logsinthenight | 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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He didn't think this would get violent so soon, but he supposes that's what he gets for mouthing off. It always gets him in trouble somehow— no, that's not right. He wasn't born on Earth, but legal citizenship was part of the bargain. He has as much right to be here as this asshole. He can do whatever the hell he wants.

Unfortunately, that doesn't include moving swift enough to completely avoid being hit. Will jumps back, but he's neither as small or as quick as he thinks he is. His age is wrong, the gravity is wrong. He doesn't take the kick directly to the gut, which might have done some real damage, but it leaves him partially winded and he's fairly certain he felt something crack. He stumbles, forced to grab hold of a nearby shelf to stay upright.

His first reaction is, naturally, fear. This person is actively trying to hurt him, to kill him probably, since that's what they're all trying to do. Is it even a person at all, or just a spirit? He can see both when he looks, one tall shape superimposed on the other. Bigger because it's not human, or bigger because he's so short? He can't tell anymore.

But threat or not, this thing is blocking his exit. He'll have to go through it to survive, and that's exactly what he's going to do. What's one more body on the pile at this point?

"Fuck you," he spits, at the same time pulling the knife from his sleeve. He throws himself forward, gripping the handle as tightly as he can, slashing it horizontally for all he's worth. He's not so much aiming as going for a general area; across the thighs or the knees might take the man down for a moment. Enough for him to get past.

He is briefly pleased he hit the thing, and yet at the same time he just wants to curl up and fall to the floor and make whatever this bullshit is just stop. Maybe he can sleep through it. Maybe it will pass. But it wasn't a serious hit, by the looks of things. Enough to deliver a message but not leave the human crumpled against the floor in a heap. A small, shallow sort of victory.

A victory? No -

Will moves quickly enough, and there's no further time to spend wondering what the hell has gone wrong with his head. He wants to pace over there quickly and kick him down again, but instead Will makes the first move. There's a flash of metal, and a sharp pain as the blade rips through cloth and flesh just above both knees, one deeper than the other.

"Shit," he growls in pain as he collapses sideways onto the nearest shelf, sending boxed crackers and a row of canned vegetables crashing to the floor around them. Stunned, Rosinante grasps at his hip, trying to get a hand on his pistol, but as he takes a half step to steady himself so he can try to aim, he plants his foot onto one of those cans and falls the rest of the way to the floor in a sprawled pile.

His haphazard plan works, better than he expected, and he's not sure if he's surprised or not. The obvious thing to do now would be to dash around and out the door. But Will pauses instead.

He could kill Rosinante if he wanted to. While he's struggling on the floor he could just walk up and slit his throat. If he leaves him be, he'll probably come after him. It's inevitable, really. Why not be proactive? It's every man for himself, after all.

But even though it's the wise choice, Will doesn't move forward. He stays put for a few seconds, wavering. And then he ducks behind the nearest shelf and darts for the door. He stops only long enough to grab a can of carrots before he vanishes into the night.

EVENT LOG: TURN THE LIGHTS OFF

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