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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[ raylan's gravestone, morbidly enough, is not unfamiliar to him. it's old, older than it has any right to be, inscribed simply with:

RAYLAN GIVENS

Beloved son of Frances
and Arlo

1970 — 2011
the bulk of the inscription bears over thirty years of weathering, the embossed and bevelled letters caught with moss and dirt, the crispness of the engraving worn down to smoothness at the corners. the only part for which this isn't the case is the final date, 2011, which is quite obviously recently carved.

over the course of the week, he won't be spending any time by the thing, although shortly after finding it on the first day, he'll be caught up staring at it for some time, arms folded over his chest, brow furrowed. ]

Edited 2019-07-13 10:53 (UTC)

[ He'd done the rounds once already, after he figured out what it was.

The swelling in the air like a coming storm had made him feel as though this place was just like the one before, that every so often they would be faced with a test of sorts, something they would have to fight their way through or suffer, silently, not that either situation was foreign to someone like him. Nate might have expected the turn for the macabre given their circumstances, but he still isn't fond of the notion that someone might experience the moments before his own death - not for the content, but for the sensation. Falling isn't easy.

His loop takes him back around to one of the first headstones he found and at the time it had struck him as strange, how old the marker was. Like it had been put out for a few decades of wear and tear before someone committed to carving new dates on the right side. Not uncommon for family stones in cemeteries, not uncommon for communal plots, but odd that it was for one person, and one person only.

Nate doesn't have the luxury of anonymity with this visit and almost stops to swing wide a dozen yards away when he sees the hat. Privacy is well-deserved and, frankly, earned after what he'd been given for the little piece of folded paper he'd tucked between the stone and the earth, secured from blowing away, but he knows the set of a man's shoulders in times like this.

He meanders over in plain view so as not to startle, or more importantly, to give Raylan time to tell him to fuck off if that's what he'd prefer. ]

Hey.

[ raylan can feel someone coming close – the hat doesn't cut off as much peripheral vision as you might think – and for a second he wants to spit out a fuck off without looking, but something about all of this makes him look up, and then he can only be glad that he did. seeing nate, his shoulders sag a little, not much but enough that it feels like something, a release, however small.

he's not quite healed enough by nate's presence to do anything as shocking as smile, but it does something to reduce the hostility in his gaze. ]

Hey yourself.

[ The tension fades but only just and Nate gives Raylan a little nod in response, ambling to his side and unconsciously mirroring his stance, arms folded over his chest. This isn't the sort of meeting that calls for his usual gesticulation and it's better to cut that off at the knees before he forgets himself.

There are a lot of things he could say, sentiments that come across as hollow, or pitying, neither being sentiments he wants to communicate when pity doesn't enter into it. People draw the short straw. They die in their sleep or in horrible, regretful ways. He's seen more bodies in his lifetime than anyone has the right to shake a stick at, but a pile of bones doesn't have quite the gravitas that a marker does.

Concrete, solid. Literally set in stone. ]

How you holding up?

Oh, you know, [ he says, light and breezy, and holds his shoulders up in a shrug that lasts a few more seconds than it probably should. when he lets it go, his shoulders sag a little low. he doesn't want to be here, thinking about this, looking at this stupid piece of stone, getting angry about all the things he can't change any more. ] You know that poster of the cat on the clothesline?

[ Hang in there, baby. He almost quips something about the cat in question resembling his own jackassery around town but the joke probably wouldn't stick the landing, and even Nate knows when to curtail certain impulses. This isn't the time. ]

Yeah, I know the feeling.

[ Raylan is tense and tensing, and that combined with the airy nonchalance has Nate eye him with a nervousness bordering on knowing. Been there, done that. He reaches out and lightly pats the back of his arm. ]

...C'mon, I wanna show you something.

Better be somethin' good. [ raylan hopes, since he's sure as hell not going to say it out loud, that nate can somehow sense the waves of gratitude that he's throwing in his direction. for the distraction, for the company, for – whatever. raylan's only too happy to walk away from his grave, only too relieved to fall into step beside nate. ] 'S it gonna be funny?

[ Nate snorts, but he's glad the response was acquiescence over blunt refusal. Folks are getting pretty hinky about their headstones, and while he certainly doesn't mind anyone poking around the material he'd willingly give them, he knows that not everybody feels the same way. ]

Oh yeah, I heard somebody was doing a stand-up routine at the inn.

