logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: FEAST OF LIGHTS

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: FEAST OF LIGHTS

characters: everyone.
location: around town.
date/time: december 23 - 30
content: Holiday cheer is here!
warnings: n/a. please cw tags appropriately.

a show of lights

When characters wake on the "morning" of the 23rd, they'll find all of Beacon is lit up beautifully. Spirits have carefully placed candles all around the town, lighting up the familiar buildings and streets with a warm, comforting glow. If others wish to help, they're more than welcome, but it won't take too long: they've clearly spent all night getting things ready. If asked, Rastus will explain the spirits do this every few years, and yes, those candles are lit from the bonfire, but he'll get them back before the end of the event.

Once the spirits finish their task, it's time to hand out dreidels! While the four-sided toy has the usual Hebrew letters on it, characters will soon realize that they've little correlation to the typical rules. Instead: each side offers a certain kind of prize (listed below). Characters can play against the spirits or among themselves, but either way, they'll find a personal dreidel in their possession for the duration of the event.

secret santa

Of course, the spirits aren't the only ones in a holiday mood. Thanks to the tireless (and secretive) efforts of Eleven, quite a number of people wake up to find a present nearby. The wrappings vary from elegant to, well, an effort, and the gifts range form big to small, but there's no doubt each was given with at least a little thoughtfulness in mind.

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[ Riku's hand is warm on his shoulder, a solid grasp that grounds him in the moment, gives him a point to come back to instead of listing unanchored into the sea of feelings he can hardly understand.

He can't come apart, not with a witness, and Vanitas raises both hands to his face to press the tears away. He wipes and his sleeves come back wet, but it doesn't stem the flow. Shrugging Riku off when he does this is common, not the least because Vanitas doesn't understand how to accept this casual affection even if part of him craves it. He doesn't do it now, even if he turns his face away as he scrubs it like it might disguise the emotion.

But it has to go somewhere, and like everything else that sloughs off of him, this manifests itself, too. It shakes itself off of him, pulling up in the long shadow his body casts in the wake of Riku's brilliant light. At a glance it might seem like any other Unversed— save for the fact its eyes are a molten gold, and it's angular edges are softened into something much more approachable. Catlike, it rubs up against Vanitas' leg, walks between Riku's to do the same, and then trots from the room and down the stairs toward the kitchen. ]

[ Where Riku might have teased another boy for being a sap, might have tried to derail and cheer him by giving him a hard time, that's not what he does here - he's not Sora.

Vanitas is someone completely different whatever his connection to his friend, born of Darkness and starting to come into himself. The lessons that take a whole childhood to learn have been squeezed into a few months when all the rest of his life has known only the desolation of Xehanort's own making.

The fact Vanitas doesn't shrug him off tells Riku he isn't overstepping for trying to comfort him, that he hasn't crossed a line he shouldn't have. ]

It's okay.

[ Over time, Riku has come to the conclusion on his own that the Unversed that come off him like he's sloughing something off are connected to his feelings, slower to that conclusion because he doesn't think to ask. Vanitas has only ever been frank about what he is, and as he watches this sleek shape wind between their legs, he can't help following it out of the room.

Downstairs, he hears movement. Bruce.

No doubt, he's getting ready to prepare a meal. Less prepared, perhaps, to be thanked for this gift. ]

Let's help him out with dinner.
...Need a minute?

[ Like the doctor, like Bruce, Riku doesn't pull away when Vanitas doesn't give him anything back. Given their history, given how many times the only thing Vanitas has handed over is vitriol and violence, it really doesn't make much sense. They aren't these people— Vanitas isn't Sora, and Riku isn't his friend, because Vanitas never had that luxury. Who would even want something like him?

But he has tangible proof, right in front of him, that somebody does. He doesn't care if maybe Riku is just doing and saying these things because he's a lightbearer, because that's what they do— with the sledgehammer that's been taken to the walls of his fortress, he doesn't have it in him to turn Riku away.

He doesn't really want to, and he isn't sure he's ready to face what that means. ]

No. [ He sniffs, wiping his face again. When he turns around to lead them out of the room, he only pulls away from Riku because the movement puts space between them.

When they make it back downstairs, Vanitas is still watery-eyed. He hesitates once more, on the threshold of the kitchen— because Bruce is exactly where he would have expected him to be. His sleeves pushed up his pale arms, baring the constant mottled bruising of his training, his wrists parallel to the cutting board. Even from here, Vanitas can see that thing he created, wending between Bruce's legs, rubbing it's body against his shins. He isn't sure why, but the whole picture makes him feel warm and prickly all over. ]

[He's never done well with inactivity or idleness; his mind moves too quickly, picks over new details and old ideas and when it runs out of track to run it turns over on itself. There is no undoing what he's done. There is no hiding the space he'd been working on for each of them- these pieces he'd moved and crafted and moved again. Is he feeling nervous? It wouldn't be out of place, he thinks. Fear of rejection is common, he's felt a far more acute version when he and Selina had been alone, nearly nose to nose. When he knew he'd been asking for an answer she wasn't ready or willing to give.

