logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: GRAVES

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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( he spends a lotta time here. more than he should, strictly speakin', but he learns right quick not to leave an offerin' or even to pray. it's a hard instinct to shake, because his first thought is always for a prayer of the fallen, but. he does it.

he still takes it as a duty, to memorize things. the names, the graves. it ain't a job that falls to a medical man, but he's been helpin' the dead longer than he's been one himself. he'll remember.

should he be seen near your character's grave, he'll give them a small smile. should they be a stranger to him; )

Sorry to intrude. Weren't plannin' on leavin' an offerin', your death's your business. Just passin' by.

( and should they be a friend, he'll reach out and touch their shoulder gently — )

Hey. Y'all right?

↬

( and should gene spot anybody near his own grave, he'll give them a nod. )

If'n you wanna know, I'll tell you plain how I died. Ain't no point in livin' it, but I don't mind if you want to anyhow.

Edited 2019-07-12 19:10 (UTC)

You know that's not a fair question, right?

[He's not all right, but he's faring as well as can be expected considering the entire community has been plunged into each other's grief. Besides, he's got a pounding headache from a few too many days without a smoke. He turns his head to regard Gene with a tired expression, then gestures to the simple grave.]

You here for that?

( he's learnin', around this fella. gene pulls out a rumpled pack of chesterfields. it's his last, but he ain't about to let the commander know that. he just holds it out for him to take. )

No sir. Ain't of a mind to bear witness to what's between a fella an' his God.

[Nice of him to offer, and he's desperate for nicotine. He takes the pack and draws one, then holds the pack back out to return it.]

God, huh? You have those where you're from?

( he shakes his head, an holds his hand up in a sort'a stop gesture so's to refuse the return of the pack. )

You go on. I'm good.

( he won't lie if rosinante presses the matter, but he's also perfectly content to let the man assume what he will about gene's supply an' leave it at that. )

An' yessir, we do. There's all manner of denominations an' religions besides on my world. Ain't everybody's creed to look to it, but a lotta folk do.

Thanks.

[Well, then, he'll pocket them. It's a generous gift and yes, he absolutely assumes Gene must have more. Why else would he be so willing to share? Rosinante is intensely grateful, regardless - he'll have to really do something to make up for it. He gets it lighted, swats out an ember that drifts from the end of the cigarette to his feathered coat before it can really catch badly, and listens.]

Ah, I see. Religions, sure, we have those too. Seems some people here have had more direct encounters with the gods themselves in their own worlds, though. Wasn't sure which you meant.

[It also really doesn't matter. He's not in the mood to talk gods. He's had his fill for life.]

I went to yours, though. Just so you know.

( he's silent a spell. absorbin' that. ruminatin' on it some. there's a stillness to his body language that speaks to a turmoil of the mind.

gene left an offerin' on his own grave, for his own reasons. an' it's how he knows that reggie was in it, featured enough that a keen mind can parse out the fact that he ain't wholly natural.

rosinante's a kind soul, an' gene ain't about to live in fear of him knowin'. but he don't like the act of havin' the decision about it ripped outta his hands, neither. )

'Preciate you sayin' so.

( he didn't have to. but what else can he say to that? )

I wanted to know the nature of the people I'm here with.

[That, and he's a bit of a hoarder of secrets. Comes with the job. Information is vital to any situation and he knows that well - whether it's war, or being trapped in a dark and unfamiliar world.

The vision he saw didn't make a lot of sense to him. Illusory men, and bombs from the sky are just as alien as all this darkness. But he's hesitant to ask about it right now. If what happened to him is too raw and painful, the same will be true for anyone else.]

You're a good man, Gene. And I'm sorry.

( that makes him stiffen. kyna'd come to him an' said it was an accident. five'd left it open to interpretation. but the commander is tellin' him, essentially, though not in so many words that he was spyin' on purpose. it immediately shifts gene's perspective of the man, an' not in all the most kindly ways. )

'Our nature'? Couldn't just suss that one out for yourself?

( his voice is soft, an' controlled in pitch an' tone besides. )

[He could've lied about his reasons. He didn't. He has some respect for Gene and he'll take the consequences. He's spent enough of his life lying to people he shouldn't, even if this one would've been a harmless fib.]

Eventually. But I've learned that sometimes "eventually" isn't soon enough. If it helps, it's not like I suspected you of anything. It's just better to know outright.

[Not that watching people's deaths unfold is a guaranteed way of assessment either, but it's a start.]

( his jaw works off to one side. on a good day, he'd maybe be able to rationalize this. think it over some, an' come to reasonable conclusions.

but this ain't been a good day, has it? not for any of them. so instead, in a voice leashed with restraint: )

We'll talk more on this matter later, Commander.

