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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[That's oddly fitting. It's lofty, romantic, and idealistic.]

Well, it could mean that. Of course, not every couple remains bonded for all their lives. It's statistically improbable.

[Of course, since Cybertronians marry for reasons different from those in historical organic cultures, they are less likely to split due to personality incompatibilities. But it's still a thing.]

Really, though, I'm certain this is another coincidence between our languages.

I guess you're right. I mean, at least there's no cursed thrones here, right?

[See? Joking. They're fine, it's all just fine. It's fine that Eliot is so far away and looking at him like Quentin is just a friend. It's fine.

Quentin waves the croissant a little.]

And there's no beast and I haven't seen a single God in all this time. There are spirits, and they're really not-- some of them are just not something you'd want to get close to. But no Gods. But oh hey, but you know what? We're not the only ones with magic and really weird stories, so. It's... yeah, it's fine.

Sure, death is treating them both pretty nicely, here, horror world aside. Doesn't stop Soldat from being jumpy, hypervigilant, and afraid of pretty much everything. So it might be a little hard to stomach if it turns out a kid is handling similar trauma better than a grown not-person. That's the kind of thing that might make said grown not-person pretty angry at themselves for being kind of a fuck-up. Even if it's not deserved.

"Okay." Soldat takes a steadying breath, shakes out the metal hand with a rippling buzz of plates, and asks, "Okay, so what do I gotta do?"

Edited (icon) 2020-02-28 19:56 (UTC)

This is probably the only time when Soldat is not tempted to call Sora's old universe weird. Considering they have the Sergeant and the Asset both, now, the idea of having multiple people in your head (heart, however they want to call it) is familiar. Maybe getting them out and giving them their own bodies is weird, but these weren't voices who are slivers of one, broken pieces of someone's past. They're actual honest-to-fuck people whose voices wound up in Sora's head. In this case, they're going to trust that Sora's got it right and the rest of the missing person will filter back out when given their own body. For now.

"Sounds crowded," is what they say instead, with a little smile, trying to lighten the mood a little. All this from sharing a memory about little sisters, Christ. They're such a pair, the two of them. "C'mon. Let's get something to drink before we head out, yeah?"

Stevie had recommended very strongly, shortly before what Misty hadn't realized would be more final days of her life, that she journal. She's never been brave enough to stick out an attempt, but she's prepared always for another round.

And she makes grocery lists. Tiny maps. Come on Soldat, she isn't living like a heathen.

"Yeah, back of the junk drawer in the kitchen," she answers, easily. "Do yiu want me to bring you some? And a...pen, or anything?"

[ The Replica. Sora remembers enough about him now that just the name doesn't bring back memories. He has to be careful, treading through the memories - Castle Oblivion is still closed off to him with barbed wire made of migraines - but what little he had of him is mostly back. Fake memories, huh. ]

Naminé. I don't know what happened after that, and... I'm not sure if it matters. [ It's not like he's the real Sora, anyway. It's... a lot to take in, but at this point, he's just glad that he has a reason why she's been acting like. Well. Like he does. Almost in a state of constant apology for existing. ] I remember a lot now. What I'm supposed to thank you for, and why.

You've been alone for a long time, right? You couldn't talk to anyone, and people made you do things you didn't want to do. Right? [ He's prepared to be told he's wrong, but he thinks he's got at least a part of it figured out. ]

Honestly, Soldat doesn't know how normal people live, with shopping lists and doodles and shit. They keep things like that in their head, and only bother to write down things they're afraid of forgetting, or things the they find desperately need to come out of their head. And those are both very new activities, pretty much as of this month.

"Got those, just. Not enough paper." They disappear back into the bedroom long enough to collect the knife sheath with the pen in it, and to put away the gun, then come back out and start coming down the stairs.

That's about when they realize the hour and frown, pausing halfway down the stairs. "Why are you still awake, Misty. You should be sleeping."

( listen, dean's prepared to do backflips to avoid having this conversation but he's also pretty good at shutting shit down when he doesn't want to talk about it. )

No. ( he answers, maybe a little too quickly. he is definitely not amused. ) Ain't none of your damn business, anyway.

( a beat. he could leave it there, but the guy probably did go out of his way to return the stupid rock so. )

But thanks, I guess. Good talk, uh — ( he lifts an eyebrow, expecting ashford will supply a name. )

[ Someone who's no stranger to deliberate shifts in conversation, Ellever still bites her lower lip for a moment before she shakes her head and reaches into her pocket. Putting her fingertip on it is all she needs to do as the unpleasant rush comes back to her, once again filled with the deep uneasiness of sitting in Dewan's office. ]

...Oh.

