EVENT LOG: TURN THE LIGHTS OFF

[inthenightmods]

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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Comments

Will Ingram | OTA | cw for murder-thoughts, dissociative behavior, drugs/alcohol

[donttalktome]

[The first sign that things have gone south is the lighthouse. He's seen that beam turn red more times than he can count, but green? That's new. And new around here is usually bad.

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

[originallutece]

[She isn't pleased by how loudly she exclaims in fearful shock when she steps into the armory and locks eyes with that savage stare. It's wildly aggressive, more bite than bark, and all the more surprising when she sees who it belongs to.]

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

[donttalktome]

[The movement does not escape his notice. His eyes dart immediately to her hand, then back and forth between that and her face.

She's lucky he hasn't had time to go through all of the various weapons here, but that doesn't make him unarmed; he still has the knife that killed him. The knife he can't remember acquiring. No, the knife he came here with. God, why can't he keep it straight?

Out of frustration and fear, he draws it out of his sleeve, not attacking, but making its presence known.]

Don't try anything.

[As if anyone should be afraid of him. He's small for his age, despite being his current height. The disparity is dizzying.]

... Why did you call me "doctor"?

[originallutece]

Because that's what you are.

[Ah, and she does not come forward, not a step further, not while he's holding a knife and talking to her like that.]

You earned a doctorate years ago.

[Probably? She assumes. It's not as if he can correct her right now, not if her hypothesis is correct here.]

[donttalktome]

[Never assume that he can't correct someone. Perhaps it's his innate sense of pride that jogs his memory.]

Two. I earned two.

[He blinks, suddenly unsure of what he means, and then in the next second he's back to the present. He glances down at the knife in his hand. He doesn't put it away.]

You're Lutece. Rosalind. I don't think I liked you. Are you dead, or are you actually here?

[The question is complete nonsense, and it's clear from his expression that he knows it. Not being able to trust his own thoughts is its own kind of torture.]

Grande Green

[moderatelymaladjusted]

[Quentin just looks at the lit join with dismay. Not that anyone can tell from looking at him, since there's no way to tell which way his mouth curves.

Not from behind the tentacles hanging down like a fleshy curtain in front of it and really, it's hard enough trying to talk like this. Trying to smoke? He's just going to set himself on fire. His tentacles quiver.

Not that that is a thing here.

But.

Anyway.

He shakes his head. The red light of his lantern spilling out like fresh blood from a wound all over the ground around him, and he's more than a little worried about the cracks which just makes the tentacles move more. In tight little jitters and waves, right in his face.

Fuck.]

No thanks?

poor q-thulu

[donttalktome]

[Will eyes the tentacles for a moment, squints, is pretty sure he sort of recognizes the face behind them, and then shrugs. This is far from the strangest anatomical oddity he's ever seen. Could even be great with the right person. Just... not right now.]

Suit yourself. You can talk, so you've got a mouth under there somewhere. I'm sure you could find a creative solution.

[He pauses, joint halfway to his lips.]

... Those things on your face are real, aren't they?

[Or is he just hallucinating even weirder stuff now? Was the weed a bad idea after all?]

That is the best thing ever and I'm calling him nothing else from now on!

[moderatelymaladjusted]

I-- yeah, they're real.

[God, the one time he wishes for a hallucination and it just isn't one. Or, it's a shared one, because several people have stared at him already, like the tentacles on his face is the weirdest thing in Beacon right now.

When they really, really aren't.]

They just-- they showed up this morning? I. Maybe it was something I ate?

[It's disconcerting the way the tentacles move when his mouth does, how they mirror the twists and curves of it if he isn't paying attention and trying to move them on their own, is a little bit like trying to wriggle your ears.

The tentacles wave a little as Quentin sits down on the ground next to Will, legs folded up against his chest and when he leans forward, the tentacles slither across his knee.]

I'd need one of those old cigarette holders. The long ones.

you're welcome

[donttalktome]

[He shouldn't, but Will laughs. It's not even entirely the weed's fault.]

Something you ate? What have you been eating? Magic beans? Alien parasites?

[That last one would've been mean if he'd said it back home. Good thing he's not at home.]

We could probably rig something up with a stick. Or a long pair of forceps. Not that I have one of those handy.

Grande Green;

[arsarcanum]

[ Normally, Skyler would just ignore anyone trying to shove anything in his direction in this kind of mood. He's walked around this dump for hours, fitting the pieces of memory he finds what he already knows - not too much, he doesn't want to risk even more of a merge, but just enough to get the gist of what's happeneing - but after a while, he just doesn't want to think anymore. He's got no solutions, just ways to lash out uselessly against whatever the hell this place is. And he can do that. Right now, even.

Except this thing here is very obviously a blunt. Skyler will look down at it, then up at this stranger with his strange keyhole eyes, lit green by both of their lanterns. (It's weird that he doesn't have to hide his pupils here. That it doesn't matter anymore.) ]

Yeah, if you're offering. [ Not gonna take it right away, though. ] Do I need to throw in? There isn't any money here.

