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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( you can find him in the church among the pews. head bowed, hands clasped. he may be silent, or he may be at prayer, in which case he'd be sayin' something like,

may the souls of all the departed through the mercy of god find peace in their own way, and may their suffering be eased through the grace of our lord jesus christ. amen.

if your character is a religious sort an' sits on next to him, he might reach for their hand an' continue the prayers. if they interrupt him somehow, he'll finish whichever prayer he'd started an' then glance up to pay them mind.

if they sneak up on him an' scare the livin' hell outta him, they might get him to go on' and cuss right here in this holy place. )

Edited 2019-07-12 18:41 (UTC)

[ Beacon has no sept, and while Brienne has offered many a prayer to the Seven without one, she still seeks out the church in search of some manner of... comfort? Familiarity? She's not sure.

She has always been slow, she knows this, and so much about the gods is confusing. The love they offer must be of a singularly cruel sort, considering all the things the people who worship them are forced to endure. Still, she has yet to renounce them, even if she in some corner of her heart wonders if maybe they have renounced her.

She moves quietly, trying her best to more or less make herself invisible, as is her wont. Spotting Gene, however, she ends up just sort of... freezing in place, caught in an awkward moment of being unable to decide whether she should greet him or just turn around and leave so that he can pray in peace.

So, should Gene choose this moment to leave his seat he will have the wonderful experience of someone just suddenly standing in the isle, silent as a mouse. ]

( prayer cleaves peace to the soul of him like nothin' else. he's tryin' for it. been at it a long while with his fingers clasped, head bowed. his lips move, though he's silent so as not to disturb any of the other folk comin' and goin' in the building. it ain't his alone, after all.

but the peace won't come. his faith didn't waver in the war, not once, but seein' what this place has in store for folks has set it to trembling. so after this long moment'a devotion, he stands up an' turns to follow the aisle back to the vestry where he an' wade've been puttin' things in order for the clinic. he stops when he sees brienne, who seems to be doin' her best to sink into the floor, an' his mouth turns up softly at one corner in a soft, genuine sorta pleasure at seein' her. )

Miss. You holdin' up okay?

[ Brienne is unaccustomed to softness, and her coarse, freckly features quickly become flushed under Gene's gaze.

Her tongue feels thick and clumsy in her mouth, and though her lips part it takes a long moment before she can force any sound at all through them. ]

No.

[ Yes, she had meant to say. Yes I'm fine, yet somehow unfiltered truth spills from her mouth instead. ]

( no. not a one of them is. he holds out a hand for her to gesture for her to come in closer or to take if she might be so inclined. )

Lotta that goin' around, Miss.

( everybody's hurtin'. it's just. this place an' the damn darkness. softly, )

You here to pray?

_{[At a time Gene finishes up one of his silent prayers and turns to look behind him, he'll find he's acquired a sentinel a few pews back at some point in the process. M.K.'s attention seemingly slides to him only as an afterthought, but his head is up and hands unclasped; it's clear he hasn't been looking to bend the ear of any higher powers while he's been sitting there.]}

What are you praying for?

_{[It's the kind of opening volley to a round of idle chitchat that anyone might offer up when most of the church pews stand empty aside from them... except it's coming from him, and if there's one thing M.K. hasn't made a point to do in Beacon, it's chat. Not even with the people he's been sharing room 304 with.

Aside from a few words over the bonfire, they haven't spoken much, often coming and going at different times. But now-- Hm.]}

( m.k is quiet as a housecat, an' as ornery as anythin' feral besides. but gene likes him, an' he's hard to startle besides so all m.k gets for his trouble is a nod of greeting. )

Peace.

( not for himself, though he won't volunteer that information outright. he's as peaceable as anyone can be, given the circumstances. but there are a lotta folks out in beacon that're hurtin' tonight over the trauma of their own deaths, an' gene, for maybe the first time in his life or unlife after, ain't quite sure what it is he can do to ease the collective pain. )

Mm.

_{[The creak from the old pew as he leans back into it threatens to drown out the soft sound he makes in response. A hum of thought, a scoff, a grunt of acknowledgement--it could be one, or it could be a mix of all of them, floating nebulously between all three.

Again Gene falls under a scrutinizing gaze. They couldn't be more different on a surface level, he and this mannerly southern boy. Just like the very cat Gene envisions, M.K. goes where he pleases, says what he wants, shows consideration to whom he feels like it and withholds it for those he doesn't. Only recently did he pick up a banner to fight in someone else's name--but even that had been a choice made for himself, not the collective. Not really. Even their desires, identical in lip service--peace, yes, peace, he would've said the same once and had--is refracted through different lenses, focused in different directions. For M.K., inward.

For Gene, outward. For Gene, the most palatable responses for the most people. Respectful, buttoned-up, giving a bit of his time to everyone. He even lets the girl in the face mask talk down to him, a thing M.K. wouldn't abide in his place.

It must be exhausting living in Gene's skin full-time.]}

And how's that working out? Are you feeling more peaceful?

( he ain't never been a dishonest man a day in his life. m.k. asks if he's found peace an' he shakes his head, exhalin' a long breath, hands on the pew in front of him. steady. his boys used to brag about that. doc hicks has the steadiest hands in the 505. it was a badge of honour, once. pride's a sin, but at least it was his sin to make. )

No.