[ No wonder he'd been perplexed about it. Ellever sighs quietly. ]

That's one of my cousins. He's the head of the Binding, it's... a government organization that keeps track of dangerous objects and creatures. [ She grimaces. ] Well, government funded. They wanted to be kept in the loop. He doesn't, he just makes them think he does. ...I don't really know what to make of him.

That's a very big for now! And there will be some unsettling surprises once those reports come in... but that can wait until the ferry comes in.

Sora will nod at that! "Right! You should tell me more about your brother and sisters on the way." Don't think you're getting away with not having a normal human being talk, buster. (Sora should really call him that out loud someday.) Sora would like Soldat to enjoy nice things like siblinghood, thanks, and if Sora can't meet them, talking about them is the next best thing!

[ his hand curving around her arm is the last sensation she's aware of as herself; before that she can see him trying to speak but can't hear anything he's saying. the eternal night fades from view to be replaced with new york city in the daytime, bright and loud and colorful. she knows this isn't her mind or body, part of her is aware of this even as his consciousness takes over, letting her see the scene play out from his point of view.

she's seeing, which is already a hint that something is wrong in spite of the initially idyllic setting, the feeling of invincibility that all young children inherently possess. but it's not until she (he, she) spots the truck oncoming that she realizes what's about to happen, even if he doesn't.

stop, she tries to will herself, you're not gonna make it. but she's riding shotgun in his mind, can't do anything to quell the urge to run coiled tight in her body, can't silence the voice going now, do it now over and over in her mind before her (his) body propels into action, running toward the old man.

all she can do is watch. ]

[ She misses him deeply. He was something between a dog and a very quiet roommate, oddly intelligent in ways that she'd just been starting to quantify. But it's nice to see this again. She doesn't think about it very much, out of a fear of making his loss harder, but talking about him with someone else does make the knot in her stomach lessen slightly. ]

You're right. [ Ellever laughs quietly. ] Maybe the requirements of a true friend are being a pain in the butt at least some of the time.

[ Tellingly, however, she has to think about his next question. ]

...Fuzz is one of the more unique friends I have. But if you pick up a memory with a big ol' creature in it, housed inside of that same warehouse you saw, it's probably mine.

( A quiet breath; the exhale is forceful, like it could have been a scoff, but doesn't quite make it. )

I dunno. Not like you can carve out your own bones and keep standing, is it?

( Her father was part of her, was in the building blocks that made her, and had thought himself a sculpture cutting away the weak, undesirable parts of the stone to reveal her.

If they're being personal, and all. Sarissa draws a flask out of her pocket and takes a sip, before holding it out to Elektra without looking her way. )

Did you see her? My mum?

Poor Coraline.

Rosinante sighs to himself as he packs the opal away and goes to seek her out. He hasn't really gotten the chance to speak to her after what happened the previous month, and this is as good an apology as any - an opportunity to remember some of her youth. Children are so innocent, and her adoration for her mother is so sweet, but afterward as the memory fades from his vision and he reflects on its content, he can see some of her mother's struggle, too - probably separated somehow from her home kingdom or culture, having to raise one very energetic and adoring child.

And yet it's poor Coraline, he thinks, for her love for her mother here is so clear. Being separated from her now must be so hard. She's so lucky to have such strong memories of her own mother unlike himself, but he's not jealous. Just glad for her.

He'll try her cabin first, for he knows where that is, and if she isn't there he'll look elsewhere. Wherever he tracks her down, he draws her attention with a wave of his lantern.

"Coraline. Hey."

While he's heard some of it before, hearing it again with more context and more time to know Soldat makes it sink in a little better. Before, he recalls, he didn't really have enough information to judge. Was that just how Earth treated its soldiers? Was it perhaps an effective use of their technological advances, as strange as it sounded?

Now it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he frowns. It deepens on hearing those numbers. Effective? Maybe, but cruel.

"Taken out of your time and used as a tool. I understand now, I think. Better than I did. What they did was - that's not how you treat anyone. Ever. I'm so sorry."

You're still talking to me, Sawyer.

( Sorry, Quentin. She heard the name, and she just— sails right past it. He is only Marianne or Sawyer, now. She's about to say it ain't the rocks that being Greek has to do with, duh but he distracts her.

