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

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.]

[policier]

( There's very little that gets past Javert. It may not show much on her face, but he knows how proud Rosalind is, and how much her work means to her. It would be impossible for her not to feel anything about her murder. )

That is a grave injustice.

( He says, without any sort of pity. It's more of an observation, as evenly delivered and emotionless as her own admission had been. )

What did you do to earn his ire?

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?

[policier]

( Javert almost, almost rolls his eyes at him, but he catches himself at the very last moment and stops, then shakes head again. He's incredibly restrained, but for some reason, Gene seems to be drawing a little more of his expressive side out. )

Work. ( Being a police officer is pretty much his life. ) When I'm not working, I read, though it is not something I enjoy doing.

[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.

[chivalrouswench]

Mine is lost to me as well.

[ But it does earn Javert the tiniest of smiles that he seems so ready to train with her without making an issue of her gender at all. More than any other gesture, the one that meant the most to her during the cruel wager where several men competed to be the one to take her maidenhead was when Ser Hyle trained with her.

She has largely come to mistrust such gestures of kindness now, tainted as they were by that experience, but in this case she still feels a small flicker of unspoiled pleasure. ]

[policier]

( If she has skills with a sword, Javert would be a fool not to take advantage of it. She is an aspiring knight and that is the only thing that really truly matters to him. He frowns a little bit, not at her, but at her admission. )

Then we are all the lesser for it. It would be useful, if not for training then for defending this town against whatever manner of beasts there are in the shadows.

( He has his cudgel with him, at least, so it's not like he's completely helpless. Javert falls into a reverie for a moment, before his expression softens and he says, )

Forgive me, I have not introduced myself. My name is Javert, and I am an officer of the law from France.