logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

characters: everyone.
location: the path from downtown beacon to the harbor; all over town.
date/time: february 16-21.
content: the forest spirits send off their friends to join the aurora. memory opals drop from the eerie green lights above.
warnings: n/a.

i had all and then most of you, some and now none of you.

For most of the day on February 16, all of the town's forest spirits can be found along the stretch of road between downtown and the harbor, clearly setting up for, uh, something. They're piling snow onto the pathway, creating a miles long sled trail that starts outside the Landmark Inn and ends at the very end of the harbor's dock. Not only that, but the forest spirits are also not super willing to explain what they're up to! They're busy, you lantern-havers.

By the time evening rolls around, the spirits have set up wooden railings alongside the snowy path, as well as a warming tent, hot chocolate booth, and announcer stand outside of the Landmark. Oh, and a starting banner for the race! It's dogsled time!

Throughout the event, Beacon's downtown and harbor areas will be completely overrun with forest spirits, all there to bear witness to this holiday celebration—this holiday is for them, though, not you weirdos with your naked faces. Point is, none of the spirits will be hostile at this time! They're more interested in interacting with each other than with Beacon's residents, though if pressed, a kind spirit might be willing to explain what's going on:

The aurora arrives in Beacon for about a week each year, and the forest spirits believe it to be "friends in the sky". The lights are old friends of theirs, it seems! And each night while the aurora shines above the town, the forest spirits send off a handful of friends to join the aurora! The spirits ready to join the aurora build sleds of their own and assemble mighty sled teams, sometimes comprised of dog spirits and sometimes... other stuff. Then, when the aurora is at its peak in the wee hours of the night, the sled teams will ride off one by one, racing down the snow-covered path all the way down to the harbor, where they'll finally rocket off the dock and out over the lake, picking up more and more speed as each team gallops wildly over the water before arcing up into the sky. Once the spirits are barely a speck, they'll hit the aurora and burst into a shower of light. Beautiful stuff!

See, since the aurora is made of light, forest spirits launched into it are killed on impact! Isn't that wonderful! The forest spirits seem to think so! What is death to a dead thing!

All of this information can be learned through handwaved/played-led interactions with the forest spirits during the event. They'll all be focused on saying goodbye to their friends and cheering them on as they stream through the sky, but they're happy to welcome lantern-havers to join in the celebrations. The hot chocolate is free and only tastes a little bit like mud, so. Enjoy!

•••
For the entire duration of the event, the aurora will dance in beautiful silence overhead, lighting up the whole town with its eerie green glow. Every so often, handfuls of opals will rain down like meteorites from the lights above, and these opals each contain the memory of someone currently in Beacon! They can be found all over town, landing on paths and atop buildings and maybe even rocketing straight through your ceiling to crash into your living room. Perhaps a forest spirit decided to hide some shiny rocks in your cereal box or under your pillow... Better hope the Postmaster General doesn't find your opals before you do, though. That spirits sure does love their rocks. Point is, who knows where the opals might turn up?

On that note, if you signed up for a random event, we'll be RNGing characters to receive these random events throughout the event! The event may happen in response to a toplevel on this event log, or we might turn up in your IC inbox... 👀 These events will be entirely random, meaning we could dole out any number of them at any time, so it'll be a fun surprise for all of us.

If you missed signups and would still like to toss your name in the ring, go right ahead! Signups will remain open throughout the event, though we can't promise everyone who signs up will get something.

And finally... Each day, we'll post a list of the forest spirits joining the aurora! What, did you want to know in advance? The forest spirits have never been a particularly organized bunch, so they're winging this—which means more surprises for you. :)

Enjoy the races and the lights and the opals, residents of Beacon, and remember: WHAT IS DEATH TO A DEAD THING!

QUICKNAV
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[This time he's ready, and Quentin picks the opal up with almost steady hands.

And is not disappointed. He's in a dream of some kind and it's not his own. He's never been that happy about heights, but there's something about the whole scene. When it plays out and loops around to start over and it makes Quentin's heart ache.

