thing. eventually, despite the fact it would probably make the nuns that raised him recoil in terror, he finally breaks the silence. )

Catholic? Or Lutheran? ( yes, this is based entirely on the fact she a.) prays and b.) doesn't make smalltalk. )

[ a spirit attack is what she's concerned about. she's pretty confident the two of them can handle anyone from town, and it's not as if there's anyone among them gunning for their blood just yet anyway. but the spirits are unpredictable and have different ways of getting to them, of incapacitating them. they're fine now, they may even be fine tomorrow, but she doesn't want to risk pushing their luck by staying out here for too long. he mentions circling back and she exhales a little in relief that he'd brought it up on his own, some of the tension from carrying her pack easing from her back and shoulders. ]

All right. [ she sounds a little remorseful. even if she hadn't known the kid, he had obviously meant a lot to matthew, and she knows him well enough to know he has to be feeling awful about him being gone, even if it wasn't his fault. ] Did you want to take shifts while sleeping?

[ she's okay with taking the first one if he does. she doubts either of them will be sleeping well anyway, but they could both use at least some rest. ]

[ discovering that the afterlife had a church located within it had been something of a surprise, and dana had found herself drawn to it in the days after realizing it was there. it's not the kind of church she's used to attending (hers never had a creature living underneath the floorboards, for example), but it's reminiscent enough that she's found herself there on a near daily basis, although she's not praying so much as she is reflecting. she's not sure what she's trying to find in her near daily attendance; solace seems beyond her reach in this particular situation, but it feels better to attend than to not. occasionally she'll pray for her family and for mulder in hopes that they'll take care of themselves now that she's gone, but it leaves her feeling hollow and angry, reminds her too much of when she had been dying slowly two years before her actual quick, foolish death. if God is still listening, she doesn't think it's to her.

she's seen the man seated nearby before, head bent in obvious prayer, but hasn't introduced herself for the same reasons he hadn't. she's not expecting the intrusion, but given that she's not actually praying, she doesn't mind it. ]

Catholic. [ she's about to hold out her necklace as she turns towards him, but then notices his sunglasses and realizes the gesture would be moot. he's holding a rosary that gives away which one he is. ]

( he's starting to get a sense of the powers and abilities in town, and he's not entirely sure they'd have a good chance with everyone. angels and demons and witches, oh my — all the more reason to keep on the good side of people in Beacon. they're capable of a lot, he has no argument there... but they're also only human, and he's pretty sure death didn't make them any less killable. weird how that works. )

It makes the most sense. ( to sleep in shifts, meaning. one could stay alert, the other could at least try to recover a bit. he brought a sleeping bag he'd purloined from the store, and he sets it out and sighs, rubbing at a bare face. he hasn't bothered with his sunglasses, since they're traveling in the dark and it's Elektra he's with.

someone should sleep. usually, he'd push Elektra to rest first. turns out, though, he's slowed enough to feel particularly terrible about the uselessness of their search. about the fact there's a boy out there, probably long gone, because he didn't think to look sooner. that none of this matters, because there's nothing for them to find. that he's put them both in useless danger, and yet he can't admit to himself it's pointless because that's as good as giving a boy up for dead. he's stuck in his thoughts instead of the present, so he doesn't suggest anything at all, stuck. )

( he's tired, he's miserable, and still the mention of the little spirit trying to herd Misty around earns a weary ghost of an almost-smile. he's not surprised, the spirit has been growing more and more bold of late. instead of the easily startled frightened thing he'd found in the forest, it's starting to be a bit more outgoing and on some occasions, even demanding. it's nice to watch it grow more and more independent, considering when he'd found Ivy it had been so terrified it had lingered crying on the cold ground alone for hours until it trusted him enough to come closer and hold it.

the sad excuse for a positive facial expression is short-lived, with the inquiry as to how he's doing. there's no point in insisting he's fine, Misty would just know he's not. it's not really Matt Murdock style to admit he's upset, though, he's more the type to silently struggle for as long as possible and then cry because someone had the audacity to be nice to him. so he can't just tell her he was out in the woods for two days looking for a teenager that was likely long gone before they even left. that there was no sign of him, that at this point it's most likely there never will be a sign of him.

it's too late, and he's already gone. )

We didn't find anything. ( that explains his energy level (or lack there of) and his mood, all in a single sentence. how practical! )

[That's what she expected, and his appearance all but confirms. Sobering. Nothing she can smile at, and any warmth must be limited to strictly cordial. No light could or should be made. Nodding to herself, she takes one step back inside, offering room to enter to simply more space to breathe.]

