inthenightmods: (Default)
In the Night Moderators ([personal profile] inthenightmods) wrote in [community profile] logsinthenight2019-07-12 01:00 pm

EVENT LOG: GRAVES


EVENT LOG:
GRAVES


characters: everyone.
location: Bonfire Square.
date/time: July 12-19.
content: mysterious shrines appear and bring visions of death.
warnings: likely violence and potentially gore.

time to pay your respects.

It happens when no one is looking, when most of the town is asleep and the rest are inside. A makeshift cemetery has come to Beacon, taking up residence in the middle of Bonfire Square. Each monument, shrine, and altar is dedicated to someone who now resides here, a memorial of their previous life.

Some may be drawn by curiosity, others by fear, and some may simply have to pass through this strange graveyard to get to the Bonfire itself. Whenever a person gets near, the altars beckon with a mysterious urge— an urge to approach, and an urge to leave something behind. They will feel compelled to make offerings at the various shrines, but doing so has a curious effect; it causes one to experience the death of the person whose grave they've honored.

Whether you resist the compulsion or give in willingly (or something in between), you'll also have to wrestle with the fact that a grave exists for you. Will you let your death be known, or try your best to keep it secret? Destroying it sure won't work, as it will return— with a duplicate somewhere else in town.

However you choose to deal with this, one thing is hard to ignore— this a tangible reminder of your death, and the fact that it's probably permanent.

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callada: (te convierto y miento y luego sonrio)

Rosinante Donquixote | Open prompts within

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-12 05:04 pm (UTC)(link)
callada: (que jugando con tu sugestión)

Death

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-12 05:05 pm (UTC)(link)
[Video link here, skip to 14:00 or so, after the commercial break. If you want a quicker version the relevant manga pages are here, read right to left. I'd recommend you do at least one of the two so the following makes sense as it's mostly introspection rather than rehashing dialogue.]

Rosinante greets Doflamingo with retaliation, as he had wished he could have done for all three - nearly four - of the years he'd spent in his brother's shadow. Three years and some months spent in quiet obedience, meanwhile carefully, secretly noting down every overheard tidbit and copying every stolen document. So when he points his pistol at Doflamingo and speaks his true affiliation with the Marines, he does so clearly, with focus, with pride even though his ribs are broken and his lungs don't seem to be bringing in enough air. It's not a confession. It's an attack, aimed straight at his brother's heart.

(But he feels the need to apologize anyway. Not to Doflamingo but to the child behind him, hidden and silent in the treasure chest. He's a Marine. He's Law's enemy because of this. The Marines participated in genocide and he does not expect to be forgiven, even if he wasn't there in person. How foolish was he, to cling this whole time to someone bound to hate him, and justifiably so? How selfish, to lie just so he could be loved?)

All Doflamingo wants is power. He wants a right-hand man who will grant him immortality so he can conquer throne after throne. He demands answers from Rosinante - where is the fruit? If Law has it, where is Law? Where is the child who will die for him as the third Corazón? The other executives of the Donquixote Family stand passively, probably just as afraid as Rosinante once was. It's funny how in the face of death, he's the only one who will even make an attempt to put an end to the cascade of tragedies his espionage has foretold. The rest just wish to ride Doflamingo's coattails to the top of every palace.

Law isn't one of them. Law will never follow. Rosinante can't stop Doflamingo at this point any more than he could stop those razor-sharp strings from caging the entire island, but he can get Law out safely. If he only ever does one good thing with his whole life, let it be this. And so as Doflamingo carries on, accusing him of being too soft, too weak, he stands with broken, bleeding limbs, pistol ready to fire.

(Sorry, Law. Again. He'd lied to the boy too many times in one day. Told him Doflamingo wouldn't kill him for this, just so the child to sit down and stay hidden in that chest. Tried to make light of things just so Law would remember him smiling and full of love. That was not a lie; he's probably never been so sincere.)

"He is free!" he shouts, spitting in the face of everything Doflamingo wants. There will be no obedience here today and he will not face death sitting down. Nearly four years without a single spoken word to his brother ends in a declaration of Law's liberation from a future of chaos and destruction. This is his will - that Law should live to make his own choices, no matter what they end up being. At least they'll be his own, and not Doffy's.

He'd expected the first shot. The second hits as the first is registering still. It's not the first time he's been shot, not even the first time today, but as the third, fourth, and fifth punch right through, all he can hear is the ringing in his ears still. It's good he stood. There was no chance the bullets could go through the wood of the chest. Law should still be safe - poor boy. He surely feels the impact as Rosinante collapses backward onto the hard metal edge of the box and slumps back down against its side, shrouded in feathers while red decorates the snow around him. Doesn't even get to keep his uncomfortable wooden pillow, but it's not the fall back into the snow he notices so much as the sudden absence of tiny, silent fists thumping against his back through the planks.

