In the Night Moderators (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
inthenightmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
logsinthenight2020-01-20 01:02 pm
inthenightmods) wrote in logsinthenight2020-01-20 01:02 pm
Entry tags:
- !event,
- bucky barnes (gail),
- castiel (inky),
- cheryl blossom (amanda),
- daylight vis lornlit (melly),
- duster (nara),
- eleven (inky),
- ellever brandt (crow),
- jason grace (erica),
- javert (rachel),
- klaes ashford (bee),
- kol mikaelson (jade),
- link (psi),
- maes hughes (erica),
- masaomi kida (wind),
- miriam maisel (chase),
- quentin coldwater (ireth),
- rosinante donquixote (lauren),
- somnus lucis caelum (jae),
- sora (mawi),
- stone (gail),
- will ingram (leu)
EVENT LOG: TURN THE LIGHTS OFF
EVENT LOG:
TURN THE LIGHTS OFF
characters: everyone.
location: around town.
date/time: january 20-29.
content: the lanterns begin to malfunction.
warnings: body horror and psychological horror. please cw tags appropriately.
you'll become one
January 20th arrives the same as all the days before it. There's no great pulse of warning that throbs through the air, no ominous wind that causes the bonfire to shudder. The spirits are neither agitated nor do they hide. You could almost miss the change, if the lanterns weren't always by your side. There's no explanation that comes with the way that it's changed, but it's impossible not to worry when it's happened so suddenly.
Maybe it takes a few days, or maybe it only takes a few hours, but suddenly it isn't just the lanterns that have changed. You, yourself, have become somehow different. It's possible that you won't even have the right state of mind to wonder how long it will last. At the very least, it appears you aren't alone. All across Beacon, lanterns are changing, and changing the people with them.
Out in the distance, the lighthouse's beam has turned green.
| QUICKNAV | |||
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no subject
The transition is a swift one. While seated at a table in The Invincible's bar, Rosinante lifts his pen and glares at the star chart before him. His lantern, set on the table to cast light onto the paper, abruptly burns a deep blue as cracks sprout from the lid and rapidly fork downward like lightning to wrap the metal and glass container in damage.
Rosinante hates this place. He hates having been brought here when he could instead have stayed peacefully at rest, undisturbed in Marineford's cemetery. Forgotten, in time, as are all people. Why instead has he been brought here? Hasn't he done enough? Hasn't he suffered enough? From birth to death he had to fight every minute just to survive, to exist, to fit in poorly to the world he had been shoved into, that he wanted to be part of but never quite belonged in. Not even death freed him from that cursed existence.
Anger builds rapidly in his head. Anger at this utterly black world and its monsters, anger at the people around him and every little irritating thing they do because they can't get it through their obstinate skulls to focus on the threats coming to face them. Anger at Robin, for her refusal to cooperate; anger at the people of Beacon's past who allowed this to happen. What's the fucking point of any of it? Maybe this world should die, and him with it.
Someone turns on the jukebox, perhaps. Or someone calls out a cheery hello. Whatever the offense may be, his head swivels to face then with a grimace on his face. His hand drags across the paper in that same motion, smearing ink, and he clenches his fist around the chart as he notices, then balls it up and throws it at whoever dared interrupt him. "This is your fault," he snaps. "Hours of work ruined, thanks to you."
Jan. 24-27: Arrogance
The anger warps. It doesn't fade so much as it settles, creeping into the crevices of his mind as the lantern slips greenward and cracks begin to close. Whatever is afflicting their lanterns, their souls, must be retreating.
Rosinante understand now why he's so angry. He shouldn't be here, that's still true. But the reason for it is specific. He shouldn't have died to begin with, probably. There was a very simple way to avert so many of the problems in his life and that was to have admitted, long ago, that his brother was right.
He stinks of humanity. Of assimilation. Living a lie he was never meant to live. He and Doflamingo had been rejected, but if not gods, they could at least have lived like kings. The world owed them both and only his brother had the courage to try and wrest it back from the scum they were surrounded by. It had taken all this time for him to see it - that's the real tragedy, isn't it? For here, he has no authority, no protections, and there's nothing to claim anyway. This isn't even a trash heap worth ruling, it's a dead end. But maybe he can still enforce some of the respect he's owed. He has sacrificed too much for these people. They will pay him back.
While typically he has walked with something of a slouch, always making himself look less imposing, Rosinante now stands tall. His pistol, usually tucked away and out of sight, is worn visibly on his belt, and as you pass him near the bonfire, he fixes you with a look of disdain. "Watch where you're going," he growls, voice low and hard. Surely you weren't even about to run into him - but you passed too close.
Or perhaps you've run into him at the general store instead - you were here first, reaching for that last crate of fresh vegetables as the ferry is soon due for another restock. He walks in after, eyes it, and states, "That's mine. Bring it here." A command, not a request.
Jan. 28-29: Laughter
At the library, Rosinante is remaking the ruined chart out of some desperate need to focus on something productive. As it continues to repair itself, the lantern has faded back to a soft blue. He's slumped forward over his work at a back table, and eventually he leans forward to press his forehead against a hand as he starts giggling uncontrollably.
He's hurt people this week. He's disgusted at the things that apparently lurk in his own mind - old memories, old fears, and the horror of who he could have been. He wants quiet solitude. He wants peace and cooperation. But he's twisted and damaged within and without and it hurts to know just how bad off he is.
So why can't he stop laughing?
((Will match format, and feel free to wildcard if you like one of these effects but not the location or whatever. Questions? Hit me up in DMs or at
Rage.
Well. He'd had a track record of misjudging situations this month. Maybe this is no different?
He doesn't notice the lantern yet. It's too early in the week for that; Rosinante's probably one of the first he's encountered with the change. He just assumes that it's always been that color. ]
Rosinante? It's me. Sorry, I know it's been a while. What were you working on? [ Can he help? ]
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Arrogance
Ever rational, Kuai tries to figure out exactly what the terrible thing is, but the more he concentrates on nailing down the feeling the worse it becomes. Forest spirits. The Lighthouse. The World Eaters. The very air they're breathing. He's not sure which will be the first to break, but something will.
He's hyper-alert to everything around him, waiting for it to go sour, so he notices Rosinante immediately. Especially that he has his gun within easy reach.
Good. Someone else who has realized there is a threat and is prepared to answer it. The reprimand he ignores, assuming that he's equally as stressed about the situation and snapping at everyone.
"Have you noticed anything amiss lately?"
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Anger
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arrogance;
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January 24, arrogance
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arrogance yeehaw also cw for murder thoughts/psychological fuckery
his poor gremlin face...
cw it's probably just gonna be murder all the way down tbh
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laughter
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Arrogance (im getting so much miledge out of the worried icon wow)
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Klaes Ashford | CW: Body Horror
Ashford’s lamp is round, simple, and appears to have been soldered together out of scrap metals. On an average day it looks like any of the caged lights above the doors in the Behemoth. But today it glows a pale pink. To start, it’s only mildly irritating in the way that he can’t make sense of it. And while Ashford tends to be simultaneously thrilled and annoyed by things he can’t make sense of, there’s not much that’s thrilling about a light simply changing color. It’s no ring gate with the potential promise of alien life. It’s more like a battery being drained suspiciously sooner than it should have and being led to wonder if that trader on Ceres shorthanded you.
Throughout the day he can be seen sitting on a rusted chair in front of his house trying to tinker with it. At some points slapping his palm against the base as though to knock a non-existent bulb back into place.
Or you might spot him in town, openly eyeing other people’s lanterns as he passes.
Time Goes By
As the days go on, however, the pink darkens to an angry red. The skin of his burn scars on the right side of his face and down the whole of his right arm and shoulder start to grow more rigid and pull tight, making him feel suffocated in his own skin. He can be spotted hunched down against a wall as he tries to claw angrily at it, eventually shredding much of the fabric of his sleeve and leaving his scarred arm bare for the world to see.
With more time the tightness turns to ridges in the skin. First like large welts but eventually bigger like bony growths jutting through his flesh.
Eventually his right arm is barely short of useless, the growths making it near impossible for him to bend his elbow or even clench a fist. His head can hardly turn due to the largest of the spikes located at his neck and shoulder. Sitting not far from the bonfire, Ashford struggles in pain and with little success to try and tear his shirt so he can get a full breath.
