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

javert | ota

[policier]

bonfire

[policier]

( His is nothing but a simple white gravestone, without any embellishments or adornments. Just an inscription carved into the stone, designating his name and police rank, his birth date and his death.
Javert
Inspecteur de 1ère classe
1780-1832
He doesn't expect anyone is mourning him back home. The only legacy he has ever had is his work. It was the only thing he ever cared about, and even that ended up being tarnished, in the end. His fingers trace carefully over the word "inspecteur," and all of a sudden, Javert feels compelled to leave an offering. He rummages around in his pocket, pulling out his glass encased police badge, stamped with the arms of France on one side and his endorsement on the other, and sets it down in front of his tombstone.

The hallucination hits him unexpectedly, and once the entire torturous affair is over, Javert is in a cold sweat. He gets up, and rushes out of the cemetery like a bat out of hell, only stopping once he reaches the outskirts of the cemetery. He breathes in and out, and takes a seat near the bonfire once he's calmed himself down a little bit. He looks over at the person sitting nearest him, and after a moment of great internal debate and difficulty, he asks, awkwardly, )

What do you do to distract yourself?

( Javert never asks for help, so this is a big thing for him. )

[originallutece]

[She glances over at him for a few seconds, her gaze speculative. Rooming with Javert has been . . . interesting, to say the least, but not unpleasant. The man keeps to himself and lets Rosalind have the bed, which is ideal if she has to share at all. They've had a pleasant few conversations, idle chatter that means nothing.

They aren't anything so intimate as friends. But she doesn't hate him, and that's worth a lot.

All of this to say: when he approaches her, she stares at him for a long few seconds before tipping back her notebook. There's a drawing there, still in the beginning stages. A portrait, and it's hard to tell who it might be, but there's his answer: that's what she's doing. If she looks paler than usual, if there's something a little dead in her gaze, well.]

[policier]

( Javert would not be so bold as to ask what is ailing her. They aren't friends, despite the fact that they share rooms and, occasionally, spend time together whenever Javert is there long enough to do so. But he would be remiss if anything were to happen to her and Javert did nothing at all to help. )

Ah. ( He looks at the drawing, wondering idly who the person in the portrait might be, but he knows it's none of his business. They never talk about personal matters with each other, and for that, Javert is grateful. )

Then do you mind if I sit here with you?

( He should have asked that from the beginning, and he would have, had he not been so agitated. )

[originallutece]

By all means.

[She even shifts just slightly, making sure he has room, before continuing her sketch. It's getting there, the rounded outlines starting to become sharp cheekbones and an elongated face.

She's quiet for a long while, but sooner or later:]

And how many tokens have you left on graves, Inspector?

[policier]

( He appreciates the silence. He always does, whenever it falls between them. It never feels awkward, or forced, it just simply is. Javert knows it's not any of his business, but since he's looking for a distraction, he can't help but watch as she sketches her portrait onto paper. )

Just the one. ( He doesn't care to get his police badge back. Might as well just let it lay there, it's not it will do him much good here. )

I didn't have much choice in the matter, though. That damned graveyard is cursed.

[originallutece]

Or just terribly, terribly effective.

[She doesn't believe in curses, but she certainly does believe in the power of a convincing illusion. Her pencil presses in, confirming a certain line, etching it in properly, before glancing towards him.]

How did you--?

[policier]

How did I die?

( Javert knew someone was going to ask that, sooner or later. It's not a conversation he's comfortable having, but then again, he hasn't been comfortable with anything ever since Valjean let him go. He looks over at her placidly. )

You want to swap stories?

[originallutece]

[She stares right back at him, unashamed. That's a fair enough exchange, and yet she pauses, not entirely ready to share her end. But she wants to know, especially about this man, who sleeps on the floor and patrols around the town and acts unlike any man she's ever met before, good or bad, so--]

I was assassinated.

My employer decided I was a liability. He hired my rival to sabotage one of my machines, and make it look an accident. It worked.

[It's evenly said. Almost like an obituary, which is precisely what she's going for, toneless and without emotions. It certainly doesn't speak of the angry or anguish she'd felt, the rage, the horror, all her regrets, how badly she felt as though she'd failed Robert, his hand in hers--

But maybe he sees something in her gaze, or hears the brittle rigidity in her tone.]

bonfire;

[preseance]

( he ain't got a notion of how long he's been sittin' at the fire, ruminatin' on the curl an' play of the flames. he only knows that he's jittery an' restless an' has that gutsick feelin' that ain't just on account'a the death an' sufferin' he's seen.

javert speakin' to him snaps his attention sideways. gene wets his lips, which are rough an' chapped (lord, he's thirsty. that's the withdrawal too.) an' then, )

Ah... dancin', mostly sir.