At least he's pretty sure who this is about and he heads to the Invincible to knock on Peter's door.]

Hey? You in there?

Prompto has stopped attempting to photograph the aurora, graduating to attempting to photograph spirits and others attending the event. Or at least the spirits that haven't decided to fight him for possession of the fallen opals. He has a couple in his possession by now, one of his own and a couple others that aren't his, currently being stored in the fingers of one of his gloves for lack of a better place to put them.

He's notably mismatched in contrast to Riku, with a yellow plaid jacket, black stocking cap, one glove, and boots whose shade of brown differs slightly but visibly.

"Hey, Riku!" He has his tablet up to his face, and without giving Riku a chance to respond to the greeting, continues. "Look sharp, dude!"

[Quentin has gotten the hang of this now, not grabbing at the opals with his bare hands until he's ready to get hit with something. Some of the dreams were great. Good and wonderful and brimming with happiness, but some... were less great. Some were of people dying, or losing or left behind and when he finds this one, he carefully sits down on the cold ground before closing his hand around it.

Happy.

This is a happy one, the sense and feeling of belonging makes him feel warm all over. Like being a kid again, and instead of having just Julia, there's one-two-three.... seven of them.

Laughing and playing around, like kids should and there's no adults there to shout at them to be quiet, to slow down or to stop being silly. They look beautiful, the way kids always do when they're alone and unobserved. When they're allowed to just be.

Quentin puts the opal in the egg crate he found in the cabin, with a little note written on a scrap of paper. Bill, Eddie, Stan, Richie, Bev, Ben, Mike.]

[Quentin is walking around town, not actively looking for the opals, but he's also not shying away from them.

He is, however, being very careful before picking them up. Which... tracks. Because the first two knocked him on his ass and now he sits down, legs bent and if he can, he'll find something to sit against.

And he reaches out, slowly closing his hand around the opal on the ground.]

[Once again Quentin finds himself watching someone else, a boy even if he's tall. Taller than Quentin by an inch, but he's hunched over and scratching something in to the wooden rail on the bridge.

The dream feels bitter-sweet. Tinged dark around edges with fear and the boy looks... haunted.

He carved letters, like a love letter for teenagers.

Like Quentin had done when he was a kid and before Julia set him straight on just much better as friends they were. Before High School and before Brakebills. Before the Beast and before learning fast meant less lives lost.

Quentin puts the dream in to the egg crate, with a small note next to it- R+E. Maybe all of these dreams were connected?]

[The dream twists him out of Beacon and he lands somewhere foreign. It's hot and there's a weird group of people all gathered around.

Duster, he's the only recognizable face and when the dream dumps him back in town, Quentin puts the opal in to the egg crate with all the other ones and a note, reading Duster - cheese guy on it and he walks further in to town, closer to the bonfire and the noise coming from the spirits further away.

Maybe he's going to start running in to people he remembers from the dreams. Here's to hoping.]

[This time, the dream blows Quentin's mind.

Almost literally.

And waking up, or coming back to the green, undulating light in Beacon is such a let down, he wants to kick something,

That was-- that! That was something that happened, maybe it was a dream, maybe it wasn't but it had one of those huge keys in it, like Riku pulled out of thin air on the beach and Quentin hurries home to find something to put all of these rocks in to.]

[ooc- will continue this at the cabin]

[What?

Just happened?

Because some of that seemed strangely familiar. He remembers Margo like this, when she scary for completely different reasons. Her small dresses and her big eyes, and he remembers Eliot like this.

Almost like this.

Because the Eliot in Quentin's mind hadn't looked this... nervous? Just cool and in control, as if the whole universe would bend to his will, simply because it was him asking.

Without a word, Quentin rushes to the cabin Midge lives in. Where Eliot lives now, and he winds up at the front door, winded. He takes a minute to catch his breath before he knocks on the door.]

Oh, so the Roman and Greek gods were treated as separate deities even like this. That’s actually pretty interesting. Minato couldn’t help but huff a small laugh, smiling slightly. “I’m sure I’ll have a lot of explaining to do myself if anyone catches anything of mine.”