Last Days
In the last days of the event, Ashford’s right side is almost unrecognizable from his left. He ventures to the waterside and tries to seek relief in pouring water over the almost-rock-like jagged flesh. He tries more than once to find a tool in the shops to try and cut the growths from himself but only cries out in agony when he does, finding that despite their inhuman appearance they still have all the sensitivity as his normal flesh.
Eventually he makes a strange peace with what may be his fate, sitting in silence in front of the bonfire and reflecting on the fates of those back home who had been claimed by the protomolecule. Whose bodies agonizingly distorted until they could no longer hold onto life.
Wildcard
Throw something my way!
mid-event
"Well," he murmurs, seeing ridged, keratinized skin, twisted where it ought to be smooth. The face is hard to recognize, but he knows he hasn't met everyone here just yet, for winter has kept him in more often than summer had. But is this thing really one of them? Perhaps he's died too many times, or perhaps he was always like this. Born wrong and twisted and hideous.
"You're a rather disgusting thing, aren't you," he continues, talking to it like one might speak to an animal that can't actually understand anything more than the tone of voice used, if that. "Where did you come from?"
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Last Days
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javert | ota
( It's been more than a week since he returned from his self-imposed isolation. Nearly a month he spent alone, with as little human contact as possible, returning to the inn only to eat and sleep as needed before disappearing into the darkness again. Whatever it was that had come over him, it is gone now. Javert returns to his patrols, to combat training, and takes his meals in the tavern of the Invincible, instead of the shadowed corner of some room.
He has a notebook open in front of him. His cap, his wool coat, and his gloves are all laid atop the table, carefully folded. He sits in only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, head bent over a scrawled map. There's a bowl of soup and a piece of bread next to him, and were anyone to examine the kitchen, they would see that he left the remaining soup in a pot simmering on the stove, presumably for others to have. He seems particularly absorbed in his studies, and won't notice anyone nearby until they speak, or if he looks up to reach for his bowl. )
affected
( Javert is a suspicious man by nature. It is not so strange to seem him staring warily at others, or studying the forest as he marches by. He doesn't know if it's the presence of the parade that's got him on edge, or his desire to protect the town. Everywhere he goes, he feels as if he is being watched. It doesn't matter whether he's out on patrol or sitting in the room of his apartment. It always seems as if there's someone there, waiting for him on the other side of the door.
It's not so bad when he's alone. He doesn't care overmuch what happens to him. It is only when someone else is with him that it worsens. At some point, whether it is in the middle of a conversation, or because they simply are nearby, Javert seizes their shoulder and says, )
Get inside.
affected;
[It's only because it's him that she doesn't snarl that out. Normally, it would be a question. Instead, today, her lantern blazing emerald and her eyes hazy and uncertain. She's been quiet all day, but now Rosalind looks almost ill, unfocused and sluggish. They're in the bar of the Invincible, eating supper, and she can't see any danger (but right now it's very hard to focus).]
Why?
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affected or not, your choice!
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affected but 15 minutes late with starbucks
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no subject
Sora will be wandering around at various levels of alert through the week - zero at the beginning, but at high alert near around day six, trying to make sure that no one hurts themselves and everyone who needs company has it. Near the end, unfortunately, he will be cooped up at his own place, but that is for everyone else's safety as much as his own.
Still, if anyone needs someone to fight? To talk to? To have a chillout session with? Sora's the one to call. He'll even go right up to someone else if it's obvious if they need anything - if their lantern is literally any color, he'll check in. If he has to be sturdier than the next guy, taking the risk to reach out to someone who needs help the least he can do.
"Hey. You good?"
[ Grande Green ]
He gets out exactly once near day six. He's still Sora on the outside - same sweatshirts, same shoes, same hair, even a bit of the same stride - but instead of patrolling Beacon, walking up to people and asking if they're all right, if they need an anchor to reality or a fight until the blue fades away, he's just... walking. Hands in his pockets, breath steaming in the air, lantern swinging at his hip. Green, with a faint filigree of cracks through the seashell panels.
He'll be perfectly normal. He'll honestly be almost tourist-like - fresh off the boat, if one had to describe it. He'll mostly stick around Beacon, poking his head into various establishments and standing next to dark vistas as though he's trying to gauge distance in the dark.
He may walk up to strangers, even. He'll smile. He's just another guy, after all.
"Heya. Listen, I'm looking for a guy named Riku. Have you seen him?"
[ Custom Order]
If we arranged something, or if you want to come up with something, let me know!
[[ ooc: OTA, will match tag format.
Again, I would strongly suggest checking Skyler's opt-out if you want to engage with Grande Green. This is not Sora! He will not be kind.
I would also like to ask that any character engaging with Grande Green not tell him where Riku is. I will help guide the narrative to a point where your character can be vague or simply escape, but if your character would just tell him where Riku is, please let me know via dm or plurk so we can come up with a different path for their interaction. Thank you! ]
Grande green hi
He actually doesn't get a good look at Sora before he's approached, since he's preoccupied with a new crack in his lantern, which is a slight bit more pink than usual.
"Huh? Heya." Eh, the crack's probably okay for now, he'll just have to be careful. "Riku? Haven't seen him. Have you checked the Invincible? I think he hangs out there sometimes."
owo hello my friend
hello~
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Decaf, Jan 29
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custom order;
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custom order; closed to carmilla
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Bucky/Soldat | OTA CW: Blood in part I, major disassociation in part III
The metal arm doesn't feel pain. It feels a lot of things, but pain isn't one of them. The place where it joins the flesh hurts, a lot, and the metal anchored to bone under their skin and muscles ache and tear, throb sometimes with the cold, but the sensors in the metal limb itself don't process anything like pain. So when the Soldier, after shutting away the weird reddish tinge to their lantern glow and the worrisome spiderwebbing of cracks behind the protective metal plating and shifting the lantern's position to something more stable against their shoulder, starts feeling the itch and ache underneath the plates they know something really is wrong.
Over the course of the next full day, while the Soldier tries to keep up their usual patrols and attempts to help handlers and friends around Beacon, the plates in the arm grow and twist, turning into jagged spikes of metal inches long, turning the arm into a wholly different kind of weapon than usual. The metal supports under their skin tear through, making more spikes all along their ribs and left shoulder, halfway down their spine. They can't wear their fresh new tactical vest for fear of shredding even the kevlar, or their very handsome tailored pea coat for the much more certain fear of shredding that.
In the end, they just have to sacrifice a hoodie and a couple thinner long-sleeved shirts and hope the sharp metal doesn't destroy them too thoroughly. They certainly do a number on their own flesh, constantly tearing with each movement, turning the back of those clothes rusty with blood.
And they still try their damndest to keep focused on routine, and on helping, despite it all. Pain is normal. They can deal. Others are not so lucky.
II. Dark Green, January 26-27
On the sixth day, the red shade is gone from their lantern, the arm has morphed itself back to normal, and the holes in their flesh of their back and shoulder are slowly starting to heal. They get a whole half a day of relief, one full patrol and then several hours in the Invincible kitchen making half a dozen dishes to share around and to eat themselves to fuel the healing of their poor back and ribs.
Then the light from their lantern slowly starts to change, shading darker and darker green, cracks growing deeper and darker. They start missing things they grab for, their knife slips off the counter when trying to cut things, they bump into tables and cupboards with a clumsiness that they've never shown before. Everything looks wrong, everything feels wrong, and they can't even properly quantify it. It's as if the whole world is curved, and they can't see around the curve.
After the first time they chop into a finger instead of a carrot, they promptly put all the weaponry and food away, finger wrapped up in a cheesecloth, and exit the kitchen, bashing their metal shoulder (thankfully free of shards, now) on the doorway on their way out. No more sharp things until this clears up.
The Soldier's twice-daily patrols for the next day and a half are a lot of fun, and involve either moving much more slowly than usual, or stumbling as if drunk, head full of vertigo and disorientation. Whenever not on patrol, they find somewhere safe-ish to sit and cling to the chair or sofa beneath them, and watch the world spin dazedly.
III. Green, January 28-29
The cracks recede at last, the light brightens-- but the lantern isn't whole, and the color hasn't cleared. The world rights itself... but the self slides away from them, instead.
Sometimes it's the Sergeant, voice rough and body aching from the operating table, not remembering where he is. "The fuck even is this," he mutters to himself, loitering at the edge of the dining room at the Invincible, or at the treeline staring at the village. "The fuck even is this?"