[donttalktome]

[Will snorts, which turns into a wheezy kind of laugh.]

Trust me, you don't have any of what I paid for it anyway. Just take advantage of one of my very rare generous moods.

[Also known as "everyone else please get extremely high so I won't be the only one without a sense of time". Seeing as how he's partway there himself, it takes him a second to notice anything strange about this kid's eyes. And then, naturally, he does not keep it to himself.]

The world must look very vertical to you. Not that you'd know it, I suppose.

[arsarcanum]

[ So there is a way to pay for things here. He quickly thinks back to that - did Sora ever figure out what goes for money in Beacon?

He gets a very vivid memory of Sora running around for hours with brightly colored knitwear in his arms. It's a huge struggle not to roll his eyes.

He'll shrug, finally. ]

Cool.

[ And he'll pull that blunt from his fingers and take a very generous hit, giving it back to the guy before he lets the smoke out slowly into the cold in a thin line, watching it whip away into the dark.

The question surprises him - weed doesn't really make him any more or less chatty, just slows things down so he can actually enjoy some parts of being alive - and he turns back to this guy, looking at him thoughtfully. ]

Nah, I'd know it. [ He sort of thinks it's a dipshit thing to say, but he owes this guy a couple minutes of decency. He's not a complete neanderthal. ] These aren't natural. They're, like, robot eyes? [ He shrugs. ] Dunno why they had to be this shape. Doesn't affect anything.

[donttalktome]

Doesn't affect anything at all? [He could go on a tangent about why that shouldn't make sense and in what scenario it actually could, but no. Not now. This is chill time.]

I'll blame it on aesthetics, I suppose. Nothing can ever just be functional, it has to look special.

[And because he's just Like That, weed or no, he just asks the question that pops into his mind.]

Was this a cosmetic choice, or did you lose the old ones?

Venti pls!

[patriotnow]

[Ashford had hunkered down in his home for rest when the door rattles. He's chosen to rest sitting up, however, knowing that with his now severely stunted range of motion, laying down would be to potentially trap himself. Unable to turn his head in the direction of the door due to the boney growths on the right of his face, his neck, his right shoulder, and right arm, he stiffly shifts his whole body to look.

The door rattles again.]

sabaka... [He mutters under his breath and leans his head back in resignation agains the wall]

IT OPEN.

[Whoever it is, whatever they want, just come in already.]

[donttalktome]

[The rattling abruptly stops. A voice says it's open, but is it really open? He can't imagine someone would just invite him in. Not right now. Maybe it's a trap.

With than in mind, when he finally swings open the door, he does so with knife in hand, ready to strike anyone before they can strike him first. He looks around wildly, at first not quite registering Ashford as... well, as a person.]

[patriotnow]

[His chin raises in morbid curiosity as the harried Will barrels through waving a knife around.

Ok. That's not exactly who or what he had expected to come through the door.]

And what you expect to do with that, ah?

[He straightens as best he can, but remains more confused than frightened. Not that he doesn't view a man waving a knife around as a potential threat, but this is such a shit from when he last encountered this specific person his want to know why is currently the dominant force in his thoughts.]

( prompt: venti green. )

[sunborne]

[ what is going on with the others for the last few days?

that's the burning question in daylight's processors ever since he noticed the others' lanterns turn to different shades of red and green and blue. it's the question he thinks once again when he steps into the cabin he shares with coraline, going through the unlocked door like he always does, and notices someone notably not coraline.

he never had any reason to lock it when he left for a jaunt out to the forests. now, as he looks at dr. ingram with a concerned expression, maybe he should have. ]

Dr. Ingram- I- What are you doing in my and Coraline's cabin? Are you looking for something? [ as daylight asks his question, someone else makes themselves known: a spirit - small and delicate, covered in paper flowers. they peer from behind day and chitters softly, curious too. ]

[donttalktome]

[Will turns around swiftly, startled, and tries to take in what he's seeing. Robot? No. Giant mechanical humanoid. Daylight. Daylight? Who the hell is that?

He's still puzzling it out when the spirit appears, and that sets off a completely different chain reaction in his brain.

Spirits are here. A big one and a little one. Because of the reset. But spirits can be killed, right? If he doesn't, they'll get him first.]

Get the fuck away from me!

[He brandishes his knife, even if it seems rather ineffective against something so tall. Where will he even aim? The legs, maybe, like he did with that brat in the general store. Or has that happened yet? It has to have happened, or he wouldn't remember it. Right?]

[sunborne]

Whoa-! [ daylight immediately pulls back, all the while herding a nervous fluffy behind him to make sure they stay safe. this is not what he was expecting when he returned to the cabin with a friend, that's for sure.

he first holds up his servos to try and show he's friendly but he decides, um, no- that's not going to be work. not in this situation, where dr. ingram is clearly affected by whatever is happening to everyone else. better to be proactive for himself than be, um, stabactive by... himself? that made no sense, he knows, but he also knows where he was going with that anyways-

upon letting out a sincere and breathless, 'sorrydr.ingram!' as he extends a servo out and wills some of his arc energy, daylight summons a force field to try and place it over dr. ingram. it'll only last for a short while, judging from his past tests and use of it like during the ferry sinking, but he hopes that'll be enough time to try and talk some sense to dr. ingram.

hopefully. ]

grande?