[ He casts a wry look in Raylan's direction, clearly bullshitting as the course he sets is a meandering walk down to the harbor. ]

Hope it ain't you, you're gonna be late. [ he adjusts the set of his hat, a little lower on his forehead, and props his hands loosely in his pockets. the last thing he wants to do is be sadsacking it all over this town like a jackass, but he can't force a better mood upon himself right now. usually, it's not so hard to at least to pretend not to be an asshole. even if it's just around the people he likes. ] Also, I don't know how funny you are. How much of your comedy relies on jokes about bein' on top of roofs and the like?

You're never gonna let that go, are you?

[ He supposes he's earned as much, even if Raylan had goaded him up the side of The Invincible in the first place. Having been called much worse in his lifetime Nate can deal with a little ribbing about his tendency to gravitate toward gravity-defying places.

It's clear he's steering them toward the harbor, further away from the light of the bonfire but illuminated enough by their lanterns. ]

My comedy is, uh. [ Pun-based. ] Usually history-based, honestly. Or like...dirty jokes in Latin.

[ well, that makes a whole lot of sense and it's endearing to boot so, goddamn you nate. raylan manages a half-smile, lifting his head up a little. he's not perking up, not really, but the company's certainly improved his mood some. ] Well, I barely scraped my C in history class and Harlan High never taught Latin, so I don't know that I'd be much of an audience.

I wouldn't feel too bad, I dropped out of school in the eighth grade.

[ Nate flashes a smile that sobers almost as quickly. He never could get the hang of the sciences, chemistry and such. Physics only applied when it came to falling, and he scrounged up bits and pieces of marine biology when he started learning how to scuba dive.

A cherry-picked education is not necessarily a well-rounded one. ]

The Latin was from a Catholic orphanage. Every stereotype you've ever heard about nuns is one-hundred percent true.

Edited 2019-07-23 02:37 (UTC)

[ well, they both made something of themselves, which is a lot to say for abandoning the current education system in favour of something more practical, at least. still, though – nuns. ]

Huh, [ he says, as another precious little nugget of information about nate filters into his brain and stick. ] You did not strike me as a good Catholic boy.

That's because I was not a good Catholic boy.

[ Under normal circumstances he might not be so forthcoming about the childhood he's done his best to keep squarely where it belongs - in the past - but needs must. He made an unspoken promise for distraction from the untidy rows of headstones, and intends to keep it. ]

Learned how to throw a punch on the playground, as God intended.

Ain't many Catholics in Kentucky, not so far as I know. Lot of Evangelicals. Revival types, y'know. 'Bout ten seconds from up and movin' to Guyana and rollin' out the Kool-Aid. Knew this guy, swore he could talk to God, and how he did it was he would eat a whole load of high-fibre cereal and a couple hours later he'd pop a squat somewhere and — [ he glances at nate sidelong, knowingly. ] Well, you know. Divine based on what he produced.

[ The Baptists down south can get pretty zealous, and once or twice he's heard of a born-again practicing their preaching in a tent at the edges of the bayou, but Appalachia has different sub-genres. Apparently. ]

...I've heard of aruspicy, but that's more of an animal entrails thing than a- digging around in shit for the winning lotto numbers thing. [ Nate's grimace says enough. ] Take it you're not the religious type, either.

Nope. [ he pops the 'p', turning away a second to squint into the darkness. his lantern is creaking; he's only recently noticed that it does that and it's annoying the hell out of him. ] Didn't know lookin' at shit had a name. Learn somethin' new every day. [ boyd would probably have known that, huh. the buck doesn't stop with calling dewey crowe an onanist. ]

Had a job once that involved a lot of Renaissance occult stuff, people who thought talking to angels and demons could tell you how to turn lead into gold.

[ Nate shrugs, as if that explains literally anything. Their boots hit the sand of the dunes and he keeps walking, relieved for the breeze that pushes from over the water. ]

You didn't learn about ancient divination practices in marshal school? What the Hell are they teaching you?