It was vague but he figured it would be enough to hint a not so ordinary life. He sighed at the explanation of Gaea though, a frustrated gleam in his eye. “Was there a reason for wanting a do-over?”

Did humans wish for it? Or was it something else?

Messenger bag loaded with egg crates and pieces of paper, a pen and warmer clothes then the ones he wore to the library before he touched the first stone, Quentin is ready to head out and figure out why he's dreaming someone else's dream.

But first, before he can even reach the door, there's something scratching at it. Like soft rustling and there's a ball of paper wedged under the door.

He picks it up and opens the door.

"Riku?"

[It's not as if she's unfamiliar with parental disappointments. Her own, certainly, but the girl's two fathers were . . . lacking, let's say, in their own ways. They pushed their own agendas and to hell with the child they had sired (or stolen); that was what the rescue mission was about.

Truly: that's what repenting her own sins were about. She'd used the girl for her own ends, and yes, one could make excuses, one could offer up reasonings about fundings and sexism and the need for a patron, the desperate need to get Robert, but the point of it is: Rosalind watches this memory, and she may feel Day's emotions, but god, but she knows the look in his mother's eye. She knows it so well.

And what is she meant to do with all that, once the memory ends and she's left with that opal?

For half a day, she does nothing. But when she catches sight of him, eternally helpful, eternally cheerful, ducking into the Invincible, she goes stiff.]

Lornlit.

[. . .]

Daylight. A word, if you will.

[She beckons to her table in the back, a gesture with a surprising amount of patience.]

Soldat glances around, takes in the room and the lack of changes. Even their own room has more than this, but then, they've lived here for months now, and Minato is still new. "I have," they answer. "I'm looking for mine, but I don't know that they'll all look the same, so. I have to touch them."

They look sidelong at Minako-- no eye contact, but at least on his face-- expression a little contrite. A little, but not a lot. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't see everyone else's memories. But I need mine."

[ Eliot just happens to be home. You can only stare at the aurora so much, after all, though even from the windows of the cabin he can see it lighting up the sky.

The knocks catches his attention. He's at the door in a moment, and he smiles when he sees Quentin there. Well. Smiles, but also looks a little confused, and he wonders if he should be concerned. ]

Hey - Is everything all right? Do you … Need to come in or something?

[It's not the last puzzle piece Rosalind needs. Far from it, point in fact. There's still so much of Mary she doesn't understand, but god knows this is a start. Rosalind exhales slowly as the memory fades, her fingers uncurling, the opal dropping to her feet.

She doesn't go to find Mary. Certainly not. But when Mary inevitably comes by her lab again, sooner or later, Rosalind looks more than a little distracted.]

. . . sit down a moment, will you?

(ooc: Top levels with specific starters below this.

if you would like a happy, sad, or traumatic memory, please comment to this post and let me know any personal things you would like me to consider, such as squicks.

Because comics.)

[ by now, quentin’s voice is familiar and peter doesn’t need to look through the peep hole in the door or even to open it to know who it is. ordinarily, he thinks that he’d be happier to hear quentin asking if he’s in there, but this time, he’s not sure that he is — he knows what the opals do and whilst he’s aware it could be worse, it’s not a reality he’s thrilled by.

(he supposes quentin could be visiting for any reason, and if he’s not— well, it’s better than the graves, at least. better than visions of their own deaths.

hopefully. )

gwen’s still staying on his couch and truthfully, he’s never been more grateful for the company: sure, jason knows more than anyone here about him, but he doesn’t know him in the way that gwen knows him simply by virtue of shared experiences and a shared history.

he answers the door with a rolled up blanket in one hand, a potentially convenient distraction from any conversations he doesn’t want to have. ]

—Hey, Quentin. [ a beat and a twitch of his lips. ] My hermiting’s a work in progress but yeah, I’m in here.

A man in a dark suit, a familiar bat emblem stalks through a window into an abandoned building.

“Enough! All of it ends tonight!” he calls out. “You say you want to save Gotham! To kill a part of it so it can survive. You say you want to be better than me. But it won’t happen.”

