logsinthenight | 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.

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Oranges.

Masaomi's grin couldn't be any wider as he lifts the small crate. He's going to make so much damn orange juice that all of Beacon will be cursing his name by the end of the week. He doesn't care. All he can think about as he turns to leave is how delicious this shit will taste on a bowl of shaved ice.

He doesn't make it even a step before a very tall, very imposing Rosinante claims the find for himself. Masaomi's grin drops along with his stomach. His eyes, well-trained by now, are quick to search out the would-be orange thief's lantern. It's green. The color isn't dangerously deep, but Masaomi decides it's probably better not to make any sudden moves anyway.

"Funny," he offers with a neutral shrug. "Didn't see your name on it."

He bristles internally, skin crawling at the idea of having to put up with someone as insignificant as Masaomi, who is also willing to deny a statement of his. Were things as they should be, he could - and would - shoot this idiot through the forehead and call it a day. Have someone else clean up. Have a third bring the oranges back, and then go fetch more, even if there are none here to be seen. So what if they have to return to the portal, that Helix station, to request more? If he wants it, it should be done.

Instead, he has to feign tolerance, and he will do so, but barely.

"Aren't you a little old to be making retorts like that?" he scoffs as he steps forward. Maybe he can set up an accident. Tip a shelf over onto the boy and crush him beneath it. One less piece of filth polluting the world he's been left with.

A blond brow rises skeptically. He doesn't like the way Rosinante's throwing his weight around, but that's also all the guy's done so far. Masaomi, not quite ready to give up on his orange ice, has to show the guy such lame intimidation tactics won't work.

If he's lucky, that alone will end this.

"Aren't you a little old for schoolyard bullying?" he returns, perhaps a bit too easily. "What, you gonna ask for my lunch money next?"

Had Masaomi tried that a few days ago, he probably would have risen to the bait. His anger was intense, then, and now he thinks he understands why. An event, a trick, something done to them all. The lanterns are an obvious clue. But now, his has begun to repair itself, suggesting that whatever was wrong with him before, this is now how he ought to be. Really, who he should have been from the very beginning.

And now he's not going to be taunted into idiocy by some commoner. He nods at the oranges as his hand settles on his pistol. Just a reminder, really. Very casual.

"How about we make a deal instead, eh. They're mine, but I'll sell them to you. All you have to do is get down on your hands and knees and ask for them."

Masaomi's body turns rigid, a traitorously visible reaction to seeing Rosinante's hand slide over his firearm. Though he does his best to keep his eyes on Rosinante's face, he tightens his grip on the crate of oranges nonetheless. Having something, anything, between his chest and that pistol is the only reason he's able to swallow his own rising saliva and taunt the giant again.

"Or I could just throw the whole box at you. Smash it against a wall. Then neither of us gets them."

Masaomi has never shot a gun. He's never been inhumanly powerful or fast. But damn if he doesn't know how to shove a bit of petty revenge in when he's cornered. His pride is worth more than a crate of fruit.

"I'm not begging you for a couple of oranges, man!"

"Are you that petty? You would put a humorously small amount of pride above having some of the last fruit in town? Try it. The wall is right there."

Toying with this stupid pest is more fun than actually eating an orange, at this point. If he manages to convince the commoner to destroy fresh food it wanted to eat, that's actually genuinely hilarious. If nothing else, humans are entertaining every now and then, especially when frightened.

Of course, if he decides to come at him with the oranges, then he'll have to move quickly, but he can do that. Being tall does not mean being slow.

"Petty enough not to let you have any? Oh yeah. There'll be more fruit eventually, but I might only have one chance to give you a sweet, citrus concussion."

The words are out of his mouth in an instant, but Masaomi isn't following up with action just yet. He really was excited for these damn oranges. Do these fucked up dysfunctions have to take even his simplest pleasures away from him too? Why can't this guy just give up?

On the one hand, that's a clear threat and therefore there's nothing wrong with him beating this idiot to said concussion by flinging him into a wall. On the other, he can't imagine this puny idiot managing to actually succeed in carrying out said threat.

"It's a wonder you can even lift the box," he muses aloud. "Then again, I suppose humans have to be useful for something. But I prefer my offer. On your knees," he says, "Or did nobody ever teach you how to bow?"

If he doesn't see bowing in about two seconds, in fact, he'll try kicking the creature in the shin to make it happen faster.

He swears he hears his own gritted teeth creak. It's bad enough to know he's outmatched by everyone here over the age of twelve, but to have the nine foot tall brick wall mock him for it? Over a crate of fucking fruit? Suddenly, he's not hungry anymore.

Masaomi doesn't even blink, openly glaring at Rosinante as he raises the crate and chucks it at the wall, precisely as directed. Wood cracks, and a fountain of bruised oranges scatters in every direction.

"Guess not," he chimes through a tight, fuck you smile.

"Impetuous, wasteful brat," Rosinante growls as wood fragments and fruit fly from the point of impact, though none hit him hard enough to make him do much more than squint with mild concern and lift the edge of his coat around his lantern slightly to shield it. As much as he would love to shoot him for this, the others wouldn't understand. The ammunition will have to be saved for spirits only, which they seem to care less about. Beneath even humans, those things, though less far than they probably think.

As promised (to himself in particular) the act is rapidly followed by a kick - more of a stomp, actually - at Masaomi's shin. If he breaks it, all the better, but really he just wants to kick his legs out from under him, knock him down, and force him to grovel. The oranges and splintered wood everywhere would make the fall particularly nasty.

The moment Rosinante moves, Masaomi is ready to get the hell out of dodge. He twists, intending to kick off to the side. That's as far as he gets. His shin is kicked right out from under him, and he immediately drops, hands and knees saving him from a humbling faceplant. Sharp pain ignites just above his left ankle, drowning out the bone rattling feeling of the fall itself.

He resists the urge to reach for it, to turn and see what the hell he's landed on. That's just not something you show the opposition.

"Close enough to bowing, I suppose. For today."

His point has been made and the commoner has been humiliated. The oranges have rolled everywhere and will soon be soft from bruising, but are still salvageable if eaten right now, so he stoops to collect one and start peeling it, casually flicking a chunk of the rind toward Masaomi's face before he turns and makes his way toward the exit.

There is absolutely a graceless stumble on an orange or two on his way, but he catches himself on the shelves. Less dignified than he would like to be, but whatever.

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EVENT LOG: TURN THE LIGHTS OFF

arrogance;

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