( they're bein' confronted with somethin' most humans never come to be keenly aware of — their own mortality an' death, an' the awful specifics of what follows. gene ain't leavin' offerings, a coin placed on a table and a prayer murmured for peace are all this place is gettin' outta him an' consider that a lesson well learned besides, but. he's still makin' his rounds. helpin' the dead ain't a thing what's stopped for him now that he's among their ranks, it's just changed his perspective some.

he comes up next to raylan, though he troubles himself to be louder than his normal step about his approach. he can't parse much from the inscription on account'a his troubles with the written word, but. he can guess.

he doesn't say a goddamn thing, just holds out a flask for him to take a hearty swallow. )

[ raylan's response is immediate and similarly silent. he only has to look sidelong for a second for his hackles, raised, to lower a little, and then he reaches over for the flask and knocks back a mouthful. it's back in gene's hand not long after it had left. raylan stuffs his hands in his pockets and shakes his head.

the look he levels at gene this time, brow furrowed, is more concentrated. ] Someone's gotta be fuckin' with us on this one.

( he shrugs a bit, feelin' the catch an' pull of that mass of scar tissue on his left side. funny, ain't it? they're dead, these surely ain't their real bodies, but the mind remembers pain. )

Maybe it's a test.

( he doesn't say it with any conviction. he's too damn tired for that. but this whole place seems like it's in that kinda way, with the resets an' what that entails for the rest of them. if he didn't know better he'd say it was a matter of facin' down your demons from the livin' world an' overcomin'. )

[ honestly, it sounds about right, and raylan hates the thought. if it's a test, that implies there's a tester. someone overseeing, watching, getting off on this shit. his jaw works and he looks away, shaking his head. ]

I would not be surprised. Feels targeted.

[ as if this is going to do absolutely anything other than make himself feel a whole lot more ineffectual, he gives the headstone a light tap with the toe of his boot. ]

Thought I was done lookin' at this thing.

( there's tension roilin' off him like a dark wave. it ain't that he's mad, leastwise not in any obvious or notable way, it's just. there's a sense to him. like smellin' rain in the air or spottin' far off thunderclouds against a noonday sky.

thought i was done lookin' at this thing. the old date an' the new one. this is, he realizes, at the very least somethin' of a simulacrum of a very real thing back home for the man. an' not a very pleasant memory, by the sound of it. every man's a mortal one, but ain't many who care to be reminded of that fact.

gene drops a hand against the man's shoulder, squeezes faintly. )

Y'wanna come away from here, or is your plan to safeguard it some?

[ the question makes him snort, a blustery breath, and he shakes his head and turns away. in the process he shrugs off gene's hand, only halfway an accident. it's not that the comfort isn't appreciated, it's just – he doesn't want it, not right now. ]

Be happy to go. [ as if to demonstrate his enthusiasm for the idea, he doesn't even give the headstone another look before he turns on his heel. raylan was blessed with very little tact when he's otherwise engaged, so in an effort to move focus away from himself he shoves somewhat brutally in another conversational direction. ] Saw yours, I think.

( of all the graves that've magicked themselves into existence, the discussion of gene's bothers him the least. he doesn't think raylan's possessin' of the presence of mind right now to have made it a thing of cruelty, so gene just shrugs, lifting his right shoulder up halfly. )

Pair'a boots an' a rifle. Duplicate'a these.

( he hooks his thumb in the ball chain of his dog tags and pulls it out from beneath his shirt at a low angle so the tags slide down to his fingers. demonstrative, more than anything. just to confirm raylan's certainty. he's less troubled — or perhaps a measure less possessive — of most folk on this account. he's already made attempts at peace with the fact his boys would'a had to add his frozen body to that stack at the church an' wait for the grc to have the time an' resources to bury him. )

Yeah. Weren't much bother. I died easy, most anybody's gonna be bothered by if they stumble on into my memories is the cold.

( death ain't but a destination for every livin' thing that draws breath. 'leastwise his was quick an' painless, an' as much as he don't want other people sharin' in that, there ain't no especial hardship. he's already aware it's given up his secrets, which has resulted in a curious sort'a calm. folks know, an' so far it ain't been no thing. )

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EVENT LOG: GRAVES

» IT'S THERE I READ ON A HILLSIDE GRAVESTONE ( GRAVE )

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cw GROSS

YA NASTY

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this is so late i'm so sorry

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