It’s clear he’s stalking through the building to follow the younger man, his face only obscured by a domino mask. His clothes singed, and only a gun in his hand. The contempt he has as he looks at the one speaking is apparent.

“I know I FAILED you. But.. I tried to save you, Jason. I’m... I’m trying to save you now.” the older man’s voice lowers, softness seeping in.

The shock of his words is apparent on Jason’s face, who gives out a half laugh of disbelief.

“Is that what you think this is about? Your letting me die?” There’s a beat, heaviness hangs in the air. “I don’t know what clouds your judgment worse. Your guilt, or your antiquated sense of morality. Bruce, I forgive you for not saving me.”

Jason backs up slowly, nearing an old closet door.

“But why… why on God’s earth—?!” He punctuates this statement, kicking the door in, allowing what looks like a man with bleached skin and green hair and a wide richter grin to fall to the floor. “Is he still alive?”

The clown breaks into hysterical laughter, once the scene sets in for him.

“HAHAHAHA NOW WE’VE GOT OURSELVES A PARTY! One big happy — all together again! Who’s got a camera? Dracula, you MUST have a digital picy-poo on that hardware store that you wear around your waist!” Joker croons happily.

“Get one of me and the kid, first. Then you and me. Then the three of us. Then one with the crowbar.”

It’s at that moment that Jason pistol whips him and then leans over him, his voice like ice and daggers.

“You’ll be as quiet as possible or I’ll put one in your lap first.”

“Party pooper. No cake for you!”

Jason focuses his attention on Bruce again, his gun still trained on the Joker’s head.

“Ignoring what he’s done in the past. Blindly, stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he’s filled, the thousands who have suffered…” he pauses for effect, emphasis on the next sentence. ”… The friends he’s crippled…”

Bruce looks at him impassively, though Jason’s voice is just getting more emotional, more impassioned. More upset. Gone is any sense of sarcasm, or mirth.

“… I thought… I thought killing me— that I’d be the last person you’d ever let him hurt. If it had been you that he beat to a bloody mass. If it had been you that he left in agony. If he had taken YOU from this world…”

His stance tightens for a moment, a flash of anguish crossing his face.

“I would have done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshipping garbage… And sent him off to hell.”

Bruce looks down, his tone unchanged from his earlier apology. Jason’s pleas falling on deaf ears.

“You don’t understand. I don’t think you’ve ever understood.”

“What? Your moral code just won’t allow for that? It’s too hard to “cross that line”?” Jason retorts, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“No. God almighty… no. It’d be too damned easy,” Bruce emphasizes and raises his hands in a placating gesture.

“All I have ever wanted to do is kill him. For years, a day hasn’t gone by where I haven’t envisioned taking him… Taking him and spending an entire month putting him through the most horrendous, mind-boggling forms of torture.”

Bruce’s attention is focused on Jason, and both of them are pointedly ignoring the Joker’s delighted face.

“All of it building to an end with him broken, butchered, and maimed… pleading — screaming— in the worst kind of agony as he careens into a monstrous death.”

“Aw… y’see, I’ve thought about that too,” the Joker can’t help but interject.

“I want him dead— maybe more than I’ve ever wanted anything,” Bruce continues. “But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place… I’ll never come back.”

“Why?” Jason asks, helpless.

“What?”

“Why do all the cub scouts in spandex ALWAYS say that? “If I cross that line, there’s no coming back.” I’m not talking about killing Cobblepot and Scarecrow or Clayface. Not Riddler, or Dent.”

Jason gestures his gun at the Joker, who is giggling quietly over the whole conversation.

“I’m talking about him. Just him. And doing it because.. Because he took me away from you.”

There are tears welling up in Jason’s eyes, despite his best attempts to keep it calm, and cool, and under control.

He’s failing. Horribly.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

“That is so sweet.”

Jason looks like he might kick the joker again. But this time he pulls out a second gun, and tosses it straight at Bruce. As he continues his statement, he pulls the Joker up, roughly, from the ground.

“Well, you won’t have a choice.”

“I won’t,” Bruce says with a hint of helplessness in his voice.