Sometimes it's the Asset, all the growth from the past several months just gone, a blank slate with all their weapons and tac vest and no expression on its face. "Ready to comply," it says to anyone who attempts to address it. "Awaiting orders."
For exactly two hours early on the last day, it's a very confused young man named Bucky, who's trying very hard not to show how afraid he is by all the dark and all the weird shit going on. "Hey. Buddy." He offers whoever it is a weak smile. "Got a smoke?"
And when that gets shaken away, it's just Soldat, who is just shaken and with a largely normal lantern again, just a single crack and a hint of green hidden safely behind the metal shutters. For the rest of the final day-- and a couple days beyond, in fact-- they are a shadow around the edge of the village, talking only to a very few, and those only briefly and with a lot of effort on both their parts.
i
Until he spots the soldier, and the amount of blood that is soaking into their usually well cleaned and kept clothing? That's not normal.
"Hey. Hey, slow down." He walks up next to them, worry in his eyes. He's not sure what he's looking for - an expression of pain, resignation, fear - but he's mostly here to see if he can help. His pulse kicks a little faster. "This doesn't... What is this? What's happening?"
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ii
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III
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III
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III. final day
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Stone | OTA
It starts as an itch that, after a few hours, resolves itself into a pattern of scales showing on his groundling skin, more stark and visible than it ever was when under the effects of the Fell poison with the complete lack of pigment to his skin.
Then, a little panicked despite himself at the sign of something familiar but alien to this place, Stone hurries outside into the snow in Bonfire Square, outside the Invincible where he's been spending most of his time since the blizzard. He shifts... he still can shift, thank the stars... but his winged form is. Different. Black again, which would be great, if his spines hadn't been turned into a tall bony crest and his wings hadn't gone webbed instead of covered in their feather-like scales, his tail spiked instead of spaded.
He's a shitting Fell.
Shifting back doesn't even fix it. His groundling form now looks like a Ruler: black-scaled, clawed raptor feet, crested with dark bone, sharper teeth and a jaw that can unhinge like a snake's. Also hauntingly beautiful, for a black demon-dragon-looking creature. He slumps around Bonfire Square for the next couple of days, shoulders hunched and wings (because his wings definitely linger, still webbed and horrible), muttering irritably at people. At least his voice is still the same: old, deep, but slightly reedy with his age. "And I thought being old was bad. This is worse. This is so much worse."
If anybody else seems in worse straits, though, he'll put aside his own grump. Being a Fell isn't worse than what some of these other people are dealing with; at least he still knows who and where he is.
II. Pale turquoise, January 24-27, Downtown
Looking for a change of scenery after being a shitting Fell for four days, Stone tramps his way down to the Downtown area and the hotel, prowling around the shops and buildings. It's hard to notice at first, subtle as it is, especially when not interacting with others. But time is being shifty on him.
Spot him rooted in place, staring at the world flickering around him as he tries to keep track of it with his not-great vision, or jerking towards someone who seems to be moving far too slowly. Or sitting in the snow, blinking in confusion at a building that looks like it's rotting and collapsing on itself as if decaying in rapid time-lapse. At his own hand, skin sagging and melting off bones, speeding up his own aging ten or twenty-fold.
Wow, he has some nice bones. Also, that's really creepy, especially when he blinks and it's back to normal.
III. The usual pale blue, January 28-29
At least the spurts of time-warping perception don't last until the end of the event. He gets two whole days of being perfectly normal, even if people might look at the standard blue color of his flower-shaped lantern light and worry. "I'm fine. Look. No cracks. Shit, stop fretting, worry about your own," he gripes at people, though his griping is more concern than actual irritation at this point.
II.
Ashford will be hard to recognize now, a quarter of his body now covered in bony growths akin to spikes. Its made his right arm useless, prevents him from turning his head, and means he walks stiffly with labored breaths. And yet he insists on moving if only to prevent himself from giving in to the want to simply lay down and never raise again.
He gives a firm tug with his left hand at Stone's arm, insistent that he stand off the snow.
"You will freeze."
The growths have made speech more difficult as well, the growths paralyzing part of his lip, so his words sound less defined and slur together.
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January 23rd
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III. 28th
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January 21st
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Link | OTA
II. Defiant Hero
III. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
III
And there's a... wolf? With a lantern? (Link's lantern? Isn't that Link's? I ain't looking out your eyes for anything, right now, pal. That's fair.) But they're still pretty sure it's Link's lantern. Which might not mean that's the elf-person with a shapdeshift, but probably not a spirit or a hallucination.
They slide down to the ground in a semi-controlled collapse and watch the wolf with interest. Unlike the other people, he looks almost closer than he should. Then whistle once, to catch his attention.
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( prompt iii. )
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ellever brandt | ota | cw: body horror
january 23 ⟶ 30;
Jan 20
What?
[He knew there was something out there following him. He holds his light out, wondering if that thing that ran into him was the reason for his lantern changing color, but only sees a familiar face.
Or, most of a face he recognizes. Ellever looks to be okay, but that scarf doesn’t promise anything good.]
Ellever? What happened to you?!
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January 25
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January 22
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Towards the end of the event
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( prompt: jan 23. )
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This is, depressingly, not the farthest cry from her previously established routine. The sudden shift in her lantern is distressing, but barring a potential few messages sent via network to close friends - of which there are three - it's nothing she would make known. A vulnerability, clearly, or a sign she'll vanish soon, any myriad things no one else need be privy to. If she'll go, she'll go once without voyeurs. The unease is sharp and unpleasant, but feels so proportionate a reaction to the lantern she pays little mind. It's only the lack of sleep compounding it that gets her.
She cannot be left alone. It agitates her nerves further, but more importantly, it feels less likely much could happen. No one's disappeared thus far with anyone else watching them. Bystanders would more often than not assist a stranger in the event of an attack; even if, she cynically bets, it's to save face, or prevent more important losses. So she leaves home, and doesn't stop moving.
You might find someone very suddenly walking in perfect lockstep beside you, with far too large a gap before finally bothering to acknowledge you. "Where are we headed?"
You might find her in The Invincible, even more out of her element, watching waitstaff spirits go about their business. She might have been at the table for ten minutes, just as likely several hours. Eventually when someone strays close enough she'll ask, usual politely affected demureness replaced with shameless urgency, "What's good, here? I don't think I've ever actually been inside long enough to try the food." One leg bounces ceaselessly under the table. The food doesn't really matter.
You might have been doing any number of perfectly innocent things, but none of them matter. Through either unusually quiet tread or poor luck, you've startled her. As soon as the sight of her can register she's gone, vanished into thin air -- and then behind you, exactly as an unseeable, intangible force forces you against the nearest wall (if indoors), or presses you deep into the snow (if outdoors). Her voice is the sort of tense one adopts when anything less would waver too much. "What do you want?"
II. GREEN GRANDE (heads up for self harm and...hand gore? is that a thing?)
By the end of her blue phase she's taken to sitting by the Bonfire, and doesn't even notice the change. Huddled in her coat, one arm cradled, multicolored panels making the color or lack thereof with regards to her lantern hard to parse out, she could easily pass for normal at a distance. The exhausted, panicked near-mania has clearly abated. What replaces it is worse.
None who pass by will be acknowledged, beyond possibly a passing glance. Glued to her seat, she does little but stare at the fire and murmur silently, words too slurred to parse by reading lips, but identifiable to any for some reason inclined to watch for a time as repetitive. A script. Something she has heard so many times with such rigid, unchanging rhythm it could pass for meaning nothing were her eyes not brimming with unshed tears. This is a familiar expression, an old tightrope. It's never outright tears, but the looming threat. Four hours pass in this manner.
And something shifts. A part of the script has been skipped. Waiting. Gathering strength, or perhaps bringing herself to accept something unpleasant. Whether or not she accomplished either is impossible to discern, though she notes, quiet and monotone, "I belong here." Her right arm, previously cradled to her chest as if broken, unfolds. She's clutching a steak knife. Which she plunges, slowly and with purpose, into her left hand. Through, by the looks of it.
It's a breathtaking amount of pain; there's a pitch forward, but not a topple out of her seat. Tears are permitted to flow freely, if silently. She's screamed enough. She's tired of screaming. Has exhausted the right.
