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!

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[Soldat knows it's not. If Javert really didn't like it when they brought him dinner, they'd probably stop. ... Maybe. Well, possibly.

They consider the statement, and the way Javert looks away, for a moment, then come to sit opposite him.]

The first memory. We were on the fire escape, Steve and. And me. That's a kind of staircase outside a building. It was too hot inside the apartment. Made it hard for Steve to breathe. I was napping, Steve was drawing. It was. Quiet. And calm. Happy.

[Very simple, not very long, but it was such a powerful feeling. Happy.]

[It's met with hands raised in an unnecessary show of surrender. Not her business to press, she'll cling to that policy as long as possible.]

Just two cents, that's all. Not going to pretend I've got some authority on it.

[Although:]

Not loving the 'mostly', there.

"I can fret whenever I want to." What does time of day have to do with it. The idea of Misty sitting up, keeping vigil while they slept, though, is. Kind of sweet. It's not as if she was staring at them, so it can't make them uncomfortable. Just waiting. Just in case.

It's not enough to bring an actual smile, they're still too jittery, but they do kind of pause next to her and brush a couple fingertips over the edges of her hair. Then they pad, still shoeless, to the kitchen in search of that paper.

"Younger and stronger, huh?" He smiles as he shrugs. "I'm glad we have you around to keep the rest of us in check."

He really is the community grandfather, or one of them, anyway. And it matters. The portal, however it works, opts too often for young people. To their credit a lot of them have more experience than he expects for people their age, but they all - and he includes himself in this - can benefit from the wisdom of someone who lived a much longer life and saw all it had to offer.

"Not when you're tired you can't. Got rest to prioritize above me." This is of course tongue in cheek, as she's well acquainted with the inevitability of failing to make it stick. It's a funny little of gesture of his, but a very real gesture, and that in itself is sort of touching. Good, to know the effort is appreciated.

"Think you'll manage anything after this, or is the night as good as over on that front?"

There's something weirdly familiar about this scenario. Aside from them being on the moon, it reminds him a little of Takeda and Kung Jin. One who took everything seriously and one who couldn't be serious for more than two minutes. Coraline is very much the later in this scenario.

As far as memories he's found this one isn't a bad one, it makes him feel creepily voyeuristic, but at least he's not seeing something terrible. Torture or death or any number of things. She may be a teenager, but she's here, so she died somehow.

Carefully folding the opal into a piece of paper so he doesn't have to touch it, he goes to find her.

[ A laugh, good. Sora's glad he can return a memory of a friend to someone. Some of these memories are pretty brutal! Deliveries like these always brighten his day. ]

A warehouse, huh... Was that your job? Did you help run like, uh, a weird stuff hotel? [ A zoo doesn't seem like the right comparison, especially if Elle considers Fuzz a friend, but a boarding house doesn't come to mind, and Sora doesn't like to think a cool guy like Fuzz might be a refugee. ]

"Don't know yet." Maybe. If they're very lucky maybe. And writing down the nightmare and whatever else is going through their head helps. It might. They rummage until they find the little pad of paper. Not as big as a notebook, but it has some heft to it. Good enough. "Usually can't sleep again not. But it's earlier than usual."

It's one major reason they split their sleep into two pieces. Soldat returns to the living room to wedge themselves into one corner of the couch, little pad of paper on the arm, the pencil in the metal hand.

Link saunters up to Jason and looks him over. Is this the person he's looking for?

He hopes so.

"Jason? Jason, right? Please tell me you're Jason."

[Will hasn't really thought much about Sora since that time he got high with his... body-landlord? How does that relationship work, exactly? Anyway, he hasn't given them much thought. He was absolutely baked during that conversation, and while he does remember it, he doesn't put a whole lot of weight behind all the things he might have said. That doesn't mean he won't stand by it, but it's not like it's been on his mind.

So naturally he isn't thinking about it when Sora shows up, either.

He's surprised to be offered one of his own opals in return, and then a little defensive until he sees what the packet says. Aliens. He doesn't have any particularly damning memories involving non-humans. It's probably fine. He relaxes, less inclined to shoo Sora away immediately.]

And this one's yours. [He exchanges Sora's for his own.] I don't think the people in it were aliens, per se, but they were certainly like no one I've ever met.

[He says it with disdain, but the truth is, that memory wasn't unpleasant. It was an oasis in a desert of traumas and regrets. Which is exactly why he doesn't trust it.]

"I don't know a lot," Soldat warns, heading for the Landmark for that drink, accepting the change of subject a little awkwardly. It's not easy to talk about, to be honest, every word or thought about it banging up against that wall of "not a person" and knocking another mental brick out of it.

But for Sora they'll try.

Will doesn't even need to touch the opal; Soldat's description puts him right back in that freezing shed, trying not to breathe, desperately hoping no one would find him. The flashback is brief, like a lightning strike that turns the world to day for only an instant. It knocks the wind out of him, and he has to lean on the railing for support.

For a moment, he's lost all of his bristle, and when he tries to put his defenses back up, he is only partially successful. God, how long has he been trying to forget that night? And now here it is, in presumably perfect detail, literally on his doorstep.

"I don't want it." It's a reactionary statement, even if he means it. But he also doesn't want this guy to have it, either. Or anyone else. "Can you destroy these? Has anyone tried?"

He did warn you of trouble.

[Soldat could pick up pretty clearly that "perhaps" meant "abso-fucking-lutely".]

So he was helping. Seems like a good thing.

Yeah this sure is about to be awkward, isn't it?

"Of course I—" Oh wait, they haven't met in person. Whether through arrogance or habit or both, he's just been assuming most people already know who he is. "Yes."

And hopefully Minimus isn't the vengeful type. Though really, is the raincloud that bad? He got off easy, as far as Will's concerned.

