logsinthenight | INTRO LOG: FEBRUARY

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INTRO LOG: FEBRUARY

characters: everyone.
location: the harbor, as well as the rest of town.
date/time: february 1-3.
content: beacon's newest batch of residents arrives on the ferry. rastus gathers the town for a debriefing meeting.
warnings: n/a.

welcome to beacon.

It's dim, and the room won't stop swaying, gently rocking you back and forth. A loud sound startles you fully awake, a deep, moaning call: a foghorn. As your eyes adjust, you note faint red light streaking through the room from a tiny, round window.

You've found yourself in a private room, lying on a bed. The last things you remember are the events that led up to your death. Beside you is a folded tablet and a lantern glowing with a healthy flame.

You're on a ship. And that ship is docking.

Making your way to the deck, and eventually the pier, you find only moonlight to greet you, and a dark forest beyond. There are other people here, each with their own unique lantern, and many of them look just as lost as you are. On the ferry you've just disembarked from, the speaker system begins to play a song.

In the distance, across the waters of the lake, you can see the tall silhouette of a lighthouse, its red light slowly turning.

•••

On February 3, after the newcomers have had a chance to settle in, everyone's tablets will ping with a message from @rastus!

Come tob onfier squae.Pl eaas , we wikll disucss our orogress sincereeluy rastuaas I am th ebonfire keeeeeeepr.

...Followed by another message a few minutes later, this time from @keeper

Omg will everyone head down to Bonfire Square for Rastus' town meeting please? He wants to recap what you've all learned so far!!!

And can someone please teach him that he can record an audio message and then send it to everyone instead of looping the whole dang town in on a group text?? 😂😂😂😂

Assuming you do indeed head down to Bonfire Square after all that, what you'll find is this: a series of benches and tables have been set up surrounding the bonfire, and there's enough seating for all of Beacon's residents. As people take their seats near the fire, the barkeeper forest spirits from the Invincible toddle through the crowd with trays of hot chocolate and warm cider, along with a sampler tray of acorns and pinecones, if that's your thing.

Once everyone's here and settled, sipping on hot drinks and maybe busting a tooth on an acorn, Rastus hobbles forward to address the crowd:

"Crrk. Hello. I am Rastus. I tend to the bonfire. I have tended to the bonfire, mrawk, for years and years. You are doing, rmmm, well. Good."

He nods to emphasize the point. Yes, you are doing good.

"Talk. To each other. Share what you have learned. Yes. Crarrk. It is important."

He nods again, and then... shuffles back over to his post near the bonfire, waiting for anyone who might come by with an interest in torches. Seems it's up to you all to get each other up to speed?

Luckily for all the newcomers who may find themselves confused by their sudden arrival here, their tablets and the town have some resources available for getting acquainted with their new situation! In fact, as soon as they're prompted to enter a network username, an app containing all sorts of useful welcome information will launch. Newcomers can always check out the weekly bulletins and the records in town hall as well, and everyone's welcome to get in touch with the NPCs through their inboxes.

ooc.

Hey there, wonderful players, and welcome to In the Night! We're thrilled to welcome so many new faces into the community, and you've come at a great time! Alongside this intro log, we have our very first cat herd, which is essentially a recap of the plot thus far, as well as a rundown on a ton of great info to help get you started in the game.

But don't feel like you have to read it all right this second! ICly, Rastus will call everyone together for the town meeting on February 3 to give new characters (and players) a chance to get their bearings before smacking them in the face with all the plot. This log will cover both the ferry arrival and the cat herd meeting, so feel free to bounce around in time in your toplevels.

Remember, too, that all of the plot info available in the cat herd can now be considered common knowledge! Newbies and oldbies alike, feel free to assume that your character learns as much of that plot info as you like at this meeting, regardless of whether or not you thread it out.

And of course, go ahead and introduce yourselves on the OOC intro, as well!