That's why he'd done something different here. Now. He can't find the right words to say- he doesn't know how to line them up to say what he means without also worrying about the burden he's placing on their shoulders- the thought that they might feel obligated to respond one way or another. To reply.

Bruce lets them leave him behind and he lingers, for just a moment, at the foot of the stairs. It's always a strange liminal space, when he finds himself in the gap between past and future, new and old, change and same. He wants to make it clear to them that he has no expectations. They each have other living arrangements this isn't a detail or a discussion that has gone unaddressed. Bruce isn't asking them to give anything up either. He only-

He inhales. And unbuttons the cuff of each sleeve before he makes his way towards their surrogate kitchen- to the stove there, and dinner preparations. The soup is a small thing because the ingredients here have never been plentiful and Bruce, ever the stoic, is reserved about how much he's willing to use and how much he'd prefer to stockpile, just in case. His sleeves come up to his elbows and gets to work- eyes lifting only once, to look at the bracer he'd been gifted that rests silently on the table opposite.

And then a second time, when something rubs up against his leg. Spoon in hand, Bruce looks down briefly.

A cat.
That shape is new.]

[ In spite of what his heart has yearned for, Riku has also been someone who, for his own reasons, held back and gave little - or nothing. In part, he does this because he knows what these reassurances mean to himself, the rest is a kind of faith that Vanitas will remind him where the line is if he's coming too close.

Vanitas questions who would even want something born of Darkness. Riku's reasons are different, that's all.

When one leaves, Riku doesn't chase him out of the space and down the stairs, he takes it at a slower pace, arriving a little later. From the stairs, he sees it all, the cat-like Unversed rubbing against Bruce's leg, the moment when he looks down, Vanitas still and watchful. ]

How long have you kept this under wraps?

[ Nonchalant as his question sounds, Riku has a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes. They've been here, constant fixtures in the Museum with Bruce for over a month, Vanitas for longer- and yet not once did he have any suspicion that Bruce was working on something like this. ]

Hope you realize this means you're stuck with me.

[ Most of his longer hair is pulled back in a low tail, which means some of the effect's lost when he pushes his hand through his overgrown fringe, grinning as he steps towards the kitchen. ]

So. What're we making?

[ He has the inexplicable urge to rush into the kitchen and kick the Unversed straight into the wall, or pick it up and crush it himself so that Bruce and Riku can't look at it directly, the way he knows they are. Even he can tell it isn't usual, nothing gives off light here but the way Bruce still gives off that dim glow, the golden sheen on the Unversed does the same.

Is it even an Unversed? It doesn't look like the other things he's made, big or small. But there's no other word for it. He made it, it came from his emotion— but what is it? He has no name for the emotion that had overcome him at seeing the bed there— and this creature, made of darkness as it is, isn't exactly small. It comes up to their knees.

But maybe doing that, trying to destroy it, will just draw more attention to it. Instead, Vanitas wills it away, and is grateful that it follows his direction at the very least. It pushes it's round face against the back of Bruce's thigh, and makes a point to dart between Riku's legs with a swish of it's tail before exiting the way it came.

This is the kind of thing he should say thank you about. But Riku steps into the kitchen and Vanitas, embarrassed and unsure, for once keeps his silence and drifts deeper into the kitchen. He keeps looking at Bruce until the other boy glances his way, wherein he quickly averts his gaze— only to have it come back as soon as he thinks Bruce isn't looking anymore. ]

[He feels it's face push against him, feels it's ribcage vibrate as it weaves between his legs and- purrs, maybe? But Bruce can't spend the rest of the time watching because the stove is still on and the contents of the pot are still bubbling. He pulls apart some sliced pieces of carrot and drops them in, stirring left handed. The smells fill the room and mist wafts upward, clouding in the air- where Riku's voice comes to meet him.

Bruce stills momentarily. It's a small, barely-there hesitation, not because he's been startled. But because he's human, and because he finds himself feeling abruptly, profoundly, his age. He's no stranger to ending up out of his depth, heading too far into the deep end and finding his own inexperience there waiting. He's aware of Vanitas rounding the edges of the room, of Riku being the first to enter- cutting a path through the kitchen. It speaks volumes to both of their natures and Bruce's chin dips as he finishes his latest task, reaching for a towel to wipe his hands.]

I did ask after your living arrangements with Quentin.