You did anything that could be expected of you. I'm sorry it-- [how to word it, no, just don't word it,] I'm sorry.

You could come in, if you want. Just to sit, eat something warm - you could get Ivy, or I could just bring them home when they're up? [There's not much she can offer by way of entertainment, but it's less about practicality and more providing a space where he needn't sit through these initial solemn waves alone.]

[ not everyone, no. there's a lot here, both native to beacon and not, that's beyond what she's seen and what she's able to explain, and she's smart enough to know not to pick a fight. but she's also fairly confident that neither have gotten far enough on anyone's bad side that they'd be coming for them (although matthew may be more popular than she is, but she's used to that).

her own bag is already laid out, and with her boots removed she sits with her knees pulled to her chest, facing him, debating what to say. he seems to already know that their search is going to be fruitless, so reiterating that fact would just be cruel. he doesn't seem ready to rest quite yet, and maybe she could try to sleep first but she doesn't think he's going to at all if she doesn't make sure he does it. he doesn't seem like he wants to talk, but it's probably more harmful than helpful for him to dwell. ]

Tell me about him.

( well, probably not. he’s been careful — Matt has always preferred to save his obvious animosity for when his face is covered. there’s only one person in particular in Beacon that had earned his genuine distaste, and Crowley wasn’t so much an active threat as an accidental one when his stupid bullshit capsized and caused splash damage on everyone else.

(Matt is still super pressed about the ferry.)

it’s only after she’s sitting on top of her bag that he muses they should have stacked them, it’d be moderately more comfortable for the one sleeping. maybe it’d still be worth trying, once one of them is actively trying to rest. for now he just adjusts his to be parallel to hers and lies next to her, close but not on top of her.

she’s right he doesn’t really want to talk. talking hurts more than he’d like. he stares at an empty sky he can’t see, and it might seem like he doesn’t intend to answer until suddenly he does. )

Teenager. Barely 18, if that. He left behind a world where all adults had disappeared, and he spent most of his time hating himself for being here and not being there where his friends still needed him. ( relatable. maybe that’s why he’d connected so closely to the kid, Matt has been feeling the same since he arrived. ) He offered to read to me. Just out of the blue.

( clearly that had left an impression on Matt. )

[ Life, if that's what you can even call this existence, has taken a little bit of adjusting to. Between landing here covered in blood and vomit, finding people from home (one of whom is his ex-girlfriend), and then getting lost in the woods for a couple of weeks, Steve's kind of glad for the routine of hanging out at the Invincible and doing dumb shit like running errands for the Hawkins Household.

Unlike Matt, Steve's never been a fan of the habitual. It meant he was growing up or something; getting old. Lame. And Steve had (once upon a time, anyway) a lot to look forward to, a lot to live for or whatever. He's had a drastic change of heart in the past month but this place never seems to fail to surprise him anyway. Be careful what you wish for, huh?

It takes him a couple of minutes before his memory is jogged, but he remembers a short conversation he'd had over the network with a guy who offered to lend a hand if needed.

He approaches Matt's table, feeling a little bit awkward, and decides to just see what happens. Here's hoping Matt doesn't think he's some kind of weirdo. ]

Hey. Guy in the sunglasses.

[ It could almost sound like a question, maybe? ]

( he lifts his shoulders in the saddest excuse for a shrug that Beacon has ever seen. did he really do everything he could have? if he'd noticed the boy was missing sooner, if he'd thought to question it a little faster — if he'd checked in with him more—

his weariness makes it easier to fall into a thought spiral that he's been trying to avoid. Matt pinches the bridge of his nose, as if that pressure can shake the thoughts from his brain. it doesn't work as well as he might like. )