III. WILDCARD / UNINFLUENCED
Here for straightmanning of all shapes and sizes, as one does.
II
It's not like last time. Last time she sat and stared and saw nothing. This time she sits and talks to herself and sees things that aren't there.
They hover.
They see the knife come out, but aren't close enough to stop it.
They rush to her side and catch her shoulder with the flesh hand (the metal one being far too dangerous right now). "Misty. Misty, no."
continued hand injury all over this thread
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Kuai Liang || OTA
There's something wrong. It isn't just a subtle feeling, he knows it deep in his gut. Something horrific is on the horizon and it's only a matter of time until it comes crashing down. He's tried to think it through logically, pinpoint the source of his unease: is it the lighthouse that has suddenly changed color? Maybe the forest spirits? Their surroundings?
The more he tries to rationalize it the more it slips away, making his unease worse.
He hasn't slept in days, out on patrol around the town, heading in a loop from The Invincible to the Library and the Village then back again. Round and round he goes certain that the moment he turns his back or gets some rest that all hell will break loose.
The worst part is that every person he sees triggers alarm bells. Could it be the problem is the residents themselves? Is someone plotting something?
How can he find out?
January 25: Arctic Dragon Transformation || CW: Body Horror | Blood
It happens without warning.
Kuai is walking from the Invincible to the General Store when his lantern abruptly bursts with red light, the coppery surface turns black and the glass seems to crack, threatening to shatter.
But he doesn't notice, the lantern is all but forgotten as he cries out in pain, dropping to his knees and bracing himself on his hands. The ground beneath him freezes solid a good distance around him and icicles shoot out of his back like spines. That's not what's causing him so much distress though, blood is oozing from his arms freezing into long rivulets as his skin peels away to reveal blue scales, shimmering with the red light of his lantern. His fingers stretch and break, nails growing into sharp claws that dig into the ground as he pants.
A ridge of sharper scales dusted with frost jut up along his spine, following his neck to disappear beneath his hair. What's visible of his side beneath his tunic is covered in the same icy reptilian skin. Blood is dribbling down continuously freezing into odd icicles themselves.
Invisible beneath his armor is the source of the blood, deep slashes along his back where his ribs have separated from his vertebrae to make way for wings that didn't form.
January 26-29: Arctic Dragon
After the initial transformation, this is still incredibly painful. His ribs feel like they're only being held in place by his skin which has changed to be something leathery and reptilian from the neck down. Eating hurts. Sleeping hurts.
But what's most alarming is that his ice powers don't seem to be working properly. Maybe it's because his hands have become clawed or that he's in enough physical distress to not be mentally managing them, but he's always emitting a slightly frosty aura now. Not enough to freeze anyone nearby, but the temperature around him is significantly lower than anywhere else. It's visible as a bluish smoke that seems to roll off him and gather around his feet, his breath huffing out in a white cloud every time he breathes.
Everywhere he goes he's followed by footsteps that melt almost instantly, as if he's constantly walking through freshly frosted grass.
January 21st
He's crashing on Peter's floor, he's stealing Peter's shower when he starts to make jokes about it and really, Quentin is sneaking off to get drunk every chance he has.
Why the fuck not?
But not today. Today he woke up and felt-- happy. Carefree. Like a huge weight has been lifted and even watching Peter drool seemed funny. Thinking about the cabin was-- still a little funny and he giggles to himself on his way out of the Invincible for the first time in a week, clipping his lantern and it's soothing blue light to his belt like always. Since the snow hit hard and left him stranded there.
But. Not today.
Once outside, Quentin leans against the freezing wall, still laughing and really-- just look at everyone, all bundled up against the cold and they look ridiculous.
"Hey, why the long face?"
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Jan 29
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January 28
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kol mikaelson | ota
i) THE GENERAL STORE
[ since december, the auditorium has been in disrepair. kol's been working hard in repairing it to a state that's far better than what it had been previously, but it's a slow-moving project due to purposefully slow hands. it's the one thing that keeps him preoccupied; it's the one thing he can control.
until, of course, his lantern turns blue.
standing in the general store's handyman aisle filled with very dangerous tools, kol stares at the shelves of pliers, hammers, and gloves. the furrow to his brow is deeper, and happens to be deepening by the second. the energy around him is tight and palpably angry.
uncertain of what kind of hammer he bloody needs to fix the window frame he'd busted, kol reaches for one, finds that it's hooked itself to its display ring, and jostles it. it doesn't budge.
so he does what someone with very strong strength and a lot of bottled up rage would do: he yanks it hard and almost brings down the entire display. ]
b) BLUE — TALL | JANUARY 24-28
ii) LOST LOVE
[ it isn't easy being alone. spending years locked away in a coffin had been far easier in retrospect, but kol has take his loneliness in stride since finding himself in beacon.
with his lantern turning a different shade of blue, his familiar rage and highly emotional state dissipate. it's almost as if whatever had overcome him has disappeared, only to be replaced with an intensity he'd easily shrugged off in december.
he misses davina. he misses the confidence and the comfort he'd felt with her presence. it'd been a long, long time since he'd ever felt like he belonged with anyone, and to have her ripped away from him—hopefully somewhere very safe—is something he's been barely coping with. concealing, not feeling, can only get one so far, and given he's already a naturally highly emotional guy (hi, original vampire status), it's been difficult for him to keep to himself.
standing at the end of the pier at the harbour, kol finds himself desperately lost. the hopelessness is one he doesn't like. the emptiness in the pit of his stomach not something he's particularly unfamiliar with.
skidding rocks along the water as best he can (on the pier or by the sand), he pegs his stone as far and as hard as he can, as if he's trying to break a barrier somewhere over the water. sometimes he throws rocks toward the town, knowing that it won't hit a building.
but maybe it'll almost hit you. ]
iii) FAMILY DOESN'T MATTER
[ it doesn't matter how many times he's out here—kol loves to hit a ball. with a few wooden and metal baseball bats under his arm, kol drops them all and favours only one. it'd been great being able to reel someone into exploring boneset park. the baseball field is one he's been desperate to break in for months. ]
Don't hold back.
[ regardless of how poor or good the throw is, kol hits it out of the park (quite literally) with each swing. it's almost normal, the way he holds himself and the strength he uses, until it grows and grows. with each ball comes a familiar face, and with each swing, it grows more desperately angry.
he hits klaus' head first, then elijah's, then mum's, dad's, and bloody' finn's until his wooden bat is splintered and torn in half from the power of his swing and the ball that disappears at a frighteningly quick pace around them. ]
c) GREEN — GRANDE | JANUARY 29
iv) KOL SWAP
[ sometimes it's nice to just sit at the bar. quiet time isn't something kol particularly respects, but over the last few months, he hasn't minded it. while his thoughts are often as sharp as the daggers that have neutralised him into his coffins over the centuries, sometimes they're kind.
he jumps when he glances up and sees his reflection. instinctively, his hand grips his glass and shatters it, spilling liquor onto the top of the counter and shards cutting the palm of his hand. whether kol minds remains to be seen, given that he's inspecting his hands and trying to find a reflection for his face to see if blue eyes had replaced brown.
murmured almost in fright, ] What the fuck.
[ kol sees himself as kaleb westphall. ]
[ ooc: Please see my plotting comment for details! Kol attacking anyone will be reserved for previously plotted scenarios. Each of these is very much open for emotional torment and having Kol cry. ]
iii - January 28
Jason was so consumed with his rage in the air that he almost missed the ball flying directly towards him. He zipped out of the way at the last minute and stormy blue eyes honed in on a familiar figure below. He dropped out of the sky like a literal bolt from the blue -- after all that's the color his lantern was glowing.]
Watch what you're doing. I've already had enough ridiculous things pelted at me from the ground, the last thing I need is to be taken out by a freaking baseball.