DELIVERIES

The following packages can be found in the cargo hold:

The monthly store restock
For Sora: A gameboy(?), 3 CPR/AED kits, a dozen CPR/first aid training manuals, two packages of capiz shells, a set of candy molds, a caldero, and 3 gameboy games: 3-D World Runner, Decapathon VII, and Sheep It Up!
For Crowley: A variety of clockwork equipment, a large clock face, and the goods
For Jason G: 2 bulletin boards with materials for mounting, 3 packs of pushpins
For Lucius: A manual sewing machine
For Castiel: A dozen flasks of holy oil and a pillowcase-sized satchel of various natural spell components
For Duster: A double bass, complete with a case
For Prompto: A polaroid camera with enough film for 50 photos and a folding sword, which is cruder than the example he gave but roughly the same size
For Aziraphale: A large crate of snowshoes, jackets, and coats in various sizes, a bottle of wine, and a bouquet of red, white, and pink roses tied together with an elegant bow
For Javert: A large crate of various fencing gear and 3 fencing handbooks

If you submitted an item request last month and we've missed it here, let us know!

QUICKNAV
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[ He's been on the lookout since meeting Sam, senses alert, eyes scanning the ferry, the pier, the beach.

There's never just one Winchester. If Sam is here, any version of him, then Dean will either not be far behind, or will be working on breaking the world to save his brother. And Castiel knows from Sam's report that even though he distinctly knows he died and ended up here, he also kept going. Kept living - and dying - alongside Sam and Dean.

It's... painful, in a strange way. To know that he's the one who lost the toin coss. Life is a web of choices, and Castiel knows better than most that there are countless universes, countless timelines, countless alternatives. There must be a version of him that never chose humanity, never chose Dean in the greenroom. There must be a version of him that revealed himself in Lisa Braeden's back yard, that told Dean of Raphael's plans and Castiel's inability to stop him.

Perhaps he's been losing the coing toss more often than he cares to think.

Still... it pains him, strangely and in ways it shouldn't, to know that Dean and Sam grew older, and he grew alongside them, not in age but in experience and emotion. He wonders if Sam is bothered that Castiel as he is here, is decidedly not the Castiel he knows. Their Castiel, with years of shared, years that are much longer and more significant from the short-lived human perspective.

Wonders, when he spots the familiar width of Dean's shoulders, if Dean will find him lacking consequently.

Castiel beats his wings before he can question it too much, before he can talk himself into avoidance. He's done Dean the dishonour of leaving too often. Right here and now, Castiel chooses to go to him rather than flee from him, as he attempted right before his death, and failed at - lost that coin toss, definitely. He chooses, then, to turn a blind eye to everything off about Dean, to ignore the suspicion at what he can dimly sense, to ignore his own guilt and self-loathing over the feeling of Dean's face breaking under his own fist, a phantsom sensation that haunts and terrifies him. He won't let it keep him away,despite his every instinct wanting to follow the cues of his guilt.

He appears out of nothing, out of the darkness, right in front of Dean, too blue eyes finding and locking onto green to the sound of rustling feathers and the soft woosh of displaced air.

The light around them goes a little more blue through the stained glass of his lantern, moving and shifting as the white-blue grace swirls within it.

And what is there to say, except... ]

Hello, Dean.

( he hears the flutter of wings (familiar, and yet dean's pulse jumps, his mind still playing the events of his supposed death over in his mind, still on the defensive) before cas appears before him, and the knife he'd almost pulled on rastus he does pull on cas, the blade pressed sharp beneath cas' jaw. it's a panicked reaction more than it is rational, but it's just as likely that that cas could've ended up here, too. (maybe sam wouldn't have killed him for murdering his brother, but maybe he would have. then again, that might have fucked up the timeline even more, and sam's definitely smarter than dean when it comes to that kind of shit.) he's just being cautious, that's all. hunter's instinct. he knows a knife won't do any real harm to an angel, anyway, he just has to be sure first.

he narrows his eyes, his locked gaze unflinching as he searches cas' face for hints of the cas he knows, not the cas whose hands he can still feel wrapped around his neck.

hello, dean.

well, that's a start. but still not enough. )

Cas. ( it sounds almost like an accusation. ) You got ten seconds to convince me you're really you or so help me I'll carve a damn sigil into my arm and blast you back to kingdom come.

( the only thing that gives him any hope is the fact that he'd probably be thrown halfway across the pier already if this were actually bizarro cas. )

[ Castiel's face locks down, eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring slightly, impassive otherwise. He has a knife to his throat that won't kill but greatly annoy him, and Dean is threatening to mutilate himself to rid himself of Cas in a move so violent and poorly thought out Castiel is initially at a loss as to what to even say.