It's what I expected to find. ( sadly, expecting that doesn't make the reality that much easier. he's not sure he wants to come in, or to eat, or to do anything. he's just that shade of miserable that nothing seems like a viable option. still, Matt did come all this way for a reason, even though he might whit out now knowing the spirit is asleep. it wouldn't make sense to wake the poor thing, it can wait until morning. it's not quite fair to seek out the reassurance of the little spirit he's been looking after, as if a batting average of 50% might make him feel better. he should just go home, pass out, and try to put on a better act of having it together in the morning. )

I don't know what I'm doing. ( or he can just make sad confessions, that too. )

Mhm... [It's a great deal of effort not to break composure for him, but she refrains. The gaze on him is heavy and deeply empathetic, and most frustratingly, a little lost itself. She's lost a grand total of one person that meant anything; her experience soothing anyone dealing with similar is woefully limited. She taps a bicep, not quite steering him, but certainly indicating direction.]

'Don't know' inside, then. Check in on Ivy quietly and sit a minute. Don't think anything'll make sense, this soon - you can ride out a little of it with company. [With a drink, even! Crowley offhandedly asked into wine once and she has since kept a bottle on hand for both hostessing and specifically denying Crowley at the next opportunity. This is a much more altruistic use.] You did plenty. It's this place, and not you.

( you'd think, after losing so much, after losing so many... he'd be better at it, when the next one rolled along. only he's not, he never is. every single one hurts just as bad, leaves him with an endless trail of could have, would have, should have — it's so easy to find all the ways being alone is his fault, in the end.

Matt is almost too tired to argue. the touch at his arm is spur enough to follow, wordlessly to a table he probably shouldn't know is there, to sit at a chair he shouldn't be able to drop into so easily. he's not so tired his senses aren't working, though he is tired enough he's not got it in him to put together a convincing facade. maybe the fact he's been over to Misty's for plenty of meals is a good enough excuse for how well he navigates. Matt isn't even thinking about it, for once. )

I don't want to wake it. ( that's barely an answer, to anything she said. whoops. he grimaces a little at the mention he did plenty. ) Plenty's not enough. Plenty didn't stop a good kid from dying. From... who knows what happens, to those who disappear and never come back.

[It's peculiar, perhaps enough she'll think more of it later, but in the moment she's too focused on assistance to pay mind to the odd details.] Not knowing anything means it's just as likely he went home or someplace better, you know. [Glass, wine, this is as she understands a thing people enjoy in his state.]

And by that logic, it's as much my fault as yours. Aziraphale's. The robot. Nobody can watch everybody, and it's unfair to expect it. [Especially of oneself. She pulls up a seat, determined to remain there until there has been some change, however incremental.]

How is that just as likely? ( if Grizz had somehow bounced from Beacon to someplace past the pearly gates, that'd be one thing. but what are really the chances of that? nobody had any clue what happened to the lost souls that stoped frequenting the familiar haunts of Beacon. and Matt is too much of a pessimist to think Grizz had disappeared to someplace better, at least, not without proof.

Aziraphale doesn't seem especially capable of noticing anything out of his narrow perspective, Matt is still sour on the angel after the ferry incident. still, he doesn't assign the blame to anyone else, because his responsibility is a little more personal. )

We had breakfast together. Nearly every day. He stopped showing up and it took days to decide that meant something. ( stupid, when Matt is more than aware of how dangerous Beacon is. he's been long enough to know. )

Not about to do math on it, Matt - the only options that matter, really, are 'better place' or 'worse place'. Those are fifty-fifty odds, and probably a lot better than what you're imagining. I haven't seen anything that'd prove Beacon is an intended resting place -- he could have gone to a real one. [Showing her hand, there.]

'Nearly' every day sounds like a reasonable gap to overlook. Specially in a place where there's lots of things he could be doing and people he could be doing them with.

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O LIGHT THAT FOLLOWEST ALL MY WAY, I YIELD MY FLICKERING TORCH TO THEE;

ᴇʟᴇᴋᴛʀᴀ. (start of the month.)

ᴍɪsᴛʏ. (after his forest wandering.)

ᴄᴏʀᴀʟɪɴᴇ. (right before the event.)

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before the event.

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sᴛᴇᴠᴇ. (a few days before the event.)

sᴄᴜʟʟʏ. (sometime before the event.)

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CATHOLIC SQUAD

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