( or puttin' himself to prayer. but faith is harder on some days than others, an' he can't bring himself to reach for it right yet. the lord will have him when he's ready. )

[policier]

Truly?

( There's a part of Javert almost thinks Gene is pulling his leg. But then he notices the other man's posture, his restlessness, and it almost feels comforting to know that he's the only one not dealing with things well. )

What a shame, then, that we don't have any music.

( He's never cared for songs, but right now it might be nice to hear one. )

[preseance]

( he glances back towards the inn, though the way he's tappin' his fingers against his thigh don't hardly cease. he ain't much for fidgeting, an' yet here he is. )

Don't seem to be much rhyme or reason — or era — to it, but they play music at the Invincible sometimes. An' I've spoken with Rastus about orderin' a. ( he recognizes the voice, an' so follows the year. ) — Little machine what plays music on its own, too. Called a gramophone. Should be useful here.

[policier]

Maybe. Just as long as it doesn't invite any rowdy behavior.

( He's witnessed that a few times already at the Invincible. People twirling each other around and falling into each other like ninnies. Javert can't help but scoff a little, at the memory. )

I sincerely doubt I'd have to worry about that from you. You just don't seem the type.

[preseance]

( he's. he's a consummate swing dancer. maybe he's not rowdy per se, because he rarely gets drunk an' dances the same, but lord knows he loves to dance. he ducks his head a little, though he ain't as chastised as he maybe should'a been. )

Oh, I don't know about that, sir. I can be plenty rowdy.

( he says it soft, just a little shy of teasing. cops ain't soldiers, but they foster a similar sort of camaraderie, an' sometimes eugene percival hicks just needs to be a little shit. )

Company allowin', of course.

[policier]

( Javert merely shakes his head, looking a little disappointed, but not overly or seriously so. He's a little too stiff to tease, but he does, at least, attempt to give him some shit back, his voice softening a little when he says, )

I suppose I will have to keep an eye on you, then, next time they play music at the tavern.

( It doesn't sound like much of a threat, without the sternness. )

Can't have one of our only two medics getting hurt.

[preseance]

I will have you know, I was the two-time Lindy champ at Café Society in New York an' I ain't never hurt myself yet.

( he can tell — there's somethin' plenty restrained about this fella. but he figures he's doin' his best. can't be easy to integrate. he thinks of the difficulties he's had himself just tryin' to catch up with near a hundred years of time in most cases, an' even more in just a few. alexios has the worst go of it that he's seen, but it can't be easy in this case neither. )

But I'll be right careful, sir. I promise. ( a slight pause. gene looks at him askance. ) What about you? What d'you do?

[chivalrouswench]

[ Brienne can feel the pull of the graves like an itch in a hard to reach spot, and so she can sympathise with the wish for a distraction.

That being said, she still gives Javert a look more befitting a startled deer than a warrior when he speaks to her, never prepared for anything other than scorn and derision when it comes to social interaction. ]

I suppose I train.

[ When being pushed to her physical limits there really is very little time to think on anything else, which has oft been a blessing since her mind is a sad and lonely place most of the time. ]

[policier]

( Javert doesn't like to think at all, so that sounds like something right up his alley. There's no scorn or derision in his tone, just genuine curiosity, when he turns to her and wonders, )

Train? As in combat?

( Women can formidable in their own right, as Javert well knows. He'll never forget that night when Mme. Thénardier threw a paving stone at his head, and how she was the only one, outside of her husband, who even dared to attack him. He's not going to judge. )

[chivalrouswench]

Yes.

[ His attitude might be accepting, but Brienne is still braced for scorn. It is simply too deeply ingrained in her to expect dismissal of the way she has chosen to live her life. ]

[policier]

What did you do back home, that you would need to train to fight?

( Javert may not be any good at making friends, but there's no harm in getting to know other people. It could prove useful, especially in a town as small as this one. It's also a good way to get his mind off of Valjean, and the Seine. )

[chivalrouswench]

[ It's a very straightforward question, but Brienne has no straightforward answer. The reasons for her learning how to fight were after all born out of personal pain more than anything else, and that is not something she wants to share with someone she doesn't know beyond these few words they have exchanged. ]

I... wanted to be a knight.

[ It is enough truth that she doesn't feel like a liar for saying it. In some ways, even this is more than she really wanted to share, in truth. ]

[policier]

A knight.

