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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"Yeah, always does. Even just thinking about it, even if I don't have paper." Excellent coping method, Misty, good job. Which they say outright for her, in case she doesn't know: "I'm glad you taught me. That was good."

If Soldat asks, Jason will try his best to answer some of those questions -- some of it would be more difficult to explain than others. But it was the start, in a way, to Jason and Nico becoming friends at all. Which, honestly, the memory probably made it seem like they weren't going to be friends. Things had gotten better though.

The feeling was familiar. The main difference of course was that Jason hadn't started from scratch so often that his own memories were scrambled and lost completely. The memory had definitely given him a better sense for what Soldat was going through now -- familiar feelings and people just out of reach. A constant 'tip of the tongue' syndrome that had to be frustrating.

"Training kids can be hard." says the sixteen year old, but he did have some experience of his own at it. Lupa just started their training, you still had a lot to learn once you reached camp, "You seemed pretty good at it. And I definitely have seen you be good at it here. You have a lot of patience."

She's touched enough to look down, aw.

"Glad to help, huh? You were the one to ask about it, I'm just following along. It's a good quiet hobby, never too hard to manage. Which you...could use, I hadn't thought of it at the time."

Wider smile!

"Anyth8ng that helps, always, just lemme know. Any chance of sleep?"

They're not unaware of the irony of that statement. Soldat looks at him sidelong in a way that subtly but fairly clearly says "says the kid", but then it bleeds into a small smile. "I like it. Knowing fewer people might be hurt or die because I helped them. I'm glad the Inspector decided to trust me with it." Patience is easy. Patience has been ingrained into them. It's nice to have a completely helpful task to put it towards.

They offer Jason the opal back. "Do you have any more with this boy? Nico? He's from. I mean, I was older than he was I think, but I knew 1938."

Soldat considers, thinks of climbing the stairs and going back into the bedroom, laying down-- and the arm shudders a little. Too vulnerable. Still too much tension. "Not yet. You can, though. If you're tired. I'll just listen to music down here."

Down here, they can look up and see her, verify her safety and comfort. Though even upstairs, they can hear her. It could be enough. They wish, suddenly, that Sora and Crowley were here. Ellever and Eleven. More people from the dream. (Need to verify their safety, too. Have to leave to do that. Orders. There you two are. Orders. No orders right now, Asset.)

He hears his name and notices that the guy he'd spied looking around was, apparently, looking for him. He slows and nods, "That's me. If you're looking for Jason Grace anyway."

There was, after all, another Jason around. He didn't see him as often any more, not that he'd been very social to begin with but he would be reminded of that fact whenever someone was looking for him.

He had a hunch what this was about though, and likely their memories were very different even if their names weren't. "Let me guess...you've found one of my memory stones?" He didn't mind, he'd found a few belonging to strangers as well, but it was still weird that there were now people out there that knew about parts of his past that he hadn't even shared with some of his closer friends here yet.

It suddenly starts drizzling on Catra. There are no clouds in the sky, save for a small one five feet above her head, blocked by the head of Minimus Ambus. He looks down at her, the angle of his metal mustache forming a thick frown.

"Catra, is it?" He asks sternly yet patiently, his default tone.

"I suppose you have a point," he says, eyes still on the arm. "There are memories of mine that need to stay in the past, things I don't want others seeing."

Those memories involve bringing the temple down around himself, killing the other padawans, torturing members of the Resistance... You know, things that he has no problem with that others may have a problem with. He could see those things potentially getting him into trouble here. He'd own up to every bit of it, having no remorse for anything he's done, but it'd obviously be easiest to just not address any of his life before passing into the afterlife.

"Your arm..." He hesitates, finally looking back up to meet the soldier's eyes. "How is it a weapon?"

He doesn't have to answer, Kylo knows this but asks anyway. He's genuinely interested in what other galaxies can offer, especially knowing a great deal about the cybernetics his own has.

I don't know that I would call it sad.

[ He looks over at the girl standing next to him, giving her a brief once over before turning his attention back to the sky. He's wearing a tunic covered by a black surcoat, the panels pooled at his sides, along with heavy boots and gloves. The weave of the fabric is thick, that along with the layers good enough for sitting in the cold, though he wishes he had his cowl with him. ]

They're choosing this, they know their fate.