( ain't no comfort to be had in this cloying, claustrophobic darkness. he tips his head to one side, a bit wryly. )

But the world spins on anyhow. How're you holdin' up?

If you did, you wouldn't need the praying.

_{[There are no gods in the Badlands. Beacon has everything--magic, whimsy, purgatory and punishment--but still no gods. The building they sit in is an elaborate bandaid for a state of unhappiness that's as deeply woven into humanity's fabric as religion.

Inclining his chin, he indicates the open spot beside him. An offer, if the other likes.]}

I wasn't afraid to die then, and I'm not now. _{[One shoulder lifts in an offhanded shrug. Better than some, that shrug says. He knows pain; he keeps it close to him, warms himself by it, fuels his darkness with it. He's felt the gut-punch of a hidden memory that crumbled the ground under his feet--that had been painful. These don't compare.]} Whatever spell is at work, the only thing it's doing is telling the truth. There are worse things.

[ he'd already left something at the grave. unnamed. probably unremarkable. dick wouldn't like to draw attention to it.

but he keeps drifting nearby. feeling the ache in his heart. feeling strange, too. something out of balance between them.

he goes looking for gene.

very quiet. but not silent. he slips near gene like a shadow. becoming solid. dick is not a churchgoing man. his parents had a short service because it was expected. they were buried in a gotham graveyard. he kept what he could of their belongings. despite long ago being told they should be distributed. he had to hold on to what he had left of them.

he doesn't resist gene taking his hand. he squeezes it warmly and lets him continue. it has been a long time since his anger was quiet. ]

( he carries the prayer through to the end, then, lettin' his fingers tangle with dick's. he's a warm, welcome presence at his side an' he brings a sense of armistice with him. a ceasefire between the despair he's feelin' an' the cruelty of this place.

dyin's it's own trauma, but it ain't on you to carry it. you live it, an' then you die, an' god willin' that's the last of it. for those that become ghosts, they at least don't seem to retain the sense of the pain. but here, not only are folks bein' pushed into relivin' their own end, but also those of those around them, that they've maybe come to like an' know. an' gene has seen enough of death that he don't want to be party to more, especially when he can't give succor to their pain.

he exhales, soft, when he's done. but no words. not yet. )

[ nothing to say yet. even though on the tip of his tongue he's thinking of an apology. hard to say. he knows he couldn't have resisted. he was drawn in the second he saw the name on the headstone.

his own graves have been dutifully guarded. and what of gene's? common courtesy.

he thinks it would be better to do that than to say sorry i bore witness to your last moments. (he'd been tested on survival in the wilderness. but in the memory, it was cold like he never knew.)

he ends up leaning towards gene. forehead towards forehead. ]

Edited 2019-07-21 05:04 (UTC)

( it's always soldiers an' servicemen. like calls to like. dick may be a cop, but there's a quality to him that gene recognizes from years now of soldierin' an' he's glad an' grateful for the point of contact. he just leans in, closes his eyes. dick's hand is still clasped in his, an' he thinks about bombed out churches in holland where he sat in the pewes with angel an' alex an' howie sometimes too. just like this. )

Helluva thing, huh?

That’s what you say? [ he chides gently. lifting his other hand to touch gene’s cheek. john grayson often would, in comfort. bruce was different. more distant. but when the nights were bad, dick would be clinging to him. lost in the folds of his cape.

he hasn’t offered anyone much comfort since coming here. and he wonders if gene received any, at all. if he let himself receive it. he’s a sweet man. sincere. but there is an air around him that dick sees. ]

Listen, I. [ shit. ugh. ] I’m here.

( some folks have that way to them. they comfort because it's their nature, like his pa, or because it's somethin' learned, like his ma. gene ain't sure where he falls anymore, maybe somewhere in the middle? but with dick, it feels like somethin' he might've been a natural at once upon a time, but had to unlearn for safety's sake.

gene accepts it just the same, canting his head into that touch. )

Y'could try somethin' less obvious next time, fella.

( it's gentle. a hat-tip to the fact that he don't much need the comfort but appreciates it all the same. )

Probably. [ gene is letting him. dick has forgotten how. he and bruce patched up open wounds. as he grew older, the words were less necessary. they understood each other.

he misses kory. she'd lay this out with a tease or a barb. she would know. ]

( gene lifts his hand up, lets it catch briefly on the back of dick's neck, soft acceptance an' gratitude before he drops it away. )

You a family man, Dick?

( he's nearin' in on thirty. it's near-unheard of for folks in gene's time not to have a missus by then. he just assumes that's how it is. )

[ gentle touch. grief wells up unbidden. he has never had any choice over when it strikes him. the memories of his family have never faded. ]

I don't think so. [ he is more honest than he thought. he is not good with kids.

but he has two. picking them up like strays. taking them under his wing. ]

But I have two... I'm responsible for them. He's Gar, and she's Rachel. [ kory is complicated. harder to explain.

(too much to hope for.) ]

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EVENT LOG: GRAVES

church; you can take the catholic out of the war but...

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congratulations you unlocked the hug icon.

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