Whatever is going on out there, he can't see it now. Can't really even hear it. He's tired, and cold, and alone. Nobody will witness his final moments, but he doesn't need that. All he can do is concentrate on staying alive for just one more breath, then another. He has to buy Law a few extra seconds to escape, for each moment he clings to life is another moment where nobody will hear the child who must be running by now. Who hopefully will get far, far away from here so he can live a life free of anyone else's demands. Maybe, with a stroke of luck, Law will even think of him again some day and remember him smiling.

[Feel free to leave offerings in reply to this post if your character comes across it while he's away and doesn't come talk to him about it in another prompt.]
Edited 2019-07-13 18:38 (UTC)
pure_havoc: (Default)

[personal profile] pure_havoc 2019-07-15 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
By now Cao Pi has grasped the basics, so placing an offering is a conscious choice. He can't help his natural curiosity, especially about people he's met and spent time with. After their brief adventure in the woods, he feels like it's only right that he and the commander share their experiences. This is genuinely much easier than talking.

At least, that was his train of thought prior to placing the scrap of paper with a line of poetry scribble in Chinese. He's never felt the impact of bullets into flesh before, just a few pings off his armor, but the sense of bleeding out in the snow...how very real. The sense of desperation, the quietly simmering feeling of love for someone who means something, even more real. So when he snaps out of it, his flippant decision becomes firmly cemented into something he needs to take seriously. For now, though, he simply remains there in the glade, thinking, while crouched before the cross. When Rosinante comes around, he'll still be there, pencil and paper in one hand, presently blank while he grapples to shape his thoughts into ideograms that would tumble together into perfect poetry.
callada: (smoke another coffin nail)

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-15 02:57 am (UTC)(link)
So that's how it is, hm? He steps away for a moment to place an offering on another grave, and comes back to someone at his. Unfortunate.

He grows less annoyed when he approaches closer and the lamplight helps illuminate the previously backlit Cao Pi. He has yet to find the other man's headstone, but he had intended to visit it himself, so fair is fair. He'd been a reliable traveling companion, sharp and thoughtful. It must end up being reflected in some similar tendencies when it comes to gathering information.

"Have you already looked?" he asks, tone neutral, and he stops while his lantern swings gently with the remnants of motion from where it hangs atop a branch he'd collected on their walk. The walking stick doesn't actually help him much, but it's nicer than just carrying the light manually.
pure_havoc: (determined)

[personal profile] pure_havoc 2019-07-15 03:25 am (UTC)(link)
The question registers, helping to snap him alert. "...I have," Zihuan intones, low and quiet, before he pushes himself to his feet and brushes his coat off. "The prying can't be helped. It seems to be something we all share, whether we want to or not."

He itches to ask about the kid in the chest, the family member (he noted the resemblance if nothing else) and the conflict, but some of it is probably still too personal to ask after. He inclines his head slightly, the vaguest of bows. "Sacrifice is the noblest of deaths, they say," he hints, wondering if he should be more direct or just leave it be.
callada: (everything said is bent)

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-15 03:33 am (UTC)(link)
He exhales audibly, then runs a hand through his hair, under his hat.

"Thank you," he manages. Were it many of the other people here, he might retort back at them. Do they say that? Who is they? But even though their journey together was short, he and Cao Pi had to rely on each other, and he's gained some respect for the man, even if he's still definitely sort of arrogant. Being called noble is an honest compliment from him, probably.

But now, as with Kuai, it feels awkward to say much else. This isn't the sort of conversation he's well-equipped to handle. "You were... writing something?" he tries.
pure_havoc: (suspicious)

[personal profile] pure_havoc 2019-07-15 03:46 am (UTC)(link)
The whole scene is awkward, Cao Pi won't deny it. His gaze goes to the paper and pencil clutched in his hand. "...poetry," he admits, "though every vision throws me off enough that I can't manage more than a line or two at a time." He looks to where he's tossed the scrap of paper at the foot of the cross. "You're welcome to read it, poetry is meant to be shared rather than hoarded by the writer."

You know, if you can read Chinese, that is.

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sunborne: (192. - 🔥 - MAP THE STARS.)