Edited 2020-03-01 01:33 (UTC)

[Right. More of that Sora-Skyler confusion again is behind this - he's aware, it's just hard to know where one begins and the other ends. Both people come from places so unlike his own that he doesn't really know how to separate the experiences of one from the other. Shame he doesn't remember it well.]

No, not really. Stories, but nothing concrete. I can't just go sail around in space on a whim. There are old legends that talk about people coming to our world from the moon, but I figure that's probably about as realistic as dragons, or magic.

[But Sora has magic. And space stuff. So he chuckles, shaking his head.] You probably have dragons too, don't you?

"They were both flesh," Alisaie replies. She takes the pouch back, and tucks it into her belt - tying it on properly with one functional hand and heavy mittens would be an unnecessary ordeal. "You looked younger than you are now by a few winters - I'm not certain exactly how much." She chews the inside of her lip, searching his face.

"You'd recently been freed from captivity somewhere, and were worried about what might have been done to you. That...that might help place when the memory falls."

Soldat shakes their head apologetically. "It helps me know what to expect, but I don't have many memories left from before I died. It sounds like this is going to be new." Also means they were younger by much, much more than a few winters. It sounds intriguing, actually, like it might fill in some holes. And there was no mention of Steve, or of another name, so it might actually be safe. "One moment, let me--"

They touch the opal with their right hand, let the memory slide into place, shivering once all over-- including the plates of the metal arm. That feeling. That knowledge that they'd changed-- he'd changed; they were still he, back then-- it happened... before the arm. Before the programming. There'd been hints, in Misty's memory, in Rosinante's, but... that makes it clear.

"--yes, that. That was very new. Thank you, Alisaie."

"I understand. Some of my memories could very well be upsetting." Anything Winter Soldier related, really.

Eye contact results in a blink, maybe a second's worth of actual contact, then Soldat's eyes slide away. Not guiltily, not suspiciously, just-- uncomfortable with eye contact in general. "It's stronger than a human arm. I can punch through a wide variety of materials. The plates rearrange as needed for maximum striking power or defense, sometimes for closing around something to protect itself to trap an enemy weapon. It deflects projectiles. The data feed from it is much more detailed than from my other arm." Not as tactile, but eh, it's metal. What can you really expect.

They saw no reason not to share. It's not like everyone knows a fair bit about the arm, by now, and it's not like anyone can take it away without somehow completely destroying it. Even trying to saw it off would ultimately fail, it's anchored so tightly to their spine it's not going anywhere that way. And knowing each other's tactical strengths will make dealing with future sieges, if there are any, easier.

"It shouldn't have happened," he says, not quite protesting Soldat's attempt to brush his sympathy aside, but still feeling the need to speak up about it anyway. It's not just the polite thing to do, it's true. He is sorry that humanity, for all its beauty and creativity and everything else, can also be so cruel.

"But I'm glad you're here now. Away from that life." Not glad he's dead, mind, because this doesn't really feel like death even if it technically is. It's a second shot for both of them, away from places and people and histories that have harmed them both. He thinks about it often. He's not glad to have left Law and Sengoku, but in so many ways, being here is easier than being at home had been. World Eaters aside, anyway.

She lifts her good hand when that shiver passes through him, though she stops short of actually making contact. Still, when the memory passes, he'll find her watching him with wide, concerned eyes, braced as though prepared to steady him if he needs it.

All five feet of her.

"Are you all right?"

They dredge up a smile, tired though it is. "Yes. It just. Clarified a few things for me that I hadn't understood. I'm all right." Or as all right as they've been since seeing Rosinante's memories, anyway. Making the connection between Steve and the last stupid target slid a lot of things out of whack. This is another wedge against that dam, pulled away.

And, because they haven't missed the hands and the posture, and it's easier than talking about shit that gives them a headache, they add, "I should ask you that."

She studies him for long moment before nodding. She doesn't entirely believe him - or, at least, she suspects 'all right' is a relative term, which is a familiar state of affairs - but she can accept that answer. They're not yet friends, and it's not her place to pry.