"They're just rocks." Soldat picks up the bundle, unwrapping it on the metal palm. "The metal hand doesn't activate them. But it's strong enough to crush them. I did for a couple of mine." They absolutely did not want memories with those Words in them out in the world. That was just... dangerous. For everybody.

Fabric gone, they roll the opal onto the optimal spot for crushing, tighten the internal structures of the fingers for increased pressure, and close their fist tightly with a whine of servos. There's a couple cracks, and then a crunching noise. When they open their fingers, it's to show Will crumbs and dust, harmless.

"Fingers are crossed for you, I guess." Sincerely. He needs sleep, this guy. Supersoldiering and his baseline level of activity demand a lot. To say nothing of the mental strain, easily exacerbated by poor sleep she would imagine.

She resettles into her armchair, sighing. "I'll hush while you do it."

I. Yeah! I guess I was. It wasn't always me, Donald drove for the first few months, but after we started to get to know each other, I... maybe he started teaching me how? [ This is just something he's assumed through context clues, though. ] I don't remember any of that, though, I just remember sitting in the pilot's chair.

[ Sora's pretty sure he told Rosinante that he's not the person he remembers, and it only now strikes him that he's been talking about all of this in the first person, like he personally experienced it, and it feels... good. And Rosinante hasn't said a thing. Huh. Maybe he's just really caught up in the excitement? Sora doesn't blame him, he remembers being pretty excited about space too. ]

Not a lot of space stuff where you're from, right? [ Sora smiles. He can relate. ] I don't think we did, either. We were trying to go to another world with a raft.

Soldat's heard that before. Everyone keeps apologizing for... their whole life, or something. This time they're weirdly more embarrassed about it than usual-- maybe because of who it's coming from, when Rosinante wears indifference like a good winter coat and irritation like a very smart hat. "Everybody keeps saying that," they say awkwardly. "It's fine. It's over. Ain't like they can get at me again in here."

They're pretty sure. Like 80% sure. It's possible they could get revived back in life at some point, maybe, like if time here works differently than time in their own universe, but. Still pretty sure not, at this point.

"I bet you know a lot more than you think you do." Sora's super pleased about being able to use the restaurant facilities for drinks now! Just another step to making this place feel more livable. (And hey, Sora can roll with some word hiccups. If the soldier could sit through Sora stumbling through all those dissociative I - Hes during his first month, he figures it's his turn to reciprocate.) "Just start with little things. Like names, ages, what they looked like. Good memories. Stories."

Before starting, they do look over at her briefly, actually at her, eye contact and everything. "Sorry, Misty. Gotta. Gotta write it down. New protocols. Helps clear out the brain a little."

Then it's back to the paper, and some very hasty, hard-pressing writing. Several pages worth. One reason they use a pencil, besides it fitting better in their knife sheath, is it's less likely to wind tearing through the page. Writing with the flesh hand isn't as clear, but the metal one is even stronger, so. Pencil. Also, it's very satisfying to trim the tips with a knife to get more lead.

The frantic pace finally slows after about three pages, front and back, and five minutes or so. Then they set the pencil down very carefully on the coffee table.

"No, no, I understand. Do what you need." He's no bother, never any bother. Hardly demanding to spend a minute idly tapping at her tablet or peering through windows. Important he do what need be done.

And it's quicker than she'd have thought, despite greater output. Maybe worrying, maybe not. It's down, at least.

"Feel any better?"

Better. Maybe. Not quite to baseline yet, but that's not what she asked. They nod a little, and carefully tear the pages out of her pad of paper, then also the page under the last because pencil or not, the gouges of what they wrote are still there.

Then they set the pages down on the coffee table next to the pencil. If she wants to read them, she can. They're just barely legible for the first two pages, then clean up a little by the third. But if she'd rather not, that's fine, too. The option is there.

They only have three solid memories of them. One on top of that of hearing them yelling at each other through an open door. Not much. But they'll try. "Becca is. Was the oldest. Younger by a year and a half, I think. Then Toby. Then Susie and Jeanie was last. Not actually sure about the exact ages in that memory. Except Jeanie was less than a year. Maybe a lot less, only a few months maybe."

Sora will listen quietly, pushing the door open for both of them. That's good. Sora thinks he might have been an only child before, but he isn't sure. Getting this kind of specificity is worlds away from what he has. It's something to celebrate. "And Becca was a brat, and the others liked to play, right?"

The snapping seems out of place, though Will seems to remember something about it, faintly, from a time before. If he doesn't remember it well, then it probably happened when he was on something. But the moment it happens this time, the noise of the wind outside stops short, and all the background noise of the forest, noise Will barely notices, goes silent.

Hm. He's going to have to ask about that. But for now, Rosinante's somber mood and the fact that he's not even willing to make physical contact with the opal, that has Will's attention. He can tell that he's not going to get an explanation of what's in it, which, combined with everything else, makes him very wary. He hesitates a long moment before unwrapping the stone and brushing his fingertips across its surface.

And then immediately drops it.

He jumps up from his seat and starts pacing, the urge to run pulling at him even outside of the memory. It's hard for him to catch his breath, and he has to close his eyes to stop seeing bodies on the floor. He hates for anyone to see him like this, but he couldn't stop it if he wanted to. It would happen back home, sometimes, and there he could just reach for pills to calm himself down. He should've asked for those instead of the weed. It helps, but it's too slow.

When he finally stops moving, he doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what to say. That isn't what it looks like. Except it absolutely is. It was self-defense. But was it, really? I'm sorry. And he is, but he also isn't. Yes, he would've preferred if things had never gone so wrong, but stuck in the same position, given the same choice? He'd do it all again. No hesitation.

Well, he might not have gone to look this time.

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EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

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