“This is it. This is the time you decide,” Jason continues as though he hadn’t said anything. But this time, he’s definitely crying. “If you won’t kill this psychotic piece of filth… I will. You want to stop me? You’re going to have to kill me.”

“Stop this. Enough. You know I won’t—“ Bruce says, awkwardly holding the gun.

“All you’ve got is a head-shot. I’m going to blow his addled, deranged brains out— and if you want to stop it.. You’re going to have to shoot me. Right in my face.”

“This is turning out so much better than I thought…” the joker says with a giggle, while Jason’s gun nuzzles closely against his temple.

Jason’s eyes open, and resting on the bed near him, gripping his hand, is a clearly much older Bruce. Bruce’s head is bowed in what looks like prayer, though he seems to hear Jason stirring.

And he looks up.

That action gets the start of a choked apology from Jason, though it’s not clear for what.

“I’m so—“

“Shhh.”

Bruce interrupts him, and he’s too exhausted to fight back. There are IVs hooked into his other arm, and a cut cloth over his face. But none of that stops Bruce, who immediately moves to hug him.

And Jason hugs him tightly back.

“Why did you take me on this mission? It was clear you could’ve mopped them up alone.”

Jason’s voice is confused. It’s quiet, other than his question breaking the night air, as the sand swirls around their vehicle as they travel.

“Because I need your help, Jason,” Bruce responds vacantly, his voice starting to raise Jason’s suspicions, and he glances at him. It’s impossible to read his expression, given his helmet.

“Where are we going?” But his tone gives him away. He’s suspicious, and starting to grow angry at the lack of forthrightness from Bruce.

“Just over the next rise of dunes.”

“Where are we, Bruce?”

“Ethiopia.”

Jason feels the car slowing down as they start to move into a stop, as they cross the threshold Bruce had said. And the heat rises in his voice. How stupid does Bruce think he is?

“I know we’re in Ethiopia. I can read a GPS. Where in Ethiopia?”

The car stops, and Bruce steps out before he answer’s Jason’s question. But Jason sits in stunned silence as he realizes the truth of what’s just happened. As he steps out of the car, a growing pit of dread in his stomach, as Bruce starts to recount what he already knows.

He pulls his helmet off as Bruce starts to talk.

“The Magdala Valley…” A beat. “This is where you died.”

Jason thinks he’s going to be sick, and he’s so stunned that it gives Bruce the space to continue, when really he should have just punched him in the face then and there.

“If I close my eyes, I can still smell the cordite in the air around the ruined warehouse... on that bright, horrible day… your body already cold to the touch.”

Jason finds his voice. His voice is filled with all the venom and anger that had rendered him speechless just a moment before.

“You lied to me. This wasn’t about taking down those mercenaries.”

He gestures angrily at the ruins in front of them, the pitch in his voice raising to near hysterics.

“You wanted to bring me here, to the worst place in the world… And here I was starting to believe all your crap about trust and faith—“

Bruce interrupts him, unfazed by his growing anger. And it makes Jason angrier.

“Those killers were the mission, but this was… something else… Something I couldn’t ignore. I thought bringing you here could jog your memory—“

He pauses, an immense sadness weighing on his voice.

“Maybe retrieve a detail buried deep in your subconscious that could help piece together how you came back to life so I—“

“— Could apply it to getting Damian back.” Of course it was about Damian. It was always gonna be about him. But he’s so sick with anger, that he can only play at sympathizing. “Yeah, I get it.”

He didn’t get it. He was too busy trying to fight off every horrible memory that came with this place.

“Did it ever occur to you I might like keeping whatever the hell happened to me buried deep? If you cared about me, you wouldn’t want me to dredge up the one thing I’ve been trying to forget.”

His voice raises and he tosses his helmet to the ground, so close to just punching the source of his problems. The person who tricked him and brought him back to this place.

“I don’t want to remember the most horrific day of my life, all right? You may like wallowing in your tragedies, Bruce, but I’m done looking back.”

