EVENT LOG: GRAVES

[inthenightmods]

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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Comments

2. Elsewhere/wildcard

[callada]

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.

Lakeshore

[paletteswap]

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]

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]

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]

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]

"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.

[callada]

"The same sort of magic that brought us here," he suggests calmly as he goes back to sorting through stones. It's easier than looking at the other man, knowing now what he's experienced. All that fear and anger, that need to protect the boy at any cost. The tiny amount of love he still will hold for the brother who protected him as a child, who he refused to shoot. Doflamingo had no such hesitation.

"I couldn't tell you why. Maybe some misguided attempt at getting us to know each other. Team building." It would almost be funny if it wasn't instead so brutally cruel.

[paletteswap]

"Learn each other's secrets in the most violent way possible." There's a chance someone died peacefully in their sleep, but it didn't seem likely. And this just made things awkward, rather than pulling people together.

His own death wasn't nearly as traumatic, dying in battle was expected and not as emotionally charged as what he'd just experienced. There was slim chance anyone was going to be left reeling from seeing someone die in a huge battle. But dying to protect someone? A person that Rosinante clearly loved deeply?

Kuai didn't know what to do with those emotions.

"Maybe someone here has something to hide and whoever controls this is trying to expose it."

[callada]

"That's paranoid of you." And not a bad thought. Even if that's not the reasoning behind it, it isn't a bad one. It's why he's collecting all these little pebbles and shells to make offerings with. If someone here died in a way that exposes them as particularly cruel or unjust, a physical or emotional threat to others, then he wants to know about it.

"But then wouldn't that person have to show themselves to take advantage of this? And throwing all our secrets wide open to everyone - if there's someone who's done something wrong enough to warrant it, they're going to be torn apart. Or worse, there will be those who side with them, and then we'll be fighting each other."

[paletteswap]

"Paranoid or pragmatic? Anything could be plausible here." And he's normally the optimistic one, so this is a fair showing of just how thrown by all this he is.

"If fighting amongst ourselves is the goal, that would be one way to go about it. But I'm merely speculating. It's also likely it's a side effect from the magic that brought our graves here. Or manifested them. I doubt anyone recovered my body to bury it."

[callada]

Coming from Rosinante, paranoia is hardly an accusation, even if the dry sarcasm might suggest it is. No, there's a healthy amount of concern that should always be taken to ensure some reasonable amount of safety. It's definitely pragmatic, and he nods in agreement while Kuai continues.

Whatever happened to the other man must have been pretty wildly different and devastating. No body to recover? Meanwhile, his own might have been taken in by the other Marines on Minion that day, if he was lucky. That snow was falling fast.

Unpleasant. Not what he wants to think about right now but it's hard to ignore.

"I imagine the one you saw is what mine must look like, if I have one at home. But I guess I don't know. Perhaps if our memories can be invaded and put on display, then whoever did this can draw reasonable guesses from them."

And it occurs to him in that particular moment that this may not be the only time this happens. Other memories may still be displayed for all to see, and he closes his eyes against a rush of nausea. His death is one thing. He didn't die honorably, but he made the best of it. There's no need to hide it, really. But what of everything else?

[paletteswap]

"Maybe it's what we think they should be. I know my brother has no grave, yet his is here as well." Though what appeared here is probably not what Bi-Han would have envisioned. Unless there really is some portion of him that's still the man he once was.

A thought for another time.

"This could happen again." It's not a question, it's a statement with disturbing implications. Kuai can think of quite a number of things he wouldn't want everyone to see. Some of which he was possessed for so even he didn't see firsthand. "Why would anyone do that other than to torment us?"

[callada]

An awful question, but one he actually has a tentative answer for. Also, he hates it.

"When I spoke to Nate earlier, when he talked about the world he was in before this, he said it was run by creatures who called themselves gods. They held everyone in a system of caves and used their emotions for sustenance. Maybe it's... something like that."

Please, don't let it be that, because he's not sure if he can take this torture for an eternal afterlife.

#2 | cw vomit

[sulfa]

[ 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]

[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]

[ 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]

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?

[sulfa]

[ It goes without saying that Irwin's unused to being fussed over - as company medic, his main role after fixing their guys up was appearing invincible himself, hiding pain and sickness in the same way that a parent would in front of a child. He wishes he could will himself to do the same here, seeing as Rosinante may at some point become his patient a second time, but he's already been seen vomiting, and he's in no real state to try and stagger to bed himself.