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ii
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ii
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tall blue, delicious
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ambrose spellman ( ota )
( at first, ambrose likes the changes in his lamp's color. he wouldn't say blue's his favorite color but hey, any change from the norm is nice.
he admires it for a spell and then goes on with his life. as the days pass, there's a niggling at the back of his neck, a feeling of trouble. he finds himself looking over his shoulder far too often, eyes narrowing as he waits for something to reveal itself. but nothing ever does.
when he walks, he jerks sharply at the sounds of other footsteps, other people. he keeps his distance, thinking them the reason for his feeling of something bad about to happen which means he isolates himself, drinking late at night to try and rid himself of this feeling.
he doesn't sleep. even when he nods off on a stool after too much drink, he jerks awake at the slightest of sounds. )
▶ 02. SHUT YOUR FACE BLUE
( the feelings only escalate from there. soon enough, ambrose is snapping at every single person that gets near him. it doesn't matter if they just say hello or wave or smile.
he walks around like he's got a chip on his shoulder, spitting fire at those who deign to talk to him and even getting so angry that magic bubbles up in his hands. he restrains himself from throwing it at anyone but it's very, very close thing and he's not liable to hold onto his temper for much longer. )
What?
( he nearly screams it at someone who's just come up behind, who hasn't said anything, who's just there but ambrose doesn't care. he knows they're going to say something and he doesn't want to bothered. )
▶ 03. WILDCARD
( feel free to throw other scenarios at me! i'm at
2
[Whatever Rosinante was going to say is interrupted by a deep, snorting bout of laughter which he gets under control just barely, enough to keep his teeth together though his face is split ear to ear in a brilliant grin.
Ambrose isn't right, and he had wanted to see if it was something he could try to help with, even just to lead him away from the others before he could hurt anyone. He saw that crackle of magic and he doesn't know how to stop it, but maybe he could lead him away. Now he realizes that simply by arriving and laughing, he might be in trouble, so he backs off half a step with a hand raised as if in apology.
But now he's giggling again, unable to get words out.]
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Jason Grace | OTA -- warnings placed on specific responses
His dreams that night were unpleasant, not his usual nightmares, but someone watching him. He kept waking, thinking a woman in a goat-skinned cloak was standing over his bed. Juno, come to watch him in the afterlife, as if to tell him that he could not get away from her so easily. Okay, so it wasn’t the worst dream, but it left him on edge.
He woke up that morning with a headache, his head throbbing worst of all but really his whole body betrayed a sense of pain. He might have tried to sleep it off...if it wasn’t for the bright red glow cutting across his face. Jason groaned and opened his eyes, only to bolt up with new panic as he noticed that his lantern’s light was as red as Mars’ piercing red eyes. But it wasn’t the god of war that he lingered on, but instead that image of Juno, it didn’t seem to leave him alone and made his head pound worse.
He shook his head, moving to get ready for the day and get into his usual routine. It wasn’t until he was washing his face in the bathroom sink that he noticed the two protrusions on his forehead. Pimples or something else? He rubbed at them with a frown, glancing down at his red-tinged lantern. This could not be good.
Later, as he descended the stairs, a wave of pain washed over Jason. He stumbled, catching himself on the stair rails. Something warm and sticky trickled down his face and Jason had received enough injuries to recognize the feeling of blood on his face. Had he hit his head? He reached for those bumps from earlier and his hand froze.
They weren’t bumps any longer. Protruding a good five inches from his forehead was now a pair of bone-white bull horns, dripping blood from where they had ruptured a few seconds ago. Jason sat down hard on the steps, stunned more so than anything, and blood still smeared on his face and hand. What in the name of Juno was going on?
“Scarlet Stability”, Jan 25 | CW: Blood, Bones, Body Horror
A few days later and the changes had only progressed. The bull-like horns that had first sprouted from his head now stuck out a good eight inches and at some point a short, bull-like tail had started to take shape behind him. It wasn’t so long that he couldn’t keep it mostly hidden, but it was there all the same and made sitting an awkward fare. He’d tried to not panic too much, keep to his routine and find some assurance in the fact that others were changing too.
But he couldn’t help but worry about just how far it would progress and what this meant for the future of Beacon. Had these things happened before? If so, neither Robin nor any of the others had said anything. Jason didn’t want to dwell on it. He needed to get moving. He had people he wanted to check on and a weapons practice to get to. He had considered calling Javert or Soldier and telling them he couldn’t make it, not because of the horns or the tail, but because his feet had been throbbing most of the day and about an hour ago had felt tingly and slightly numb.
Keep moving. Keep fighting Jason. Keep going. Don’t think about it. Vincere aut mori. Vincere aut mori.
In the middle of the path, on the way to combat training at the rec center there’s a loud snapping sound and then a howl of pain.
“Beaten Blue”, Jan 27-28 | CW: Language?
Eventually the red light flickers and fades back to normal lantern light. The horns drop from his head, his legs reset back to those of a normal teenager, and Jason is returned to his normal shape. Despite the cold, Jason immediately takes to the roof and keeps to himself for a day or so. Everything is wrong and he can still feel the weight of those horns sometimes. Eventually he finds himself in his usual place of comfort: the roof.
“I want you to break off his other horn and bring it to me”
It reminds him of Achelous, but even worse it reminds him of Hercules. His arrogant jerk brother who had made him fight and kill Achelous just because he didn’t want to help the greater good.
“Hera’s messed with my life, too. I understand -- You understand nothing.”
Jason doesn’t even register the lantern light shifting this time, his mind and thoughts too focused on Hercules. That asshole got to continue living because after he had murdered not one but TWO of his families, he had still been powerful and popular enough to be offered immortality. And what did Jason get? Stuck in some hellish dimension that was nowhere near the Greco-Roman paradise he’d been promised for his deeds of heroism. He didn’t even WANT immortality, he’d just wanted to be given a fair shot at the afterlife.
He’d been thinking the gods would get him out of this, but honestly, maybe this was their punishment for him. A return for mouthing off at the end of their battles with Gaia or maybe for helping Apollo return to his own godhood. Zeus was pissed off at Apollo and Jason couldn’t put it past him to take it out on him and send him on this bullshit quest that had nothing to do with him.
“Fuck this.” Fuck Apollo. Fuck Hera. Fuck Hercules. Fuck his Father. Fuck everything he’d wasted in his life on this fallen empire known as Rome.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. The air was buzzing. There was no flash of light, Beacon wouldn’t allow that, but there was a loud snap and pop of a lightning striking a nearby tree.
“If you’re Jupiter’s son, you might understand. It’s a lot of pressure. … Eventually it can make a guy snap.”
WILDCARD
((OOC: If you want to hit an in-between day or time, Jason will be experiencing RED LIGHT symptoms from Jan 21-25 and BLUE LIGHT symptoms from Jan 27-28. We can plot here on my comment or message me!))
scarlet stability;
Masaomi jumps to his feet, wide eyes hastily searching the dark. That shout... That's Jason, right? That's Jason howling like a damn dying animal.
"Jason!"
He nearly bounds right past his target, but when he sees his friend's shape in the dark, he twists his forward leg and skids to a halt, kicking up bits of gravel as he does.
"You-!"
...don't look so hot, dude.
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Jan 22; "Red Rupture"
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( prompt: beaten blue. )
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Xayah | League of Legends | OTA
Tall) Truth to be told, she didn't even notice that her lantern has changed color. The glass of the lantern is usually purple, so most of the time the light it emits is dim, color passing as unnoticed. It's after she gets in a scuffle with one of more violent spirits and makes her way back from the museum towards Downtown, that she feels pinches all over her skin. She rubs it vigorously and frowns, her step still confident.
She catches up with a shadow of a person relatively close by in a few leaps, thanks to her wings, and she calls out. "Hey. Have you noticed something weird about bushes?" She rubs her hand again with a hiss. "I wonder if I caught something..."
Grande) It's a day later that the scales start to show. Her wings are the ones most visibly changing, along with her ears, and there are some purple, fish scale marks around her face and under her eyes. She ducks inside of the church, hoping to keep her whimpers to herself. They are heavy, ripping at her back muscles and digging into her skin. Slowly they are becoming much heavier, heavier than herself, to the point she drags them along the floor. She falls between some of the benches with a painful groan, not even looking around if there's anyone else in here. She just wanted to sit down and rest her back.
2. Blue; CW: Violence
Venti) It doesn't take Xayah much to get angry in general. She was always easily provoked, having started more barfights than she has years on her. So when her lantern changes color to deep blue, she notices but doesn't give a damn about it. So she stalks around the well-known streets like some kind of predator, waiting for one wrong word to set her off like a heavily strung crossbow. She pauses by the Bonfire, giving it an annoyed stare and then approaches it.