( reaction only. )

[personal profile] sunborne 2019-07-17 02:47 pm (UTC)(link)
[ the second he sets the flower down, daylight is hit with the feeling of something slamming into him. it only takes him a few seconds to realise that it's the sensation of being shot and oh no oh no oh no. not again please no-

anxiety ripples through daylight, the boy ready to panic, but his own feelings are swept away as the experience fully settled over him. reliving the death of someone else is always a different feeling, judging by who it is. for rosinante, it feels like being pulled under a tide. getting swept away in something grand and sweeping. like a force of nature whose reckoning has finally come.

so it isn't long before daylight's feelings of anxiety and fear it's replaced by something he would best describe as defiance. defiance against doflamingo and for what he stood for. defiance against what was literally being aimed down his face. defiance against death itself as rosinante forces himself to live just a little bit longer, just so law could get out, get away, get a chance to be free. that feeling, amongst all the others, burns the brightest for day.

it isn't long before he's pulled beneath the depths as he reaches the terrifying end of the experience. the one where the consciousness fades and the limbs cool and, yet, it isn't terrifying? something about the focus of someone else's future, the knowledge that, one day, they (law) will think of them again is enough. it helps ease the transition of a fading consciousness, cooling limbs, the snow no longer bothering him and-

by the end of the experience, as he reels back from the grave and lands on his butt with a solid thump!, daylight is reminded of the fact he can't cry. his optics burn, his core aches, and, all the same, his face remains dry.

he's not sure if that's a bad thing or not. ]
voktys: (mele)

(( offering only ))

[personal profile] voktys 2019-07-20 10:18 am (UTC)(link)
Melisandre leaves him her final, treasured cigarette for an offering.
fogey: (☄125.)

[personal profile] fogey 2019-07-21 04:54 pm (UTC)(link)
There's a sense of balancing the scales, maybe.

Not that Five precisely sought out Rosinante's grave because he found the man at his own -- not that he precisely sought it out at all -- but when he lays a candle at the stone there's no guilt in it.

Death is never easy to watch, whether or not it's been perpetrated by his own hands; none of the scenes he's seen here have been, either, and neither is Rosinante's. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, exactly, but it wasn't this. Which is why he's still kneeling when the memory completes, and why he doesn't notice footsteps behind him.
callada: (just let myself believe)

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-22 12:19 am (UTC)(link)
That is certainly a part of why he doesn't notice. The other reason is, of course, that Rosinante can walk without making a single sound. There simply are no footsteps to hear as he walks up and then bends down to catch Five around the middle and lift him away from the grave.

He claps his other hand to his chest as he bends down, though, cancelling the silence so he can speak. "That's enough," he grumbles, hoping to tear Five out of the vision without him being able to see all of it. The more he keeps to himself, the better.
fogey: (☄051.)

[personal profile] fogey 2019-07-25 01:50 am (UTC)(link)
Rosinante catches Five by surprise -- which is another way of saying, Rosinante catches Five.

Startling an assassin isn't a great choice, but luckily Five's immediate reaction is to teleport away. He reappears in a ripple in reality nearby, scowling fiercely.

"Don't touch me."
callada: (this faint sweetness)

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-25 02:02 am (UTC)(link)
One second he has the kid - man, whatever - and the next he's gone. Not dropped, but vanished, only to be somewhere else abruptly. Teleportation, that's a new one on him, though he's heard of a couple devil fruits that allow something like it.

Well-used to strangeness already, and finding each day here to be stranger than the last, his surprise only lasts a second before he focuses quickly on where Five has moved himself to.

"You're the one intruding. You don't have any room to talk."
fogey: (☄094.)

[personal profile] fogey 2019-07-25 02:57 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh yeah? And what do you call spying on my grave?"

It's not quite a you started it, but. The same in essence.

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callada: (sit and wait a while)

1. In Memoriam: at the grave

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-12 05:06 pm (UTC)(link)
It doesn't take long for Rosinante to learn the significance of the graves. One offering to one person and it clicks. It takes a little longer to locate his own: a simple white cross facing the water placed at the head of a stone plaque bearing the inscription:

Rosinante Donquixote
b. July 15, 1485
May the ocean always guide him.

For a while, he sits by it in contemplation. It's horrifying that it's here, it doesn't belong here and doesn't make sense - but touch confirms it's not an illusion. Is this what Sengoku had made for him? Must be. It's nothing special. Just another Marine grave.