Annoyance and anger are perhaps not the most socially graceful responses to the predicament, but Castiel has been existing in this space for a while, has not seen Dean since Lucifer's crypt, can still feel Dean's face breaking under his own fist, and has been existing with the knowledge that someone's been brainwashing him for billions of years.

So yes. Indignation is what happens, layering over the also immediate, painful guilt and self-loathing at what he could have done to deserve this treatment. ]

Use those seconds to explain your passenger to me.

[ And face a smooth, impassive mask of righteous indignation, Castiel steps closer, presses forwards. Dares Dean to follow through on his threat and the knife. ]

( well, that's definitely not the answer he was expecting. to be honest, he's getting mixed messages here. there's recognition, he thinks, in the minute details of cas' expression toward him, but then there's the fact that cas is demanding an explanation for michael, which doesn't quite make sense. it throws him off guard; if cas is any version of his cas, he'd know about michael, or he could be another bizarro cas, or he could be like sam, who came from a completely different point in time.

and if that's the case, he really doesn't want to have to explain the michael situation. at all. he conveniently left out all details of possession when he'd briefly summarized the past year for sam, and he doesn't see why he should tell cas, either. maybe it's not worth lying to cas, who can clearly sense something is amiss, but dean's never been the honest type and he doesn't need anyone worrying about michael when their priority should be figuring out a way out of here. besides, he can't imagine there's anything here that could help them with the michael situation, anyway, so for dean it's a nonstarter. )

Excuse me? ( he should probably let go of the knife; with cas this close, dean can practically feel the angelic radiance of righteous indignation coming off him in waves, which has dean thoroughly reconsidering his position. for all his talk, the sigil really is his last resort. he doesn't want to have to use it. the knife, on the other hand, makes him feel like he still has some ounce of control over this situation, even though he knows cas absolutely has the upper hand here. ) How 'bout I ask the questions, huh? You ever remember being in Lebanon, Kansas with Zachariah?

( it's better than opening with so about that time you strangled me to death... )

[ The question takes a little of the indignation out of Castiel's eyes, but it's quickly replaced by outright suspicion.

There's a subtle flick of a wrist, even while Castiel keeps holding Dean's gaze. This is Dean, but it's also Dean with traces of grace swirling inside of him, a Dean that knows his name yet holds a blade to his throat, a Dean who asks about Zachariah...

He's older than he was when Zachariah happened, yet perhaps... perhaps he's not the Dean Castiel fell for, died for, ruined himself for.

The angel blade silently glides into his grasp, but he doesn't raise it. Not yet.

Dean would - should - know that he wasn't. Even when Castiel was still following Heaven's orders, Lebanon wasn't on their radar, and most of his time on Earth was spent around Dean Winchester in some capacity or other.

But this place is collecting people from different times, different universes.

It would absolutely stand to reason that while this Dean Winchester is older than the one Castiel was trying to return to... he might not...

He might have...

Perhaps this is who Dean grows up to be when Castiel fails to do the right thing in the Green Room. It would explain the hostility. ]

You said yes.

[ Heat snaps into his tone, anger and accusation swirling into one. Because that's grace brimming inside of Dean, and what other angel would dare, what other possibility could there ever be?]

( you said yes, cas says, and yet what dean really hears in that tone of voice, the admonishment (like dean betrayed him), is how dare you.

which, actually — it's proof enough. no other cas would care if he said yes; hell, the whole point of not letting him rot in hell was so he could say yes.

dean lowers the knife, his chest tightening with guilt, his mind grappling with finding the right words to say i'm sorry. he knows he should, and he wants to, but it also opens up a whole different can of worms and he's not sure he's up to having that conversation right now. sorry for pulling a knife on you but you sure did choke me to death before i got here. anyway, how's the afterlife?

his gaze flickers from cas', out of shame, perhaps; it's less hostile now, more weary than it was before — and not just because he's aged physically. he looks exhausted. he looks like the entire weight of the world in on his shoulders and he's barely holding up. the only reason he hasn't let go of that weight is sheer stubbornness, a self-inflicted punishment. )

I had no other choice. ( he doesn't want to talk about this, either, but he'll admit to the bare minimum. he makes a show of pocketing the knife, a gesture of good faith despite ... well, the last five minutes. turns out, he didn't need it at all, but — ) It's complicated, Cas.