( Javert echoes the word in his necktie. It's a little hard to tell, what with how stoic and cold he usually is, but he seems pleased. Knights are honorable, dedicated. Anyone who is training to become one should also be so, he would hope. )

Does that mean you train with a sword? It's a shame I do not have mine here.

death, cw: suicide

[policier]

valjean takes his revenge
clip from the musical

( The hallucination begins in a wine shop, with Javert tied to a table, his wrists and neck wrapped with a rope, holding him down by the middle before tying together at the ankles. There are others in the room as well, a group of young men who look tired and famished, but fierce and determined. They are all armed with swords, muskets, and pistols. The leader of the group takes one and lays it down on the table, declaring, "The last man to leave this room will blow out the spy's brains!"

Javert, himself, is nothing but calm. He listens as the younger men go on about where he should be killed, his demeanor unresponsive and serene until the voice of an older man cuts in and asks, "Do you think I deserve a reward?" Enjolras says, "Certainly." "Well, I have one to ask." "What?" "To blow out that man's brains myself."

Javert looks at him. This, here, is the man he has known for twenty-nine years. Twelve years at the bagne in Toulon, where Valjean was a convict and Javert was a prison guard, and seventeen while Javert hunted him down, determined to send him back to prison for recidivism and breaking parole. Given their history, and everything Javert has done to torment him, he only says, "That is appropriate."

He is led out of the wine shop by the older man, past the barricade and into an empty street. Valjean puts the pistol under his arm and pulls out a knife, which Javert taunts him about, saying that it suits him better. Valjean doesn't say anything. He just closes the distance between them, cutting the rope around Javert's neck, wrists, and feet, and says simply, "You are free."

Javert can hardly believe it. He stands there stupefied and paralyzed, unable to move or think as Valjean tells him his address. If he should survive the upcoming battle, he says, that is where Javert will find him, so that he may arrest him. "Go on."

As if it is that simple. Javert resumes his military-like posture, arms folded across his chest as he turns and begins the slow process of walking away. His mind is already in turmoil, caught somewhere between annoyance and admiration for Valjean. He turns back to him and says, "You irritate me. Kill me instead." Valjean tells him, "Go away."

He does as the older man asks, walking toward the markets as the sound of a pistol goes off somewhere behind him. It's all the proof the young insurgents will need, to know that Valjean has finally killed the spy Javert. )

javert's suicide
clip from the musical
clip from the miniseries

( Several hours and scenes later, Javert finds seated at the writing desk of the police station. With paper in front of him and pen in hand, he writes a note to the prefect of police titled "Some Observations for the Benefit of the Service." These are to be his last words, which not only cover the lapses in police protocol, but also that of the immoral prisoner treatment. He signs his name at the bottom, dating it for the 7th of June, 1832, and leaves it there on the table for his colleagues to find.

Then he returns to the Seine, to the bridge between the Palais de Justice and Notre Dame. Between law and religion, where Javert's mind is currently trapped. Valjean is alive, and it is Javert's duty to go to him and arrest him.

But he finds he cannot. For the first time in his life, he cannot do his job. He cannot send a good man back to prison, a man who saved his life when he should have taken it, who was kind to him when Javert has only been cruel.

A seed of affection takes root inside him, filling his heart with admiration and respect, and he finds it nearly intolerable. His heart has never once felt compassion or love. He has always been alone, and that has never been a problem for him until now. Now, there's nowhere for him to go, no one for him to turn to.

He steps up on the parapet and looks down into the void, into the turbulent, unforgiving waters of the Seine. To jump in at this point would be a death sentence. Javert knows that. As a police officer, he knows how many bodies they have had to fish out of these waters. But that is just as well, because Javert deserves it and more. Resigning from the police force is not going to be enough, not for an infraction like this.

He stares into the river for several long minutes, steeling himself for the cold and the jump. The darkness is nothing at all like Beacon. It's colder, darker, and even more hopeless, and when Javert finally plunges himself into the water, he finds out just how much. There's a burning in his eyes and lungs, and he can feel his body being dragged further and further down by the current. His pain is all-encompassing, struggling to breathe and fight until there's simply no power left in him. )

the aftermath

( When the hallucination breaks, Javert is on his knees in front of the victim, kneeling down with his hands on their shoulders. He doesn't look concerned so much as irritated, shaking them awake as he scowls deeply. )

You fool! What do you think you're doing?

( He's been patrolling the cemetery a lot, keeping an eye out for anyone that might be sniffing about his grave. He doesn't need anyone to see that, the worst and lowest moment of his life. )

+1 sketch

[nonscriptum]

[ Beside the grave Nate leaves a small drawing on a scrap of paper, a delicate fleur-de-lis in graphite. ]

(( offering only ))

[voktys]

⟪ Melisandre leaves him a piece of paper folded into the shape of flame. If he unfolds it, he'll find a prayer written on it in curved, strangely medieval letters. ⟫