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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[ 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. ]

Edited 2020-01-29 05:05 (UTC)

[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.]

[ 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.

[He tries not to feel itchy by proxy, but god that looks uncomfortable. He takes the joint back, draws in, holds it, and exhales slowly. That exhale turns into a coughing laugh when Wanda makes her guess.]

You're not entirely wrong, if you want to get technical. If you want to consider time a part of physics. It is, by the way.

[A know-it-all even when high. Of course.]

You know, no one's actually just asked yet. Maybe they don't want to know. To tell you the truth, I have no idea if this is really happening. Or rather, when this happened. Am I remembering it? Has it even happened yet? Perhaps it's now for you, but when is it for me?

At this exact moment, whenever it is, I'm experiencing multiple times. It's seventeen years ago, and it's two years ago, and it's now. But "now" is... all of it.

[He glances her direction.]

Why? Do you have inner afflictions of turning into a lizard?

[ of course, he is. of course. wanda licks her lips, puzzling over all his nows and thens, his presents and his pasts. there's something fast and flickering about it, almost... forked. she quickly flits her dry and scaly fingers over her mouth, self-conscious. ]

I don't know about a lizard, specifically, but... monstrous. Out of control.

[ Flightless and full of fire and rage. It fits better the more she thinks about it, so she tries to stop. ]

People may not want the answers, but they need them. The lighthouse...

[ wanda squints back up at will. ]

You don't know which when this is, but— do you remember Robin?

[Will scoffs.]

You're no more of a monster than the rest of us. Humans are all out of control.

[He's certainly not excluding himself, either. He squints at her question.]

Robin? That's— No, I don't— [His eyes narrow for a second.] That's the bitch that wants me dead, isn't it?

[ wanda coughs on phantom memories of smoke. she rather thinks she has the impulse to laugh. ]

I tend to think she wants us all dead.

[ she cants her head, scrutinizing the shadows of confusion and clarity fighting with each other across will's expression. ]

Does she have a particular reason to want you dead more than most, Dr. Ingram...?

That's because she does. Except Winters, of course.

[His gaze drifts, eyes going unfocused.]

It isn't personal. It wasn't personal. It was either them or me. She didn't have a choice.

[He blinks, shaking his head.]

It's because I'm not supposed to survive this. I broke the rules, I suppose. But if the rules say I need to die, then fuck them.

EVENT LOG: TURN THE LIGHTS OFF

grande ➾ sittin' on the dock of the bay

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