"Maybe it would be better if we all just die; if the bitch just resets us all. The pain will be brief but there will be no more this endless torture in the dark." She turns around and looms over the first person sitting nearby. "Wouldn't you agree?" She's definitively looking for a fight, the narrowed slits of her eyes are more than proof.
3. Green; CW: Madness?; Death talk
Grande) The more her lantern glows green, the more she feels urgent to find something, someone familiar. Rakan, Rakan... Was she always this lonely? Did she never make a friend before? She didn't need them but maybe she did? "I'm a rebel I don't need anyone," Xayah keeps muttering to herself, stalking towards the docks with a glazed look in her eyes.
"A rebel... killer... murderer... I was, I was..." She tilts her head as she looks at her hands- they feel weightless. As if they are not hers. "Kill, kill... yup. It's what I did... for my people, I killed. Revenge was sweet," she concluded with raised eyebrows. "Maybe I shouldn't have. But they killed us too... a lot... so much blood..."
Xayah keeps talking, mostly to herself and still staring at her hands as she approaches the frozen water. There's someone already there, and whether she knows them or no, she approaches and asks out of the blue, "You killed before, didn't you?"
tall red;
"Xayah! Long time no see." He frowns, thinking about it. "I haven't been in the bushes lately. Are you okay?" He moves closer, giving her a onceover... He can't see anything off yet. "What were you doing in there?
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3 Green
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Will Ingram | OTA | cw for murder-thoughts, dissociative behavior, drugs/alcohol
Since moving to the cabin, Will's been spending a lot of time alone. He doesn't see everyone else's lanterns start to crack and change color. He doesn't know what to expect when it begins to happen to his. There's no way it could be broken, he takes better care of that thing than he does himself. Which means something likely very awful is happening.
It starts small, zoning out here and there, sometimes forgetting what time it is, what day it is, what he was doing. And then come the daydreams, or what he thinks are daydreams— more like day-nightmares, really. He imagines himself in other times and places. A little under a year ago, when the last reset began. Half a lifetime and more ago, the first of several times he'd have to fight for his life.
Soon enough, he can't always tell the difference between those nightmares and reality. One minute he's scrolling the network, the next he's hiding, terrified. Sometimes it's day, sometimes it's night. Sometimes he recognizes Beacon, and sometimes not. It basically only goes downhill from there.]
Bad Day: Venti Green
[Though it's impossible to tell at a glance, since he's been keeping his lantern closed, Will's light has been fluctuating wildly between a deep, hunter green, and a bright, spring shade. The cracks across its surface recede and spread like living things.
Right now, the lantern's in its darker stage, and that means Will himself has completely lost his sense of time. He isn't sure how old he is, where he's at, even what weather he should be experiencing, as his vivid hallucinations cross with reality and his memories fade in and out of focus. He's behaving erratically, sometimes found snatching food from the stores, (or even unsupervised houses,) and sometimes found hiding out in the ore dock, the museum, or even the Armory.
Maybe he's reaching out for something you were planning to eat, or maybe he's holed up where you were planning to go. Either way, as soon as he notices you, you'll get a wild stare and a half-snarl. He looks a bit like a stray feral cat that's none too pleased about being intruded upon. Maybe you should back away quietly? You can engage, but do so at your own peril.]
Slightly Less Bad Day: Grande Green
[When he can sort of get a hold of himself, when he can mostly figure out what's happening and tell up from down, Will gives in pretty easily to the prospect of distraction. Usually in the form of alcohol.
Though he almost never drinks in front of others, and especially not to the point of inebriation, you'll find him with his face on the Invincible's bar and surrounded in empty glasses. Not from coffee this time. He doesn't really say anything, but he sure does look bad.
Of course, there's also the chance you might find him in a lighter mood. A higher mood, if you will. That weed he bought off the sparkly elf last month sure is coming in handy. From time to time he'll hang out on the docks, smoking a hastily-made joint. If you come close enough, he might even offer to pass it over.]
You look a bit like you could use it.
gimmie a venti boy
Dr. Ingram?
[Her tone is light, but her expression says she's half-ready for him to come at her. Indeed: she's slowly reaching for her pocket. Hm!]
comin right up
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Grande Green
poor q-thulu
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Grande Green;
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Venti pls!
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( prompt: venti green. )
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grande?
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grande ➾ sittin' on the dock of the bay
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masaomi kida | cw: body horror: person full o' holes
A minimalist lantern sits conspicuously just inside the church entrance. It's glowing a vibrant red through a cracked pyramid of glass. One might think its owner has dropped and forgotten it if not for the single boot illuminated by its ominous hue.
Masaomi Kida has curled up into a ball beneath a table display, doing his absolute best to hide himself from view. Or, at least, to hide what's left of himself. Gaping holes permeate his body as if he's been shot through by a barrage of canon balls. Half of his head, gone. One of his legs, vanished. One arm at the elbow, one hand at the wrist, his shoulder, all taken out like so many missing puzzle pieces. Even his heart is conspicuously absent, nothing but a fist-sized hole in his hyperventilating chest.
Over and over, he repeats his desperate mantra into his knee.
"I'm still here. I'm still here. I'm still here."
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Oh. Shit. That kind of puts his own faulty shapeshift into his mortal enemy into... slightly different perspective. He'd rather have that, than this.
But if there's one thing Stone knows, it's dealing with frightened, unhappy, and/or hurting fledglings. He crouches beside Masaomi, putting a hand on the still-there shoulder. "Hey. Hey, it's okay. You're still here, kid." It might not be super reassuring coming from a looming black creature with a tall bony crest and the impression of wings in the red lantern light, but his voice is kind, at least.
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Midge Maisel | OTA
[ Miriam's lantern is a pale blue, contrasting nicely with it's pink frame, but who cares? Midge feels great. Just swell, so much so that instead of questioning things, she simply makes sure to tie a blue ribbon around it to go with her outfit of the day. A lady always accessorizes properly, and that includes all afterlife equipment. She takes extra care in her appearance, using the last of the perfume she's arrived with without a second thought. She'd been using it sparingly, these things are important, you see, Chanel No. 5 is nothing to sneeze at, pardon the pun, but today's so beautiful, why not just a little dab on the wrists and behind the ears? She's all but bouncing out the door. There's a chance she bumps into you--it's probably fine that she just laughs and spins daintily, right? That she doesn't check if you're okay and apologize?
She's in the kitchen of the inn at an ungodly hour, and instead of doing errands, or letting other people cook, she just...stays there. She cooks, she cleans, she plays the happy housewife--there's brisket in the oven, and that's not so unusual, is it? Even at this time of day? She's normally in the kitchen in the afternoons trying to make food for everyone in the village. So she's a little excessive right now, who cares? She whistles while she works.
At some point, she starts singing. The problem with that is that she can't really sing--she's hummed before, but never sung, and it's apparent why: she's not very good at it. Soft, a little off-key, but she doesn't seem to care. It's a Shy Baldwin tune, and if you're lucky (or unlucky) enough to pass her in the kitchen or even outside the Inn, she's going to come right up to you and start dancing. You should probably join her. ]
ii. (medium blue) And black's white today and day's night today;
[ By the time her lantern changes colours again, Midge is in a completely different mindset. Gone is the bubbly spirit that was a little too much even for her normal optimistic, plucky personality. Midge straight up doesn't cook for two days, leaving anyone who shows up to help her in the Inn's kitchen high and dry. Why? Simple.
Something's happening. She doesn't know what, but she knows it's going to happen, and maybe it's because she swears someone's following her, but as she all but scurries along the path to the general store or to do her usual daily chores, if you try to catch her attention she jumps five feet into the air and clings her lantern-like one normally would a teddy bear, frozen like a deer in headlights.
Odd, her hair doesn't have quite the right amount of curl, and while she has makeup on, it doesn't seem to be very much. She doesn't even seem to be trying. Something's definitely up. ]
iii. (dark blue) And that gent today you gave a cent today;
[ The good news is that when Midge's lantern turns a dark blue and looks cracked, she's back in the kitchen and going about her normal routine. The bad news is that there's still something inherently wrong. She's back to looking oddly perfect aesthetically, and she's back to cooking, but any semblance of her can-do attitude is completely gone.
Is it possible to chop vegetables angrily? Because she's definitely doing that. She's also going to openly scoff at anyone who even looks in her direction, rolling her eyes at the barest hint of a question. She'll even rudely shove a helper away and take over. ]
Typical. I have to do everything myself.