Should anyone bring an offering while he's there, he'll turn to face them. No makeup today other than lipstick, a sort of bare minimum to look like he's made an effort. "Why do you want to see this?" he'll ask, sounding more defeated as the days go by.
callada: (beware the silent observer)

2. Elsewhere/wildcard

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-12 05:06 pm (UTC)(link)
Witnessed his death and want to talk about it away from the immediate vicinity of the graves? He'll be collecting items for offerings at the lakeshore, finding nice rocks, tiny shells, interesting bits of driftwood, or possibly gathering little candies and bottles of alcohol at the general store.

Of course, after a few hours of pouring booze into cups for the people he wants to snoop on, he'll retreat to the bar to get plastered because he's out of cigarettes and life sucks big time. Shittiest birthday ever. Find him humming some foreign song to himself while he pokes at his tablet and downs a few too many drinks. Dodge a glass he accidentally knocks off the table and straight at your feet with a swing of an arm. "Sorry," he might say. Sounds a bit slurred. Take him up to his room so he can sleep it off.

As always, feel free to wildcard.
paletteswap: (Sadness)

Lakeshore

[personal profile] paletteswap 2019-07-14 01:07 am (UTC)(link)
Rosinante's had been the first grave he'd come across. It was separate from the others and though he'd seen the new cluster of markers beyond it, he'd stopped short of really noticing what they were. At first he didn't quite understand, why make a grave for someone who had come back from the dead?

Maybe someone had made it when they weren't sure if death was permanent. That was considerate of them, to honor him in that way. He should leave something to help mark it. Incense and food were traditional but he doesn't have the former and wasting the later seemed unwise when he's not sure if the stores will be restocked. There's candles around the makeshift graveyard, and that will have to do.

Kneeling next to the marker he pulls out his tablet and opens it, not to use it, but for the paper he'd been storing safely within. He'd been using it to make notes when he didn't want to use the tablet, and he selects an unused piece and folds it into the shape of a boat. The boat goes near the marker, the candle goes in the boat.

And Kuai is violently thrown into seeing Rosinante's death.

He doesn't have the context, he doesn't know who those people are, or what's happening in the box that's silently thudding behind him. But he comes out of it reeling, on his hands and knees and gasping for air. He clenches his eyes shut, the sudden onslaught of emotions threatening to overtake him and he can feel his eyes scratchy behind his eyelids.

What? What was that? Was that what happened before Rosinante arrived here? He shouldn't know that. He shouldn't be made aware of personal details like Rosinante's thoughts as he died to protect someone. It feels like an invasion of privacy and he at once wants to apologize to the man and also never speak of it again.

He settles for leaving and walking along the shoreline to collect his thoughts, running into the one person he doesn't want to see right now. He pauses, awkwardly looking away before approaching. His formal politeness has no way to properly formulate an apology for witnessing someone else's death from inside their body and knowing their thoughts while it happened.

"I trust you've seen the graveyard that's appeared in town?" He sounds hopeful, maybe if Rosinante has seen it, he won't have to explain anything.

callada: (full of a life I can't)

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-14 01:15 am (UTC)(link)
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he looks over from where he's seated on the beach, sorting through stones. Little pieces of the land by the sea, that's all they are, but they're soft and round and come in such interesting colors. Had his childhood been more carefree, he likes to imagine he would have enjoyed beachcombing for treasures.

"I have," he replies. "Why?"

His own "grave", whatever that marker really is, isn't far away. If it weren't so dark, it could probably be seen from here. Hm.
paletteswap: (Could you not?)

[personal profile] paletteswap 2019-07-14 01:39 am (UTC)(link)
He sighs, part of him wishing that Rosinante somehow magically knew what he was going to say and therefore he wouldn't have to say it at all.

"I saw yours." He looks away, intensely upset about all this but hiding it behind his frozen mask of monotone speaking, "I'm sorry."

Sorry for what? Seeing it? That he died? He tries again, "I didn't know what would happen."
callada: (cold hands covering my eyes)

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-14 01:47 am (UTC)(link)
It's an unsurprising admission. Kuai won't be the first or the only. He probably isn't, already; Rosinante walked away from it a while ago and anyone could have passed by in that time and placed their gifts.

But that knowledge doesn't keep him from deflating slightly, as he lets out a soft sigh and closes his hand around the stones in his palm, then pockets them.

"Everyone's here for the same sort of reason. You don't need to apologize." Except that he does, and he understands. He may end up doing the same when he peers in on the final moments of a few here who went in particularly difficult ways.

Now what, though? Kuai knows more than he had wanted anyone to, and others may learn as well. He's not counting on the modest grave to be completely overlooked by everyone, as nice as that would be.
paletteswap: (Judging)

[personal profile] paletteswap 2019-07-14 03:02 am (UTC)(link)
"There's a difference between knowing, and witnessing." Kuai is pretty sure that Rosinante already knows that. Still, it's why he's here apologizing instead of shrugging it off and going about his day. He feels somewhat dirty, like he's privy to information he shouldn't have but can't give back.