[It's easier, in a way, to sidestep the reveal from upstairs. To address it only indirectly. He's in good company he supposes; surrounded by people who share his tendency to bear to one side instead of opening directly.]

But since you asked, we are not making anything.

[His eyes flick upward.]

I've seen you cook.

[ It's something different from the usual manifestations that peel off of Vanitas and go scurrying around, or flap off to roost in the tall ceiling of the museum. The eyes are bright and golden. Instead of fidgeting in agitation, instead of soaring away or attacking, this being seems independent and engaged, even... affectionate. Riku hasn't confirmed yet what these creatures are that seem to come from Vanitas, but now that this one seems so indicative of some important evolution, he's starting to think it might be a question worth asking.

If he knew better, he'd wonder at the size of it, if that doesn't indicate something. The strength and depth of the power that brought it into existence. He already wonders about its nature with the curiosity that got him into trouble in the first place. Riku's attention chases the feline Unversed on its way between his legs, and back to the other two as what he hears surprises a chuckle.

He tries to make it sound sufficiently like scoffing, putting a hand on his chest. There's little chance he'll get backup from Vanitas and that fails to stop him from looking around at him in mock offense. By the time he redirects his attention to Bruce, his hand snatches out to grab the knot at Bruce's back, yanking the apron loose on his way past. ]

Gee... thanks!

[ Riku makes as if he intends on doing something else, maybe work on setting up the table. A moment later Riku backsteps, taking up the loose ends to tie it back in place. He glances between the knot he's tying and at the contrast of Bruce's dark hair with his pale nape, trying to remember which side can still hear. ]

Never suspected what you were up to. Clever.

[ He looks around for Vanitas.

When he does, a few things happen at once. The first is that he catches Vanitas again watching Bruce closely. The second is the warm little feeling that bubbles up. Small, like those stirred up in a glass of mineral water, effervescent. The third is the name he gives it.

He feels happy. It's so rare in this place that Riku feels the corner of his mouth quirking up, in a kind of wonder. He knows that this feeling is the same one he had with his friends, when he's glance over and see Kairi tucking her hair behind her ear or Sora giving her that stupid grin he was always wearing. ]

...Hey. Help me set up.

[ It's weird to watch.

Stranger, that Vanitas can't decide how he feels about it— and the development is new, because every other time he would witness this sort of blatant show of affection, he would snub it immediately. Anger, and jealously, the crushing belief his Master ground into him that this sort of thing wasn't meant for him. That hatred and anger were the only things that would get him what he wanted.

Bruce has a funny little look on his face, a smile that looks like a secret. Riku wears the same expression. Vanitas' eyes jump between them, as he tries to parse what he's seeing and what it's doing to his insides.

And then Riku turns the full effect of it on him and Vanitas, caught out, has his shoulders hike up to his shoulders. He looks away sharply and stalks around, and in order to help set up— to set what passes as a table to eat at— he needs to drift in closer. Inadvertently, he recreates the triangle they'd been walking in to get here. ]

Don't think I'm just going to start doing whatever you want.

[ His voice is rough, and he sniffles hard at the end, like a punctuation. It's hard to tell who he's talking to, when he won't look at either boy directly, instead watching them from the corner of his eye as he pulls down a mismatched trio of plates. ]

[Verbal banter is something he's familiar with- not because there's an absence of physicality in Bruce's life, but because that physicality hasn't been playful. When he was younger these moments were ones of affection and support, his father would tousle his hair, his mother would lay beside him, his father would carry him, his mother would rub one fingertip against the space between his brows. Alfred too had been a pillar, once he'd lost them. But after that the expressions of this language narrowed; they became firm handshakes of blocked punches.

He can recognize the play for what it is by Riku's breathy gee, thanks! But the finger that loops in the fabric behind him brings his chin up reflexively- a visual telegraph that he's been caught by surprise in a small way, but also that it's. New. He thinks that Riku is going to make his way to the table, especially with the casual directive he throws Vanitas's way- but he doesn't. He doubles back instead. The attention on the strings of his apron tug, not enough to draw him off balance. And yet more than enough for goosebumps to tighten the skin from the base of his spine to the back of his neck. Clever, he says.

Riku's voice arrives on his hearing side and Bruce's face turns to meet him; for just a moment they're so close that the tip of his nose grazes soft, pale hair. And then he's moving away again. Bruce has not frozen in place because he's been training himself out of the response he hates so much- but he has stopped stirring. Momentarily transfixed.

Until Vanitas breaks the spell. He looks every inch as caught red handed as Bruce feels, strangely out of his own skin and out of places to hide. Like a wild animal with its haunches up, Vanitas's shoulder bunch around his ears and he sets about the room in a way that suggests he might be angry but that Bruce suspects is mostly bravado. A desire to avoid scrutiny by overcompensation.