[ People helping her in the inn's kitchen aren't the only ones who have to deal with her. She'll bump into anyone loudly tell them to watch themselves, and God help anyone she spots that looks even a little messy. ]
You wanna learn how to clean up after yourself? You look like a joke.
iv. (wildcard) Once had several chateaux;
[ Want a personalized starter? Just want to plot? Hit me up at
iii
Everything is slower today and he can't tell if it's from the strain of the past few days or because of the light green of his lantern. He knows he's himself because there's a part of him that wants to start documenting all of this and yet he knows that very few of the citizens of Beacon are in the right head space to help him with that project.
At the time, handling potatoes had seemed like a doable task...but now maybe not so much. Midge and some of the others in the kitchen seemed to be moving in molasses. Was that him? Was that them? None of their lantern lights were green like his own...so it had to be him right? His head spins and suddenly the world comes crashing back to normal, Midge shoving him out of the way. He looks at the pile of unpeeled potatoes he'd apparently been standing over. But, wait, hadn't the rest of them been moving slowly?
Maes looks around the kitchen and then back to Midge.]
I'm sorry Midge. What do you want me to do instead?
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Closed to Rosalind;
FINALLY, god!!
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i.
slides outta mini hiatus
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Closed to Sora;
Grande Green;
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ii
slides in here super late
I. I've been trying to get somebody to dance with Bucky for like 2 months
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I - Light Blue
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DARK BLUE, DABA DEE DABA DI
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Ignis Scientia | FFXV | ota
[Ignis was always a careful person, watching out what he says and does, always watchful of the surroundings. To say that he's paranoid right now would be an understatement. He hasn't gone to sleep in several days already, he's been living on coffee and sitting at the booth in Invincible, trying to 'fix' his lantern. Any odd sound makes him jump, quickly scanning the Inn, before returning back to his, now blue-glowing, lantern. He can't fix this, he doesn't know how, and it's frustrating.
And then he heard it again. A creak somewhere vaguely above him. He's been jumpy for an hour now and this time the creaking sound of stairs has him summon dagger from armiger and aim at the staircase. Does he hit, does he miss? He's wide-eyed with another dagger in his hand, waiting in anticipation.]
2. Blue Venti
What else do you want?!
[The little church always seems to get some kind of beating, and this time Ignis isn't sparing it either. In the past weeks, he'd come to play the violin and pray for some kind of sign and confirmation that Noctis is alright. He kept it all inside of him, as always, never throwing tantrums because it is unseemly for a royal advisor to do so; but when his lantern cracked and blue light dimmed even further, the anger that was stewing inside of him seemed to boil over the seams.]
You took everything from me! He was my everything! [There's a rattle as he kicks one of the benches. It clatters against the wall. He doesn't care he's making noise and disturbing probably half of Beacon.] You decide he is the one, your big savior, and then you kill him!? With no apology!? He was too young!
[A blast of cold opens the door to the church as Ignis used his ice daggers and froze everything in the Church. The candles were, for some reason, untouched. He's standing in the middle of the frozen mess, breathing heavily.]
...it's not fair...
[ooc: If you want anything specific, we can definitively plot! Shoot me a PM or poke me at
2
But the worst of the fit has passed, or so it seems. Somnus stays in the doorway.]
Ignis.
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1.
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grande
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cheryl blossom | riverdale | ota
[ when Cheryl's candelabra lantern starts to glow a pastel green and develops a scuff here and there, her first reaction is to be annoyed. green is not her color. red is her color. if her lantern is going to be any color at all, shouldn't it be her signature color? she's done nothing to damage it and yet it looks worse for wear. great.
the annoyance is enough to distract at first from the way everything feels changed and tarnished just like her lantern. it starts quietly - losing 5 minutes on a walk to the library, having what feels like the world's longest conversation over dinner only to discover less than a half hour had passed.
time whips back and forth over the course of a few days. one afternoon over a drink where time seems to have fully stopped, she becomes aware of someone standing at her side. how long have they been trying to get her attention? seconds? minutes? to anyone watching Cheryl it will seem as though she's been in a trance-like state for the better part of an hour. only now does she seem to be aware of her surroundings.
she smiles and tries to not look as confused as she feels. ]
Whyfor the concerned expression?
green venti - again in the unquiet darkness
[ days pass and the color of her lantern darkens, now glowing deep green. it isn't just time that no longer adheres to it's rules and boundaries, it's all of Beacon. the walls of her room seem to close in on her and the fear of being boxed up in her own room or falling into infinity drives her outside, desperate to be healed by fresh air. the world around her continues to twist and grow large to shadow over her, sending her to stagger further from the safety of the bonfire and other buildings and toward the Lake. the green glow from the lighthouse stands out in the darkness, one of the only objects around her that stays steady instead of taking on a terrifying sway. ]
Do you see it? It isn't as far as it seems.
[ she's not convinced that anyone is really there, but speaking to shadows is better than facing all this alone. ]
Let's be Venti Together
Duster has spent the past - what is it, hour? Twenty minutes? - sitting on a bench swept clear of snow. At least he can feel the solid wood.
He hears someone. Cheryl? He hopes that's her voice. He doesn't take his eyes off of his lantern.] Maybe. I don't want to test it.
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green tall
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green tea latte, tall pls
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vanitas | kingdom hearts
[ Vanitas is aware of what he is— the shape of him when he was first born. He didn't always have a face, he didn't get one until Sora touched his other's heart. And then it made sense, that they should look exactly the same. He filled in the piece that was missing, the part that should have been Vanitas.
But it's still strange, when it happens. His lantern flickers, and it draws his eye for the unusual nature— the red glow that looks back at him seems like the gaze of his Unversed.
And then it happens. It stings, and he hisses, touches his chest and looks down to see it happen:
His body breaking apart, like someone has taken a razor to his limbs and torso, slashed holes in him for Darkness to spill out like sand. For a moment, panic flies through him, and the Darkness spills faster. ]
Oh. [ He says to himself, and he thinks maybe its finally happening. This form can't hold him anymore, and he'll finally fade into obscurity. ]
red 2.0
[ Later, when it becomes clear that he isn't dying for a final time, Vanitas hunts out into the world both to find out what's happening.
He can be seen staring narrowly at other's lanterns, but he can also be seen sitting in random places and watching the ongoings with a faintly bemused expression.
It's particularly striking, sitting near the bonfire in all the snow. Vanitas always looks dark, but in front of the fire he's especially inky, with smudged edges, like a charcoal painting that's been scrubbed. Darkness flows off of him like a stream, curling at his ankles and dissapearing into the shadow, maybe becoming one with it.
Later still, his eyes lose their gold and turn a gleaming red. ]
wildcard
[ ooc; feel free to spot Vanitas all over town! Also if anyone is interested in Venti Blue please hmu so I can tailor something specific to your character. ]
red 2.0
[ With all that Darkness pouring steadily off his body, his golden eyes subsumed by a bloody gleam, one might be blamed for mistaking him for someone else. Maybe, only if they didn't know him, or couldn't identify him by the scent of his Darkness.
Riku's eyes catch the bonfire's light and reflect it back like two discs of molten gold split down the center; the scarf around his neck and mouth disguises the jagged teeth in his mouth, and a blanket over his shoulders does... a serviceable job concealing the way his left arm has grown heavy and thick, covered from elbow to fingertips in coarse skin and fur, long, terribly sharp claws where his fingers would be.
The light spilling from the lantern swinging from his hip is largely covered by the blanket, but still shines long the ground, lurid red. His breath has quickened from the jog over to him. ]
I've been looking everywhere for you!
[ No, he didn't fail somehow to notice Vanitas's transformation, there are just more important issues at hand and one of them may concern the lives of people he cares about. Checking himself, he lowers his voice; it's one thing to show urgency around people he trusts to keep their head in a potential emergency. Quite another to cause panic. ]
We need to talk.
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Red 1.0
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cw for mild trypophobia, eyes and eldrith horror true form angels, perhaps?
[ Castiel is still out and about. You can see him on his irregular patrols of Beacon, maybe on a roof top or by the edge of the forest, around the Bonfire, by the docks. Wherever you wish to be, there's a chance you will see Castiel. He's looking his usual self, tan trench coat and tie with a nice tie clip that fails to be attached to anything and thus defeats its own purpose.