"What sort of magic is making this happen? And for what purpose?" He doesn't expect answers, more voicing his frustration that this should be occurring at all.

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sulfa: (working)

#2 | cw vomit

[personal profile] sulfa 2019-07-20 12:37 am (UTC)(link)
[ It's a lot, looking at his own grave. Irwin has for the most part become desensitized to the image of the two helmets and the sea of headstones around them as the week's worn on - he's no stranger to death, after all - but for some reason, his shoulders feel heavier this evening. Maybe it's the fact that he's nearly out of cigarettes and has pretty dramatically failed at the whole cutting back thing ever since the graveyard first appeared near the bonfire. Maybe it's cumulative damage. He doesn't know. He just knows that he's dead, honest to God dead. Never coming back to the living world, never seeing his parents again unless by some miracle they end up being some of the select few that end up here. Quite possibly never going to see sunlight again.

Wade heaves a sigh and makes his way back to the Invincible after he grinds out the end of his last cigarette for the time being, acutely aware of the nausea and racing heart he'd inflicted upon himself by adding one final link to the chain with every step he takes. Last he checked, Rosinante and Mary are out somewhere, which is preferable - he'd like some time alone to process this; surely enough, there's nobody in the room to hear him cough and subsequently clear his throat.

It's the force of that cough that brings on a wave of nausea a lot more imminent than the vague sensation he was feeling on his way up the the grungy stairs. He has enough time to step into the bathroom without closing the door behind himself and kneel in front of the toilet, resting his forearm on the edge of the seat and his head on his forehead. Wade's not sure how long he spends like that, eyes closed, heart beating sickeningly fast behind his sternum and head throbbing. His thoughts inevitably move to earlier events of the day - seeing Jesse sitting beside strewn offerings and a broken grave marker, staring down at a candle on his own.

Oh, God, they're really dead. Wade retches. The apartment's front door opens. ]
callada: (everything said is bent)

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-20 01:53 am (UTC)(link)
[And Rosinante walks in. Or, well, stumbles in, as he stubs his foot against the doorframe and sort of careens inward with a thud onto the floor. If the door opened outward he'd drag one of these mattresses right up to it, but it doesn't, so screw him, basically.

This has been the week from hell and he's wondering if it will ever stop. The graves appeared out of thin air and haven't gone anywhere and he's seriously considering just moving to the woods and becoming some kind of hermit so he doesn't have to deal with them ever again. If the town is going to be a graveyard, he doesn't want to live in it.

It takes him a second to register that he's not alone - the lantern light and the sound and stench tip him off once they make it to his senses through the haze brought on by alcohol and lack of cigarettes. Not his finest combination. He leaves his lantern in the middle of the room and pushes himself upright, then staggers over to investigate.

Shit, man.]


Wade. You okay? What's going on?
sulfa: (reminiscing)

[personal profile] sulfa 2019-07-25 03:19 am (UTC)(link)
[ Irwin coughs a few times, spits the sourness from his mouth, sniffs. He spends a few seconds of silence staring at the toilet bowl before he dares to slowly lift his head and look over his shoulder at the source of the familiar voice; he's gotten rid of everything he had for dinner, and lunch, and breakfast, but he has no interest in seeing if he can trigger an episode of dry heaving by moving too suddenly. He gives Rosinante a hollow smile that looks about as awful as he feels, although he's not sure if his roommate will catch the insincerity of it through his obvious intoxication. Not that Wade can blame him for drinking. ]

I've been better. Smoked too much at once considering I've barely had anything over the past few days. [ He doesn't mention the emotional aspect of it, that he's alone and dead and very much not okay. Rosinante can probably infer that much. ]
callada: (full of hope)

[personal profile] callada 2019-07-25 04:00 am (UTC)(link)
Done that before.

[It's all right if it's not the full truth. Everyone's in a bad state right now. They're all struggling with this - except for a rare few, whose apparent apathy is as much a warning sign as anything else could be.

Never the best with stable footing, nevertheless he manages to make his way over to the kitchenette in the corner with a hand against the wall to guide him, and gets a glass of water to bring over to Wade.]


Here. This'll help.

[He's in no state to try and do anything more involved, like making soup or tea or whatever else you're supposed to do for someone with a stomach in a bad way, but at the very least it'll help get the taste out of his mouth.]

You should probably come lie down, too. Want a hand?

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