logsinthenight | 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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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?

EVENT LOG: GRAVES

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cw GROSS

YA NASTY

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