There's a slight change here, though - his lantern light has changed. Where usually behind the blue stained glass there's a white blue, moving light, the light's now turned a pale rose hue, almost but not quite lavender behind the stained glass. And Castiel? His eyes, usually just a little too blue, are now permanently glowing blue. The skin around them has begun cracking, and in some spaces, you can see a white blue light through those cracks, not glowing outward, but a stark and visible contrast to his skin. It would be blinding anywhere but here.
Castiel does, occasionally, reach up to his face, brows furrowed, trying to feel how bad the damage is. ]
Do you happen to have a mirror?
[ Wherever you happen to meet, the question is asked. Calmly enough, but there might just be a touch of concern in his voice. ]
➣ Jan 24 - 26: Grande Red (The Church)
[ Things have gotten a little worse later on. The pale rose has deepened to a vibrant red behind the glass of Castiel's lantern, and he can feel his vessel deteriorating, can feel more of himself begin shining through. The cracks in his skin have opened to reveal, fully, that bleed as he might, there's a being of pure light inside this body. A faint white blue light encircles the crown of his head too - like a halo, you might easily think. The cracks have opened not just on his face though, but you can see them on his neck and hands as well. It would be a fair assumption that all over this body, the light of his true being is coming through.
Additionally, his wings are visible. Nearly solid black but slightly see through, like harsh shadows. It's hard to tell just how corporeal they are, and if you could touch, for it seems that almost without conscious thought, Castiel will move them, carefully out of the way.
That said, if you manage to get the drop on him, or are just fast and curious enough... you could find out for yourself...
Either way. You're most likely to encounter him in the church, looking displeased with his overall state. You might also notice that while not completely shattered and broken, his wings aren't in pristine condition either - they're suffered damage, there are patches with feathers clearly missing, or bent out of shape.
If he notices you approach, those lit up blue eyes will flick to his wings, which fold more against his back oddly self-consciously? ]
The irony isn't lost on me.
[ He gestures, vaguely, at the church at the dry remark. ]
➣ Jan 27 - 29: Venti Red (Somewhere remote, near the edge of the forest
[ Castiel is actively trying to avoid company and unlikely to seek anyone out. That said, he's too large to hide himself completely, and while he spends most of his time with Aziraphale, can be encountered by himself away from the village, near the tree lines - and despite obvious attempting to cower and make himself smaller than he is... well. Here is what you see, and what is very hard to miss indeed.
His vessel, for the time being, is gone, and he exists within Beacon in a shape he was never meant to have near normal humans. Castiel, out of his vessel, looks... well. Like an angel. He's as tall as the trees of the thick forest, with wings as black as the night adding further height and bulk, familiar blue eyes in countless numbers peering out from between black feathers. His shape is silvery light, but not aglow, with pure grace crackling along his form like veins, like lightning, like scars. He defies your understanding of what a physical entity should look like, how limbs are meant to connect and move. Too many arms, too many eyes in the wrong places, three heads - a near featureless mask crowned with eyes like jewels, a lioness, an eagle - move independantly of each other, and so do the sets of wings.
And if you do behold him like that and are a regular human, you may just feel your eyes water, as if your body knows that were this place not dampening light, this creature would be too bright for you to even try to look at without suffering the damage for it.
Angels, it turns out... are terrifying. ]
[ ooc: please be warned that humans do not understand angel voices are incomprehensible for normal human ears. Communication, therefore, might be slightly difficult. If you're non-human, we can see how well you understand his voice like this ;) ]
➣ Wild Card
[ Feel free to reach out to me via Discord or Plurk (
church
Of course he comes here. Maybe something has changed. He's not alone, either - he feels a presence within the church, and he hurries inside. ]
Hello? Did that happen to you, too?
[ He looks at Castiel without any semblance of discomfort. His own lantern is a strange orange colour, changed from the same gold that his eyes now present. ]
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Venti Red
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Jan 23
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26/27
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church
Jan 21, Tall
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cw: creepiness all over, and body horror in venti red
[ Lately, Eleven has been in admittedly poor spirits. From an utter meltdown and temper tantrum to isolating herself to wallow in her powerless misery on her own, she's not been having the best of times. Yet now... Oh, she wakes up on January 20th with a lightness in her step. She hums, poorly, a melody that's probably a real song but poorly imitated, as she wanders beacon, feeling as if her burdens are lifted. Why was she ever sad?
Without her powers, she's just a normal 14 year old girl, without her powers she's just... someone, no one special, and isn't that just... glorious? She's useless, utterly useless, and it brings a bright smile to her face. So what gets herself some questionable looking ice cream from the parlor, and wanders Beacon armed with a handful of paper slips and a beam on her face. ]
You look... like you need this!
[ Whether or not you do, she will approach you, and hand you a slip of paper. In glittery colours, she has dooled upon it: A sun with a smiley face.
Eleven's own smile is big. She looks so happy.
So utterly, hysterically, terrifyingly happy. Why, she feels like she couldn't stop smiling even if she tried. It makes eating the ice cream only slightly difficult. ]
➣ Jan 24 - 26: Venti Green (Anywhere around Beacon)
[ It's happening again, just not quite as vibrant. The lantern light is a deep, dark, unsettling green leaning on teal, casting shadows that make Eleven thing, vividly, of the Upside Down, and she forces herself to be outside rather than cooped up just because she thinks - hopes - it'll make it easier to discern that she's still in this nightmare landscape, and not the other.
And yet, she keeps pausing, gasping, eyes wide as she clutches her chest briefly, stumbling.
Eleven keeps feeling like she's dropping and then is weightless, disoriented, senses briefly overlayd with vertigo, as if she's been dropped into the suspension tank and then pulled out too fast.
It's entirely inevitable for her to collide with someone at some point.]
Sorry!
[ Eleven is alright, she's fine - her face hurts a little from smiling non-stop these past three days, but she's fine, just... the world keeps lurching strangely, and the deep green of the lantern isn't helping her orient herself in relation to the Upside Down looking world around her. ]
➣ Jan 27 - 29: Venti Red (Anywhere around Beacon)
[ And this is when the horror catches up to her. Eleven's hair has fallen out overnight, she woke up with it on the pillow like a halo. Instead, her hair's cropped short, like a buzzcut. Her skin's gained a sickly, teal pallor that even the dark maroon of her cracked lantern can't quite chase away, only look more horrifying. And strange veins have grown all over, like something thick sits beneath her skin and moves in this network of thickened veins, pulsating as it does. She looks horrifying and horrified.
If she sees you, she might grab you by the arm, weakly, pupils so dilated her brown eyes are practically black. Her nose is bleeding, and her mouth opens and closes, struggling to shape a word that comes out like 'Help', and it sounds like several people speaking, nearly drowning out her own voice. ]
➣ Wildcard
[ [ Feel free to reach out to me via Discord or Plurk (
Jan 25 (Grande Red for Jason)
Will his body keep changing? For how much longer? He'd heard stories of demigods changed into various shapes. His own sister had become a tree for several years, or so he heard, but those things were usually in an instant. This slow shift is agony and the changes seem to keep coming.
The legs are still fresh though, so he's at least reassured that this is probably the last for awhile. After all, the tail hadn't come until a day or so after the horns had started growing out of his forehead. Maybe he won't become any more minotaur than he already has or, even worse, full on bull.
Wrapped up in his head, he doesn't notice Eleven stumbling his way until it's too late. He's barely mastered walking by this point and so despite being taller and bulkier than Eleven he stumbles back and falls to the ground. He shakes his head, dismissing his thoughts, turning his eyes up to Eleven.]
It's okay...I'm not very steady myself.
I'm gonna assume you meant venti green because of the stumble? Correct me if I'm wrong ;)
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Jan 27, Venti red
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January 22, Tall Blue, couldn't decide so you get both :P
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Quentin Coldwater - cw body horror
[Venti Red] cw body horror
Tall Blue
And then laughter. It couldn’t be real. No one would laugh at something like this. It had to be a pile of logs, or a spirit, that this magic was making him imagine was laughing at him. Another check for blood.
Nothing was making sense.
And then there’s a voice, taunting him to make a fool of himself again. Duster turns to the side to see a human-shaped figure in the darkness illuminated by blue. Or was there?]
Please stop. [He sounds defeated. It’s only been a day since he’s been hallucinating a different landscape, but he’s already tired.]
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