"Good," she says. "I'll seek you out again if I find any more of your memories."

And then huffs out a soft, exasperated breath. "I'm fine. A little beat up, but I've been hurt worse than this. I'll heal." More slowly than she'd like. It hadn't taken long to realize that something about Beacon is stunting her magic, making it difficult to repair injuries that should be nothing more than trifling.

(Her mind shies away still from the thought that perhaps she can't heal herself properly because she's a dead woman, and the dead aren't supposed to heal at all.)

Probably a good call. If she asked, they'd probably tell her, but it'd be awfully complicated and she might not enjoy the answer, once she made sense of it all.

The smile gets a little more real at her answer. Sounds like a lot of people they know, making light of injuries, exasperated at healing slowly. "May I ask what happened? If there's trouble, you know. I ought to know about it. In case I have to shoot it." That's only mostly serious. Even worn out and headachy, Soldat can manage a tiny bit of humor.

[Ravus curls his fingers around Lunafreya's, squeezing. He does feel guilty, for so many things. 'Above and beyond'? He can't agree with that.]

You should have had more than just me. Had our mother lived, you would have had wiser counsel, a more steadfast comfort.

[And while Ravus has tried to lay the fault for her loss at Regis' and Glauca's feet, he knows he has an equal share of the blame. Silva died shielding him, because Ravus had panicked and let himself fall into the line of fire. So he hasn't gone above and beyond. He has been scraping by, trying to compensate for the protector he cost Lunafreya.]

I cannot forgive Regis, but I am...grateful [the word burns in his throat]...that he shielded you.

I don't need your pity.

[Because this is Ignis, and not anyone else, Ravus' voice lacks venom when he says it. Ignis has seen Ravus at his worst, and not judged him for it. Ravus just sounds...tired.]

We have all lost people. It was long ago, and all who are at fault are dead.

[Including Ravus himself.]

With a noncommittal little grunt, she shrugs, leaning back in her own chair. It's comfortable, and she is, of course, steadily reaching tired, so this quickly turns from a lean back into a whole-body curl.

"Nah. Fine here. Plenty happy, and it's no fun being stuck with yourself after bad dreams." Personal experience. Music is better than silence, but conversation is a league all its own.

You might be surprised. Or maybe he can teach you some from his world. We're actually all pretty lucky that we get to share things from home like this. Wouldn't have been possible otherwise.

[Hell, maybe he could teach them some of the songs he knows. A few he's not even sure what the tune is supposed to be, for when you get a whole unit of Marines together on a long voyage some of the songs just turn into raucous shouting but it's all in the name of fun. And there are others. The memorial song, the one for fallen soldiers, would probably go over well here - it's solemn, but beautiful, and they all have losses to mourn.]

And, you know, we have us. Each other.

[ He says it with a shrug, because it’s easier to act like it’s trivial. Even though it’s not trivial.

Eliot leans against the counter, then he doesn’t, because he’s suddenly feeling very aware about the memory Quentin saw. ]

Hey, so, I think in a couple weeks I’ll be ready for our not-quest.

They watch her a moment as she curls up there, silent, expressionless, while something turns around in their brain. Turns over a few times. Widows, the Asset says. Dugan and Gabe, the Sergeant says. Becca and Pa and Steve, Soldat thinks. There's a feeling that runs through all of them, and it's there, now. Verifying safety and comfort. The way she soothes and supports. The way she lets them soothe and support. Cooking and folding paper and dirt in the metal plates from her garden. Just. Misty.

It might be an uncomfortably long moment of silent staring, for Misty, while they put pieces together and finally find the right name for them. But Soldat finally breaks it themselves, with the somber but firm: "I love you, too."

One admission of discomfort is all they're gonna make. Soldat is hungry enough for positive attention still that they'll take the sympathy, even if it confuses the hell out of them sometimes. "So am I. I never wanted to die." Well, once. Briefly. Preferably while taking out as many of field command as possible. Then they forgot about it after being revived and wiped again, yay HYDRA. "Even with all that shit, I was always fighting to stay alive. But I guess it's the best thing that's happened to me. Pretty much since I got drafted."

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EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

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