He can relate. ]

I appreciate the help. Thank you Vanitas.

[ There's still just a little too much of that liquor sitting warm in his belly for Riku to do more than passively absorb these small details - that Bruce has gone very still and the pot's contents bubble around the spoon. That when Bruce turns his face back away it leaves behind the scent of the stuff he washed his hair with, the crisp cold of outdoors.

Once he's more sober he'll have a dozen questions to ask of himself, about boundaries and whether he isn't coming across as a creep, whether drinking should never happen again or not. Right now, though, Riku feels buoyed by this feeling fizzing up his insides, here there's warmth, there's company of people he likes, respects, he's flattered by a kind gift - in the form of an unmistakable invitation into his space, for the concessions made like a stolen hat and jostling around in the dark.

He feels good. ]

Wouldn't dream of it. Hey, wait--

[ Before Vanitas can take the trio of mismatched plates to the table, he reaches for his elbow to snag him, pause his progress long enough to reach past the other boy's shoulder and get the soup bowls. These, like almost everything else in here, are a hodgepodge of different styles, but they're roughly the same size.

He offers them, with a knowing smirk. Little distracted, Vanitas?

That's the thing - he's not being really overt with the teasing. Some of that is because Vanitas has had a hell of a day, and he's aware of that fine line between joking and cruelty. There's the fact that he seems out of his element, too; Xehanort's abuse disguised as training wouldn't have had anything to teach Vanitas about friendship. ]

Here.

[ Vanitas is warm all over, equal parts due to the alcohol and due to the flush of tears that have nudged up against him all day long. But more than that is something he has difficulty being able to articulate, because its unfamiliar to him in the sense he's never felt it on his own.

This sensation, its one he's only ever felt at a distance; an echo through another person's heart. It's like one of those candles in the church, but in the middle of his chest, a little tiny glow.

Riku smirks at him, his teal eyes bright, and Vanitas somehow manages to get even warmer. His face, already pinched pink with emotion, flushes red, and he takes the bowls with a scowl clearly over compensating for the embarrassment. He shoves his shoulder against Riku's when he walks passed him with the bowls, but it's less aggressive and punchy than usual. Maybe because he's making contact for contact's sake, instead of trying to just get Riku out of his way. ]

There's bread on the shelf.

[Bruce hasn't really been eating. It isn't a conscious decision he's made so much as it's an over-commitment to activity. He struggles with stillness, and with where his thoughts go when there's no project there to occupy him- when the task is focused on his own well-being. Mostly this has meant working on the bed frames and the blankets, daily training, research into the functions and requirements of a gps system.

Dinner like this happens when he's entertaining. The plates and bowls are stacked exactly where they'd been left the last time they were brought out for use, in exactly the same order. It isn't something he thinks of even now, as Riku and Vanitas move around one another- knocking shoulders without ever falling into step.

It's a strangely peaceful, domestic scene. Back home it had always just been with Alfred, the two of them sometimes side by side but usually on opposite ends of the countertop. They had been family in a way, but even though it never came up in conversation, the dividing line was always there. If someone else came to call- Detective Gordon or Selina Kyle, Alfred found an exit and the two of them would be left alone.]

It's been awhile-

[Bruce begins, tugging the tea towel from over his shoulder to dry his hands; he finds a handle on each side of the pot to lift it off of the burner. But when he takes his first few steps over and sees three chairs gathered there, whatever else he might have said dies in his throat.

He sets the pot down carefully, into the middle.]

[ Vanitas shoulders past him and for a moment, Riku follows his movement. His expression's softened from that edge his good humored, knowing smirk had, into something that's a little less teasing.

That felt less indicative of a fight and more of friendship; Vanitas is stumbling into unfamiliar territory just like they all are making their way through the murky dark, hands out and eyes open. Bruce doesn't seem like the kind of man who has let himself have intimate friendships the way Riku knows them, either. Riku's learning how to live around the empty spaces in his own heart, how to let them in without being afraid of the inevitable pain when time or fate excises them.

He turns when Bruce speaks. ]

Yes, sir-

[ While Bruce handles the pot, there's the jangle of spoons being retrieved from a drawer, gathered into a fist. The whisper of something - the bread - coming off the shelf and Riku's boots thudding back up to the table. He deposits a spoon before one chair, and for a moment, considers a game where an offered spoon is pulled back just to make Vanitas chase it, but he thinks twice.

Vanitas has had enough of people messing with him. He instead lets it sit in his open palm for him to take. As he waits, he looks at Bruce. His expression... Riku finds he can't read it, the moment passes and the pot sits, steaming and aromatic, at the center of the table. ]

...Yeah. Let's do this more often.

Have a seat. I'll serve it up.

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EVENT LOG: FEAST OF LIGHTS

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