Edited 2020-02-17 21:44 (UTC)

It’s dark and quiet, and the scene is an abandoned carnival, in particular, its old funhouse. Jason stalks towards the entrance. He knows why he’s here, knows that it realistically doesn’t help with any of the well crafter plans he’s made.

But there’s a deep, boiling, simmering rage just underneath his skin, that he can’t quite ignore. Not now that he has this man in his clutches.

”Who’s there…?” a voice cries out, tinny and annoying. Everything about it sets Jason’s blood on fire with a deep seated hatred.

“Tell me who you are… or I’ll kill you,” the voice continues and it becomes apparent that the person it belongs to could hardly be considered that. At least, Jason doesn’t consider the man with bleached skin, green hair, and the tell tale stretch marks from his usual richter grin (gone because even the Joker can’t ignore he’s in a pickle) human.

“… You think I’m kidding…?” He asks as Jason finally pulls close. There’s no recognition in his face— likely due to the full, red mask that Jason wears.

But there’s a hint of excitement at the back of Jason’s mind as he pulls out a crowbar. The recognition doesn’t register, even then. Because there’s no telling how many people this sad sack of psychotic filth has beaten to a bloody pulp with a crowbar.

Still, he’s going to relish it.

“No, I’d never think that,” Jason answers, mockingly.

And then he swings, as hard as he can. And again. Again. He needs to feel his blood come splattering off his body, even if the Joker doesn’t react the way he’d like. Laughing maniacally as Jason beats him. Jason knew he wasn’t going to get what he wanted— get the Joker to beg for his life, or to acknowledge the danger he was in.

But he hoped.

And it still felt good, like relieving tension against the person who’d hurt him the most.

“Tell me...” He pulls off his helmet, once the Joker finally collapses into unconsciousness.

“… How does that feel?” he asks the air. The question ringing back at him, in that tinny voice as the Joker beats him.

It feels better to have this be on the other foot.

Edited 2020-02-17 23:51 (UTC)

Riku's starting to leave, but he hears the door open behind him and stops, grimacing silently as he privately curses himself for being too slow. Inhaling a bracing breath and smoothing his expression, he turns around, resting a hand on one hip as he lifts the other in greeting.

"Hey. You're home."

Sure was just trying to make a break for it. Not even casually pretending he's only just now noticed Quentin is home or that he most certainly pushed a paper-wrapped stone under his door is going to wash away the stain of his failed retreat. He should have noticed the lantern light under the door or in the windows, damn it!

"You're going out to see the spirits off, too?"

Eliot-- I--

[Jesus, it's not fair that Eliot looks this nice, and not now. Not when there's a dream or something burning a hole in his pocket and it's got Eliot's face and his hands and his eyes all over it.]

I found this?

[And to get it out, he has to touch it and Quentin's eyes go unfocused as his knees buckle, the dream playing out again behind his eyelids.]

Uh, okay. So. Careful when you touch it?

"I was coming to find you, actually."

Quentin stuff the note in to his pocket and steps down off the porch. There's a rock in his pocket and it has a huge key in it. Or, the dream does. Whatever. The point is, there's something in Quentin's pocket and it has fucking Mickey Mouse in it. And a huge key.

Quentin tries, and he fails, to keep a huge smile off of his face. "Have you seen the rocks around? The shining ones?"

You are a Good, Jason. People who accept and even accommodate Soldat's weird quirks are always appreciated.

They smile a bit, subtle expression somewhere between soft and pained. "I've already gotten a couple back from this. I. There was a father. Told bedtime stories." Wonderful to know, but also-- hard. Not only is this man long dead, but the idea of having parents keeps battering against their paradigm of "not a person".

[The jazzy bass music is a good indicator as to where Duster is. He's staying near the main show, where it's the least lonely.

Another spirit bursts into fireworks, and the cheers drown out the notes. It's a good time to take a break as any. For now, having some hot tea and relaxing his fingers sounds like a great idea.]

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Page 10 of 125

EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

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Pelted by memories

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Saturn Valley

MICKEY!

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iv

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JASON TODD | OTA

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for peter

for bruce

for riku

for vanitas

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