logsinthenight | INTRO LOG: DECEMBER

INTRO LOG: DECEMBER

characters: everyone.
location: the harbor, as well as the rest of town.
date/time: december 1-3.
content: beacon's newest batch of residents arrives on the ferry. robin posts a bulletin.
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 glowing 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.

•••
The ferry has barely docked when everyone's tablets will ping: A new weekly bulletin has been posted!

...Aaaaaanyway, luckily for all the 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! You've happened to come at a chaotic time, as we've just wrapped up a rather large event. Half the town was stuck in a dreamland version of past Beacon, where they explored for clues about the town's history. The other half stayed awake and defended the town from a brutal onslaught of green-eyed, hallucination-inducing forest spirits. The town's pretty haggard after all that, so hey, there's a conversation starter! It'll be good to have some fresh faces around to help with the recovery process.

You can check out the various Enter Mr. Sandman event posts in the OOC and log comms if you're curious, and plenty of the details will likely come up ICly, as well! The aftermath is just beginning, and we're so glad to have you along for the ride. :)

DELIVERIES

The following packages can be found in the cargo hold:

The monthly store restock
For Eliot: A carton of cigarettes
For Prompto: 17 pairs of reading glasses
For Eleven: A pair of walkie-talkies, and enough batteries to last for 3 months of casual use
For Aziraphale: 12 drums, 11 lead pipes, 10 pairs of shoes, 9 wilting corsages, 8 bottles of milk, 7 taxidermy swans, 6 goose eggs, 5 stale onion rings, 4 bins full of duck armies, 3 dead chickens, 2 turtles, and a whole tree, though it's long dead... and strung with lights and garlands and holiday ornaments!
For Kol: A book
For Crowley: Peppermint extract, cream of tartar, a candy thermometer, a tin of cocoa, graham crackers, a generic bottle of red wine, a t-shirt with a crown logo on it, a book of love poems, and the goods
For Eleven: An assortment of wrapping paper, gift tags, ribbons, bows, and gift bags.
A lot of medical supplies. The supplies are plentiful enough that everyone may handwave finding common first aid supplies that will help to triage injuries sustained during the Enter Mr. Sandman event. The supplies won't immediately cure wounds, but they will help to prevent infection and ensure proper healing. There's even an assortment of painkillers, ranging from over the counter pills to IV morphine (though, hm, it seems each character will only be able to find one dose of the hospital-grade stuff, no matter how hard they search)

If you submitted an item request last month and we've missed it here, let us know!

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Oh, plenty of times. Most of the time, the stories are something out of a nightmare, meant to scare people and then you find out they're true and...

( he shrugs. )

And then you realize the world is a lot more worse than you originally thought.

No, Mary. All you said was the truth.

[They don't hold it against her. It's not like they didn't kind of prime her for that kind of a response, anyway. It was sad, but it wasn't wrong.]

[It's just kinda what happens when you have no life outside of killing, sabotaging, and otherwise destroying lives and property for seventy years, on top of having your memories wiped away every few days and spending long chunks of time in cryofreeze. They're learning, though.

They smile a bit again.]

Crowley actually tried to make me stop. After I died for a couple of days.

( that's two skips from a batman quote, it'd be easy to take that as childish nonsense from a kid who wanted it to be true without really realizing what it meant. that said, she's not sure it's what is at play here. whatever is up with this kid, some sort of deep dark black magic is involved. she tilts her dark head at him and watches him with narrowed eyes.

looking at Vanitas, she feels the same bitter sting of awareness that she had felt around Will. he was still young enough that the ride was enthralling, that the world seemed a shimmering enigma of possibility. that the bloody chains of servitude to their mother were a small price to pay for the spectacular power she granted those who stood at her side. Carmilla has little fondness left for the black strings that stitch the remnants of her together. she doesn't find triumph in her darkness, only resentment. )

You must be painting the town red, huh? Child of the night left to play in a world of eternal darkness. ( that's the one thing she'll grant Beacon, she doesn't have to worry about sunlight headaches anymore. as for what she is, she has been given plenty of reason to be secretive about it. she finds life easier when she passes as close to normal, anyway. she's not inclined to give a straight answer, but she shrugs. )

There's more than one way to be remade by the dark, kid. ( she's not the darkness, but she's a slave to it. maybe that's not much of a difference. )

[Pokemon, she makes note of.]

