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

cemetery — friend option!

[rehabbed]

[ 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.

[preseance]

( 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?

[rehabbed]

[ 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. ]

[preseance]

( 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. )

[rehabbed]

[ 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.

[preseance]

( 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.