Her hand snaps out, catching his wrist. For all the quickness, and for all her personal unpleasantness, the hold is gentle. )

What did you say? ( Lower, watching him closely, that obnoxious attitude melting away. She can be serious, apparently. ) What else did you see? Not the autopsy, that's fucked up, I meant— the kid with the tractors and that.

Then I'm glad I could bring him to you, even if it's just something small.

[He leans back a little in his seat, comfortable despite the cold. The tea keeps his hands warm - and helps warm up the rest, too, as he sips from it. But it's also just warming in another way to be able to let someone reminisce about something good for once.]

Where I'm from, there's a... feeling, more than a saying - that nobody's really dead, so long as they're remembered. Maybe here it's the other way around. The people we left behind, they're not gone. We keep them with us through our memories of them.

( Sarissa exhales a laugh. Oh, yeah. Spoon talk, for sure. That was the downfall. She knows Carmilla is kidding, but hey - it's a good thought. )

If I say "yes," could you still punch me?

( It'd be cathartic at least, right? )

What were they?

( He asks, and it's a strange experience for him as well. He's never cared to get to know anyone, not outside of the confines of his work, and certainly not like this. It's foolish, and yet, he cannot help himself. He stammers, )

I'm sorry. I do not mean to pry.

Rosinante's expression shifts subtly, from neutral to - well, pensive, really. These memories have been a mixed bag. Less so their actual content and more that he doesn't enjoy people finding them. After a lifetime spent keeping his history, his personal details, all under a metaphorical lock and key, it's extremely uncomfortable to have them forced out into the open like this. It hardly matters if what Gregor found is inconsequential or if he just has a very good poker face, Rosinante doesn't like that he's found anything at all.

He takes the opal and closes his eyes for a moment, letting the memory sink in. Law, again. It's probably a good sign that so many of the memories scattered around this place are thoughts of the boy, and not because they're the easiest to relive - they aren't, actually. Every time, it leaves him feeling a little hollow, and he slumps forward over his knees where he sits on the pebble-covered beach. He has felt Law's absence every day he's been here. Either the opals' abundance is a reflection of that fact, or - or it's just coincidence, but one he finds gratifying. In some stupid, nonsensical way he imagines it might be a reflection of the kid remembering him too. Maybe.

Ah, and damnit every time he comes out of this he becomes acutely aware of the tears welling up in his eyes. He tries to blink them away but that just makes a few streak down his face instead. Sengoku did always worry he was too sensitive to keep his emotions perfectly in check. Turns out the old man was right, wasn't he?

"Thanks," he eventually manages. "Yeah. I, uh. I have one of yours, too."

Sorting through his box of opals so he can hand it over is a good way to distract himself for a few minutes. Maybe that'll work. Maybe, as he hands the opal toward Gregor, the others' own memory will keep him occupied. At least they have something in common.

I don't mind. Both were from before the war. They're not very exciting, just quiet and happy, mostly.

[Their brows do come together a little, though. A ghost of the fear from a handler knowing about malfunctions. But Javert wouldn't apologize if there was punishment coming, so it fades into just uncertainty.]

I didn't know you were interested. In my remembering.

Resolving to start leaving leaflets in the room for occasions like these, she's focused enough it takes a moment to register he's spoken. There's little by way of excuse. A shrug. "Keeping an eye on things, I don't know. Night took a weird turn, felt better knowing I was keeping eyes out for anything."

Which - proved kind of correct. No danger, but something did indeed happen.

"You just woke up, you can't possibly be fretting this early."

And she calls them "dear", like Aziraphale does. It's kind of funny. "Sure. Milk too?" Soldat looks around before easing into one of the chairs at the table. "I've found memories. And some people gave them back to me. Seven of my own, so far, and four of other people's."

I wasn't.

( When they met, Javert only care to know whether he was a threat or not. He didn't care about his feelings, or whether he had any friends, but somewhere along the way, that changed, and he hadn't even realized it. He stares down at his plate, toying with his food a bit. )

I don't know why it matters now. You are good at what you do, and that satisfies me well enough.

( Even if he does push food on him every now and again. It's not as irritating as Javert makes it seem. )

You were... [He has to pause, search his head for that word. It sounds strange, archaic, even though he knows the meaning thanks to its roots in an old North Blue language, rarely-used in other seas. It's a bit like calling a musician a "minstrel", but he gets it.]

You were the helmsman? You learned how to steer a star ship?

[This is even MORE EXCITING except it's dampened slightly by restraint and the apparent missing memories. Check next week, got it.]

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EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

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