Perhaps because there is no greater unification than death. And, [she adds, taking a step forward,] because we none of us are from the same place. We're all outsiders in one way if not another.

Besides: you're far from the only inhuman thing here.

[ she raises an eyebrow. the rest of Beacon, somewhere out there in the woods. She could have avoided going there all together but the promise of something undiscovered almost ensures that she'll be exploring. just not alone. ]

I happily accept your kind offer to escort me back to the relative safety of town. [ she's already got the weaponry she came for, anyway. he doesn't strike her as Beacon's mostly fearless but if anything dares to attack them she knows she can handle it. ]

Are you always so nervous?

That's not really a good thing, is it? She considers that question for a moment, glancing up at the ceiling with a half-squint. It takes her a moment to parse through the memories, instead of giving her usual stock answer. This place has been challenging almost every notion she'd had as a child.

And it hadn't exactly been a typical childhood, either. Even as far as sheltered children go.

"It wasn't like I was being held captive," she says slowly. "I was... I'm dangerous. I had a bad temper, when I was a kid; I didn't understand a lot of things about myself. I would have put myself and others in danger. I did, a few times. And then when I understood myself... I don't know, it was just habit to stay in, at that point."

Ellever shrugs. She'd felt guilty about, well, everything that was 'supposed' to happen. Looking at people whose lives she was supposed to end made her feel guilty. She'd preferred going out on expeditions into the wilderness, rather than trying to make friends with folks.

[ Ellever doesn't mind if people watch her, but she'd understand. Most of her attention is on her work. And she's making decent progress, at least. ]

There was a feast, all this food laid out. Everyone who ate something passed out. [ She glances up, briefly raising her brows. ] I had, uh, too many flashbacks of poisoned food and feasts in legends and movies and... didn't want to risk it. And then the other forest spirits showed up to kill us because they wanted us to be 'out' too. Really, it all could have been corrected with a nicely penned card.

[ She quirks a smile. It's okay to joke about now, but it wasn't a week ago. ]

"I was told I was dangerous, too." The Soldier doesn't have a lot of attention at the moment, but all of it is now focused solely on Elle, stopping in the path with a box on one shoulder and another under their arm. They somehow manage to look both earnest and sober, despite the somewhat ridiculous situation. "I am dangerous. Maybe not the same way you are, but still. That doesn't make it right."

(Somebody's been listening to Crowley and Misty. Maybe. You gonna start talking like that about yourself? ... )

( carm isn't what one would call squeamish, but still, it's for the best she doesn't stare at open wounds. she's not newly turned, going fangs first at the first taste of copper in the air. doesn't really benefit her to chance it, though, so staring at the bonfire it is. )

Amateurs. Everyone knows you need slow acting poison if you want to get them all. ( the fact any individual dumb enough to eat haunted thanksgiving fell face first into their turkey after one bite was a big tell that something was off, by the sounds of it. Carmilla doesn't eat a lot of actual food, and why should she when it's not a necessity, but all this makes her even less inclined.

not that a long nap actually sounds that terrible, she's just never one to do what anyone wants her to do. )

Is that the basic vibe of this place? Spirits act up, everyone suffers, rinse and repeat? ( sounded pretty horrible, not that she'd be surprised. she's used to horrible. )

[ oh, she will be Nancy Drewing, you wait and see. Cheryl's not about to stop sneaking around creepy, poorly lit buildings just because she died. what's the worst that could happen? ]

Deal. I hope you're the kind of person who keeps their word.

[ being Cheryl is exhausting, so it's not like righteous indignation exhausting is enough of a change that she'd notice it. everyone should be glad she has something big to focus her energy on instead of having enough time on her hands to fall back on old favorites like bullying. ]

None of this is normal. We have to be careful.