[antiwhat]

[ Though Ellever has been wandering all over the place in the last couple of days, not sleeping, sometimes playing one of her instruments or just sitting quietly ⁠— she does favor places that are more out-of-the-way. It's out in these more remote locations in Beacon that she feels she can think better.

The less light, the more of a connection she feels to the voices that sing in the darkness. The voices that tell her who she is, what she's meant for. Over the years, Ellever's learned to block them out entirely. Now she can hear them again.

Her solid black eyes are fully uncovered as she finds herself on the docks, humming under her breath. Her humming is like her music, right now ⁠— not quite right, but not because she isn't hitting notes properly. There's almost a strange reverb quality to it as she turns toward a voice. Someone's speaking to her. Ellever glances at what's in his hand. ]

I'm well. [ She speaks slowly, lazily, putting her black teeth and gums on full display. ] Is it helping you?

[donttalktome]

[Will blinks at the black teeth, the black mouth, the black eyes. For a moment, he doesn't see Ellever, but an all-black forest spirit, radiating malicious intent, reaching out for him— but then it's gone, and it's just her.

It's too late to pretend he didn't see anything, though, seeing as how he's already jerked back and dropped his joint.]

Well, I thought it was.

[He spends a moment putting himself back together.]

What actual color are your teeth?

[Like, is he hallucinating that still, or?]

[antiwhat]

[ She doesn't react to his jumping back. Not visibly, at least. Like everything she sees right now, it gets logged away and analyzed. Ellever scratches idly at the side of her head, where the scarf was wrapped around for three days before she'd finally taken it off and embraced what was underneath. But there are red scratch marks on her neck — and arms, if they were visible — from other urges, when the feeling of being encased in flesh gets to her.

Ellever smiles at his question, however. ]

Black.

[ Don't worry, she seems to be thinking, you're not imagining it. ]

My father might have black teeth. I think that's where it comes from. When he has teeth.

[ Conquest's physical form, if he ever comes to have one, will show during the end of the world, which will be kicked into high gear by his appearance. Ellever doesn't know what it will look like. Dewan's theorized that full-blooded humans won't be able to handle looking at him and might instantaneously boil just by trying.

She glances over at the water. ]

This is a nice spot. Away from everything.

grande ➾ sittin' on the dock of the bay

[hext]

[ wanda's done everything she can to steer clear of people in this state, but somehow burrowing in her room at the invincible made the conditions worse. she felt claustrophobic with her extra layers, reshaped limbs akimbo, shedding and regrowing — gnashing, clawing, hiding, vexing —

space. space was what she needed, even now, as the fever seemed to cool, and she rocked back off her tenterhooks.

there's a scent in the air that catches wanda's attention as she walks toward the water's edge, stronger the closer she nears the black and rippling glass. it plumes in deep, earthy purples and sharp siennas down in her lungs, making her nostrils flare — familiar; she could be back on the streets of sokovia with pietro.

the source comes from a man huddled by the docks, flicking heat away from his mouth.
close enough to him in eight more steps, it's will ingram.

gooseflesh erupts along her arms.
she ruffles her hair back, shaking off the tremors.
she's still a dragon, a bird, a twisted aborted lizard without flight.

close enough to him in three steps, their eyes meet, recognized — he makes her an offer and, for the first time, she accepts. ]

What did they mean to show us? The lanterns.

[ wanda puts the joint to her lips, but it's a moment before she inhales.
she'd nearly breathed fire this week, but all that had come out was smoke. ]

[donttalktome]

[The appearance certainly took him by surprise. It's a feat, honestly; he's seen beings stranger than anything he's encountered here, and thought them normal. But this is... new.

She's someone he's seen around town; he's not sure when, because he's not sure when this is, but she looks like she's shedding. Shedding out of the skin of an entirely different creature. Yeah, she definitely looks like she could use it.]

Show us? [He scoffs.] What makes you think it was meant to show us anything?

[To be honest, he hasn't stopped to think about it. Hasn't had time. He's been stuck between versions of himself, of the world around him, and only just now is it starting to recede.]

[hext]

[ dead layers of something leathery, not quite skin, not human — they're still falling away from her in quiet patches. she itches, and try as she might, she can't keep it quite discreet enough to remain unnoticed.

wanda exhales, a frown following the smoke, and her fingertips fuss under the line of her jaw.
scratch-scratch-scratch.

something like down feathers slough away, and she hands the joint back to will. ]

You think this is random?

[ she blows through the air, puffing the feathery stuff toward him, in the center of their little gathering, repulsed and considering simultaneously. ]

Nothing to do with my inner afflictions? What have you got to deal with, then?

[ wanda's frown deepens, almost daring him to irritate her. ]

Let me guess. A physics problem with no answer.