Wade rinses his mouth of the remaining acid, spits, then takes a few careful sips and swallows them before he sets the glass down on the tile floor. ]

Thanks. [ And he means it. Seeing as the nausea's mostly ebbed, he nods gently in response to his roommate's offer. ] That would be good. If you don't mind.

[callada]

[Meanwhile, having just spent months acting as parent for a sick child, he's all too used to this kind of thing. Even drunk, his priority is caring for someone who clearly needs the help. He grips the frame of the bathroom doorway to stabilize the room around him, and reaches out a hand to pull Wade up off the floor and hopefully onto his feet. Hopefully without spilling that glass of water.]

C'mon, it's, uh. Right over here.

[Yep, that's the mattresses alright. Can't really call it a bed, any of this, they sleep on what they've got. But between the mattresses, the pillows, and the accumulated pile of blankets, at least it's soft. Rosinante does his best to guide Wade over, then ends up dumping himself right onto the floor on his butt in a swerve to avoid his lantern. But hey. That's fine. That works. He'll just... sit here, and comb fingers through his hair, regretting his own lack of cigarettes.]

[sulfa]

Hey, hey, you alright? [ Wade says this from where he sits on the edge of the mattress - it's become readily apparent over the past few weeks that Rosinante has all the balance of a newborn foal, but he can't imagine crashing down onto coarse, low-pile carpeted floor to be comfortable whether it's happening for the first time or the hundredth.

He watches the commander rake long fingers rake through his thick flaxen hair after he straightens himself up with a frown: he hasn't seen this particular mannerism before, but then again, he's also never seen the man this drunk. Rosinante doesn't seem to be doing any better than he himself is, maybe worse. ]

[callada]

Yeah. Just... had too much. Trying to clear my head.

[Which is a broader answer than "yes I'm all right, I just hit the floor kind of hard" but more fitting, he thinks. He and the floor are well-acquainted. Hardly friends, but he's had less-forgiving enemies.]

We're both kind of a mess right now, huh. Too much death, not enough smokes.

[Or something like that. He's been more eloquent than he feels right now. With a sigh, he rolls his shoulders and tries to shake off some of the brain fog. No sense acting as pathetic as he feels. At least Mary isn't around right now to see them both in such a state as this.]

[sulfa]

Yeah. [ Wade casts his roommate a rueful smile. There's no point in trying to maintain the usual illusion of infallibility, seeing as Rosinante has now seen him indisposed and just gave a pretty good read of his present emotional state. ] You know, I always thought— [ What? That he wouldn't die? That it would happen to someone else? Not exactly; Wade had enlisted knowing fully well that there was a good likelihood he'd die, medic or not. And yet... it doesn't feel real. He's been dead for almost a full month and it still feels a bit like a vivid dream. ]

Hard to believe I'm actually dead.

[callada]

Mhmm.

[And will it ever get easy to believe? Maybe not, given this place likes to preserve an illusion of life. He doesn't feel dead. Knows he is, though. And Wade, well. Given how the guy went, there's no doubting that either.]

I had... goals, you know. A career.

[But he chose this and he doesn't regret it. He just hadn't thought he'd have to come to terms with the things he failed to do afterward.]

[sulfa]

[ Wade swallows dryly while staring down at his hands and wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. ] Me too. I was going t— I was halfway through my internship when I joined the army. That's a shadowing period our doctors have to go through before they can practice on their own.

[ But enough about him. Irwin lifts his head to study his roommate. ]

What about you? Were you always in the navy?

[callada]

[He nods slowly. It's true enough, since nothing of his life before that matters now. Certainly none of it should ever matter again, here.]

Marines, yeah. The World Government military.

[Explained with a half-shrug. It's a navy but the distinction matters to him. It's a matter of duty.]

It's all I really wanted, so I knew this was always a risk. I just... wanted to be there for people who needed a helping hand and it was the best way I knew how to do that. Piracy's a big problem in my world. A lot of island villages would get wiped out if we weren't there to protect them.

[He waves a hand as he explains as if gesturing to something that isn't there. Intoxication has loosened him up, made him a little more animated it seems.]