( he doesn't just mean michael. he means his situation in general, and in the same vein, how he got here. but when aren't things complicated for them? )

[ Dean's gaze slides away, and Castiel follows it, tilts his head a little, steps closer. Searches for that gaze and tries to draw it back. For what it's worth, he wants to see.

How often has Dean told him that there was another choice? And yet Castiel knows what this feels like, to be backed into a corner so thoroughly that it feels like no other options are left. So you say yes. To Crowley, to souls from purgatory. To Michael.

And it's here that he recognizes this Dean for his Dean, and how that brilliant, shattered soul of his tightens a barbe wire noose of guilt around itself. Older, then, but not, Castiel thinks, from elsewhere.

That's... not necessarily a relief. It means there are years between where Castiel last was, and where Dean last was, and yet they lead Dean to this. It brings back the worry, too, that they will be out of step with each other once again. They've fought so hard in Purgatory and after to fall back into comfort with one another, to mend the rifts that Castiel's war crimes and Castiel's actions put between them.

It's not something to dwell on right away. Castiel's swallows the concern. ]

How did you die?

[ How old are you. How did I fail you. How can I make it right. How are you. ]

( under normal circumstances (or — normal for them), dean wouldn't have a problem answering. he's died six ways from sunday, and he's seen the countless ways he could die, and he's been handed the only version of his death that doesn't end in michael laying waste to the world by the lady in black herself. so this should be easy.

how did you die? (let me count the ways.)

yet he finds himself unable to answer, finds himself almost afraid to.

when he lets himself look back at cas, his gaze is hard, yet pleading, as if to say you're not gonna like this. don't make me say it. maybe sparing cas the truth would hurt less, but then it wouldn't explain dean's hostility, and there are only so many lies he can tell before it snowballs into something out of his control, something much harder to come back from. better to rip the bandaid off, even though he knows what that could do to cas. what naomi did to him ... that kind of trauma never really goes away, no matter how many years pass. millennia, even, for a being like cas. six years seems like an eternity for dean (it's long since been forgiven, practically forgotten), but it's barely a blink for an angel.

his jaw tightens; he swallows thickly, his throat tight with anxiety, his head pounding from the roar of angelic rage inside his mind. the only comfort he finds is in the calm blue of cas' eyes; it's like staring out at a lake in the middle of nowhere, standing at the edge of serenity. for a moment, dean finds peace in those eyes and wishes he deserved to keep it. but he knows better than anyone that peace comes at a cost — one he's not willing to pay, not when there's still work to do. )

With your hands around my throat. ( he finally says, matter-of-factly, clinically, like he's already compartmentalized it, along with all the other traumas he's faced over the years — the deaths (his and those he feels responsible for), hell, becoming a demon, and now michael. now this. but if he lingers too long on that confession, he'll fall apart. so he soldiers on. ) We — messed with time. Not on purpose. The how's not important, anyway. But it pulled our dad straight from 2003 and — well, let's just say past Zachariah wasn't a fan of us meddling kids. Flapped his little angel wings to 2019 and was more than happy to sic you on us like a friggin' guard angel. You didn't even know me, Cas. But the worst part? My death didn't even matter to you — that you.

( and he has to stop there, because he can feel his throat tightening again, the well of unwanted tears brimming to the surface. he shakes his head as he forces them down, blinking them away, scrubs a hand over his face so maybe cas won't see him break (as if cas hasn't seen this a thousand times before). )

[ It goes to static, for a moment.

Castiel's mind. The world around him.

Everything.

With your hands around my throat.

Castiel stares straight at Dean, and he only sees Dean's bloodied, broken face, sees hundreds of him lying dead in a section of Heaven reserved for... reindoctrination. Naomi's praise. The way his mind, cut apart, had reformed to that machine.

My death didn't even matter to you.

Castiel reaches up, slowly. Wipes at the inner corner of his eye out of reflex, but doesn't find a trickle of blood there.

He's... Right.

He's no longer...

As far as he knows, at least.

Or perhaps this place is the ruin of his mind, employed by Naomi to keep his faculties otherwise occupied while he...

But no. He's... here, he broke free of Naomi, he was on the run, she got him, she taunted him with truths too paintful to... and then Crowley.

He's not... he's free.

That's what matters.

He's free...

Right?

And yet a version of him... Dean dies at the hand of...