( surely nothing. everyone knows that sneaking around creepy and poorly lit buildings is about the safest pastime a girl can have! especially when they do it armed with a candelabra.

is she a woman of her word? eh, but, ) I'm always game for vengance. ( the fact she'd mentioned she'd do it at all is saying something, since she's also not the kind of person to offer to be helpful 99.999% of the time. if Cheryl finds someone responsible and available to make suffer, she's totally in on that one, a good indication she is in fact annoyed by all this. if Cheryl can sleuth out the guilty party, she'll go beast mode on them. literally, probably just turn into a cat and eat them. )

Yeah, yeah. ( she waves a dismissive hand at the mention of being careful. she will, more or less... careful for her, anyway. ) I'm not interested in seeing how shitty the after after life is going to be. ( after after after life? whatever, they just seem to be getting progressively worse each time, so she's not chomping at the bit to see the next iteration. ) As for the rest, I guess it depends on your definition of normal.

Edited 2019-12-15 05:05 (UTC)

Sorry to hear that.

[Because he knows examples just like it, things that shouldn't be real but are, and turn out to be purely awful.]

Still, there are a lot of people here from Earth who seemed to have get by all right. Smart, talented people. I guess sometimes the dark parts of the world are good at hiding themselves.

I-- uh, okay. Just let me finish up with this and yeah. Sure, I can take you in to town. Do you know how to ride a bike? No, wait. First, do you know what a bike is?

[Quentin frowns, shifting the garbage again and for the millionth time wishing for longer hair. Something that he didn't have to rake his hands through all the time to get it behind his ears, and he can't even do that because his arms are full of garbage.]

Usually, yeah? I'm-- yeah, I'm pretty much always like this. It's not-- it's not you, if that's what you're worried about. Or the spirits? It's just. Me. And I'm not nervous? [much] Just not. Uh, comfortable. Don't worry about it, I'm fine.

I know... But it just seems all wrong. I don't know what we're meant to do.

[ He looks... Sorry about this, as if he should have some sort of an idea. ]

"Then they're not the ones who've attacked? They're different spirits!" He doesn't know whether to be surprised, relieved, intrigued, or what. Why wouldn't the church spirit have let him know when he asked? None of this made any sense.

[ Aziraphale looks down at his hand and then at Javert expectantly again for a long pause before he clears his throat and casually uses his hand to brush the nonexistent dirt off the front of his coat. ]

Did he now? You and the Soldier, you're friends? I'm glad to hear it.

Oh, I think they are, at least a little bit.

Though I do think the librarian and perhaps the church spirit are just shy.

But I do enjoy a chat with Rastus. He's a lovely fellow.

I can agree with that. The dark parts are the world are good at convincing you they don't exist until you least expect it.

( when you're lulled into a false sense of security and your guard is down and something happens. )

Guess it's good to have a plan for those instances.

Well, that seems counter-productive. But, uh, yeah. P-probable.

[All he has to do to follow this conversation is mentally reclassify psychic abilities and he's fine.]

The existence of a rush isn't really relevant here. He's just busy demonstrating how fine he is and how nobody needs to worry or pay attention. He doesn't actually fall over, but he does waver and have to catch himself.

"I feel like two weeks is, um, it's a bit to... c-catch up on," he says by way of defense.

"You, uh, probably... wouldn't be surprised that I, um, know what you mean?" The idea that everyone is dead seems to have sunk in universally and he still trips over it every time he lets his mind alight on the idea. But he hopes it's helpful, in the strange way that seems to be possible. Everyone's a mess, no one knows what's going on. Though he more than most, it always feels like.

He'll get a feather-light touch of support to one elbow-- the flesh hand rather than the metal one-- then once he's stable the hand pulls back. They understand not wanting support, or fuss, but dammit it's been two weeks. The Soldier is allowed a little fuss. "It will all still be there in two minutes more while you get your balance and stretch out a little bit." They watch Bodhi's feet, as if half-expecting them to not hold his weight. "Besides. It was mostly fighting, not something you really need to catch up on. And a network post that you can catch up on. While sitting down."

"Yes. The ones with green eyes directed the others, the ones that make the hallucinations. But all the ones we know were gone. Didn't recognize any of the ones attacking." They don't know why, and won't know why until they can find their owl friend and ask. They're just desperately hoping they're all right. "They can die. At least. I killed a lot of them."

He's not a spirit, though, he's one of us. I need to find time to talk with him more, myself.

[Though he can see why some might confuse him for one of the locals, given most of the Beacon residents are human or appear to be so.]

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INTRO LOG: DECEMBER

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