( but if he has to stand here an' have this conversation right now, he's going to say some manner of unpleasantness he can't take back easy. better to walk away, which he absolutely turns an' starts doin' without another word. )

[ The hand on Jesse's shoulder startles him. Arms and hands loaded with offerings — cigarettes, coins, candy, flowers — Jesse whips a sharp look onto that voice talking to him, gaze bristling, anguished. But— oh. The anguish torn across Jesse's face pales into rueful recognition: It's Gene. Jesse stares at him for a sorrowful moment. The smell of snow and trampled earth and fresh blood, the sound of bombs and people — comrades, friends — screaming, the air flooded with a whiplash of chaos. The thick ringing trapped in his head from the explosions. The detonation of black silence that struck as Gene had steeled himself and stood up and—

Jesse quickly looks away. A hasty little nod. ]

Y-Yeah, man, I-I'm... [ His voice is deep, shaky; he trails off. A beat passes, and after his eyes land on his grave — desecrated with messy footprints, the remaining offerings scattered around like they've been flung about, a makeshift sign with Jesse Pinkman written across it knocked flat on the ground — Jesse admits a reluctant shake of his head. ] No.

( jesse ain't the subtlest man gene's ever met. it ain't quite like he wears his emotions on his sleeve, but. it's like he's somethin' unrestrained. a sirocco storm of all the things he feels at any given time, an' if you ain't careful you'll catch the shrapnel of it all an' it'll tear into you along every nerve.

he can see the sign plain enough, an' make out the letters well enough in sequence that he can guess that it's jesse's. an' given the nature of how gene came to him that first time, he thinks he's well within his rights to assume it ain't a death any one of them should want to endure. gene reaches up, drops a hand against jesse's shoulder an' lets the weight of his hand give silent voice to the sentiment, i'm here, s'all right. )

What's on your mind?

[ That gentle hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting — Jesse works his jaw while quickly looking away from Gene, teeth briefly worrying his bottom lip in self-reproach. God, this poor asshole, who deserves none of this, is comforting him, who does? He'd laugh bitterly at the irony if he wasn't so numb. ]

Nothing. [ Accompanied with a quick shake of his head. He regrets admitting he's not okay. He's not okay, but it's nothing Jesse has any right to trouble Gene with. Forcing a thin smile onto his lips, Jesse turns his attention back on Gene. ] Nothin' important, anyway. [ His smile turns rueful, his feet shuffling on the ground to face Gene more. God. This poor bastard. ] How're you doin', man? You... You holdin' up okay?

[ Genuine gentleness despite himself in the quiet way he asks this. ]

( it's an abrupt shift, an' gene's fingers tighten briefly on his shoulder, an' then he lets his hand fall away. no, he suspects that jesse ain't one to cleave to comfort. he may surely crave it, but there's some matter of worthiness muddying the water. deservin'. he's sussed that out for himself since that first conversation they had, standin' awkward in the hall of the invincible.

jesse asks the question like it's turnabout, an' gene can't help it — he laughs some, a low, soft sound, shakes his head. s'a queer thing to hear the man so soft an' gentle. endearin' in that way. the words feel like an offerin' between soldiers — the last cigarette in a foxhole, an' ain't that god's honest truth? he's only got one left. he gave the last of what he had to rosinante, before he heard that cuttin' barb outta him.

gene pulls the cigarette outta its pack, taps it idly against his palm an' then shrugs an' lights it. the sentiment echoed is very c'est la guerre as he hands it on over to jesse after a drag. )

I died quick an' clean. Easier than most folk here, from what I can tell. Why this place felt the need ta' put this all ( a faint gesture with one hand. ) on display ain't somethin' I can rightly figure.

( he works his jaw off to one side. then, soft, )

I don't have any regrets. S'the best a man can ask for.

( he just wishes he had some way to know what happened to his boys. reggie will handle tellin' his pa an' brothers. but unless another one of his fellas shows up, there ain't no way to know what happened to the rest of love company. knowin' that ginny would'a needed to cover both platoons until they brought in a new medic on the stick, some green fella straight outta benning — that hurts. he's been with them since tunisia, for christ's sake. seen better than half their numbers riven. overlord an' boston took their toll, to say nothin' of belgium. )

[ Jesse had been determined to disperse all these offerings, if only because it seems so wrong to throw them out or ignore them, but all it takes is that cigarette so simply offered along with Gene's matter-of-fact statement about his death to make Jesse's whole body language sag. He stares at Gene for just a moment. A tiny acknowledging, sombre nod. He lifts a sheepishly grateful hand, trembling slightly, towards the cigarette and takes it. God, he's tired. He's on edge, but so tired. He takes a trudging step across to a rock jutting out of the ground and slumps down on it, his grip on the things he's clutching going slack so everything sinks down onto his lap. He brings the cigarette up to his mouth for a shakily desperate drag. ]

I don't know, either. [ Uttered after the nicotine is pulled deep down into his lungs. Smoke curls around his words, and he breathes out the rest before continuing: ] Why this place is messin' with everyone like this. It's like— It's like it's wantin' us to honour the dead, but rubbin' our faces in it at the same time. Like dogs.