Castiel makes to take a step back, but doesn't. He makes to reach out to Dean, but doesn't. For a moment he just stands there looking lost, looking shattered.

You came off the line with a crack in your chassis.

Eventually, after a long moment of trying and failing to process, Castiel raises his hand. Holds his angel blade out to Dean, handle first. ]

I'll show you where you can stay. Take this, for now.

[ Just in case he feels safer with it.

Just in case he feels like using it.

Just in case. ]

Edited 2020-02-12 00:09 (UTC)

( this is what he was trying to avoid. this ... like watching a fault line crack right in front of him. and what can dean do really? he doesn't have the right words to make it better, wouldn't even know where to begin.

but he does know that cas is hurting, behind the facade he's always worn so well. he knows there's a lot more going on in that angelic head of his than dean can fully realize.

so what can he do? he can try. try to take some of that pain back, try to rebuild, try to move on. )

Cas, look at me. ( he doesn't tell cas it's okay, because they both know that's not true. but he holds cas' gaze long enough that it might seem like he's going to say something ... heartfelt, maybe, open up about feelings and have a moment. instead, he just raises his own hand and sets it over cas'. he lets it linger, just a moment, feeling the warmth spreading beneath his palm (a spark igniting in his chest), before he finally pushes the angel blade away from him. ) Put that thing back, would you?

( it's a lot like saying i trust you. )

[ Castiel just looks at Dean for a moment. Feels the weight of his hand, the weight of the gesture, but searches Dean's eyes anyway. Marvellous, how when Castiel has lost all of his faith, Dean still has faith in him.

Castiel considers it grossly misplaced.

He opens his mouth to protest, his own fingers tightening on the hilt in frustration over his mind, this ancient, broken machine, grinding to an uncomfortable halt. ]

You're older then you were.

[ His eyes drop away then. So does his hand. Castiel's posture is stiff. ]

I last saw you in Lucifer's crypt. [ In case Dean doesn't remember, Castiel adds: ] The angel tablet.

( it takes dean a second to remember exactly — all of that was a long time ago, long enough that it feels distant, tucked away inside his brain with all the other shit that's happened that seemed like the end of the world. he thought things were bad then? funny how hindsight works.

of course, the time disparity explains ... a lot. but they probably shouldn't spend too much time unpacking that. )

That long ago, huh? ( he's trying to keep it light. considering. ) A lot's happened since then. I can — give you the rundown. ( but before they get to that: ) There anywhere to get a decent drink around here?

[ That long ago...

Yes. A lot separates him from this Dean. Castiel isn't sure how that's going to affect things. Wonders if Dean will find him lacking compared to the angel he's known a few years longer. A few years make a vast difference to humans, Castiel knows that much. ]

A drink, yes. I can't speak to its quality, but have it on good authority it will get you sufficiently inebriated if that's the goal.

[ Something small to focus on. Getting Dean to the Independance. Then putting him up in the cabin, if he wishes the proximity given...

Given the fact that Castiel killed him.

One step at a time.

Small things to focus on first. Larger picture, for once, has to wait for Castiel to regain his composure. ]

( for what it's worth, at the indication that there's alcohol, dean's shoulders relax a little, at little of the tension in his muscles melting away. he's still on edge, sure; an archangel screaming inside your head will do that to you. but he seems less volatile, less like he's about to explode. like he's settling back into casual dean rather than murder dean. )

Yahtzee. ( it's been a pretty shitty night (well, including everything after the reunion with his dad), so any alcohol is better than no alcohol. ) Drinks are on you, pal.

( he's about to start walking, when he realizes he doesn't know where he's going and, more importantly, it occurs to him: ) Wait, can you fly us there? ( it's less that he doesn't feel like walking through unfamiliar territory after getting his ass kicked and waking up on a boat and more that it's been a long time since cas could fly. )

[ Castiel's jaw clenches at the question. Not in anger, though. The way he ducks his head slightly and doesn't look at Dean should brand the emotion: Shame. ]

No. My flight is... restricted, here. I cannot go farther than the light makes visible.

[ Most of his senses are practically amputated in this place, his wings clipped. He's rarely felt this trapped within the confines of any world, even when he was falling and losing power. ]

Drinks are free. You will need to either drink, sleep or eat. It appears you're not so dead that you can forego all a living body would need. You can do all three of course.

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INTRO LOG: FEBRUARY

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