( he trails after, an' sits down cross-legged on the ground a short distance away. givin' him space, but remainin' a lingering presence. )

Well... there ain't nothin' that says it speaks to a human understandin'. Could be the powers-that-be thought they were helpin', you know? Offerin' us some way to cope.

( he'd relived his own death. stepped back into that moment. he wanted to know if mal survived. if his boys were okay. he wanted to see them again, an' reggie, an' pay his respects to them as best he could in his own way. it may be the last time he could ever see any of 'em again, an' knowin' he was goin' to his own death was a small price to pay for that. but he doubts the experience has been so kind to other folk. to men like jesse, who died rough an' hard an' cruel besides, if he had to guess at it.

gene reaches out an' just touches jesse's knee a bit, usin' it as a point of contact to gesture for that cigarette back. )

S'my last one, we better savour it. Won't be gettin' more a spell.

[ By the time he made his way over to her, it had been at least 5 days of her sitting vigil in front of her grave. She’s been attacked, she’s been apologized to, she’s been checked on. She isn’t quite sure this is worth it anymore, sitting in the dirt with nothing but her misery and her own thoughts. People had seen, there was apparently another fucking grave out there anyways. Still, the thought of moving. Of offering no resistance whatsoever. Well…

Still, she’s getting tired. 5 straight days of no real rest, not even the strange stasis she occasionally found herself losing time in. She couldn’t let her guard down. But it’s so hard to move now. To think. To exist. She wants to fade away.

She had felt Gene draw close, yet she couldn’t bring herself to respond at this moment. Unless he tried to leave some sort of offering anyways. Then all bets are off. When he only moves to touch her shoulder though, part of her relaxes, the shadows that had been subtly shifting around her going back to normal. This only served to highlight how still she is, her chest not even moving with breath. At least, not until she speaks, inhaling only enough so words can come out. ]

Fine.

[ She just wants this to be over. ]

Edited 2019-07-22 19:23 (UTC)

( it just so happens, he's brought her a hot meal. it ain't nothin' special or fancy, just a few things he's picked up on her likin' well enough to eat. his hand drops away from his shoulder. )

You oughta eat somethin'. Come away from here a bit so's it don't count as an offering.

( he says it gently, the warmth of his hand the only anchor point between them. )

[ She stays deathly still for a long moment, her mind slowly chugging along as she processes what he’s offering, her previous interactions with him, and all of her experiences during this horrible week. What she’s left with is: food = more energy and accept food = gene leaves faster. The comforting touch only weakens her resolve further, even if she can barely feel it anymore.

She slowly rises up, motions jerky and unsettling as she moves not with her muscles, but with the shadows within her body. She then takes about 3 steps away from her grave before moving to take the offered bowl of… she honestly didn’t really care right now. ]

Thank you.

[ She then pulls down her mask and starts to eat, turning away from the light. Her movements are mechanical and unhurried. She really isn’t hungry, just. It’s familiar is all. ]

Edited 2019-07-31 20:58 (UTC)

( he shifts, steppin' between her an' the grave that's got her so bothered. he ain't got the slightest intention to do anything untoward, but if he can take her mind off it even a minute or two that's plenty by his metric. )

I was kind guessin' at the spices. Ain't never had much to do with, ah, Chinese? ( he always says that a bit uncertainly, like he ain't quite sure it's the right manner of address. ) cuisine. Ain't many of your folk down in Alabama.

( it's some sort of noodle dish, at least, no doubt a pale imitation of somethin' she's made for herself some time prior. )

[ She stiffens when he takes a step towards her grave, watching him with narrowed eyes as she readys herself to do… something if he even seems to attempt to make an offering. Instead, he just stands there, as if trying to block her view. A good try if she didn’t have all these weird new powers, her grave standing out as a solid unescapable presence in her mind’s eye or whatever.

Still, she lets out a small snort at his uncertainty, even smiling ever so slightly which he might actually be able to see this time. Despite the lack of direct light, this is the most uncovered her face has ever been in front of another. She’s just glad he didn’t call her Oriental again because really. Talk about uncomfortable. ]

Oh uh… you did fine. [ She said a nod before shoveling another bite of food into her mouth. He somehow forgot the soy sauce, but at least he remembered the copious amount of peppers she puts in her own food. ]

Edited 2019-08-15 05:38 (UTC)

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EVENT LOG: GRAVES

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cemetery — friend option!

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