logsinthenight | 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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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Her place isn't that great. Unfortunate reality of the six month-lease, even when technically set up and related to the department, all official, was that customising and making things personal kind of an impossibility. Despite that, Sarissa has a little smile, that almost seems secretive. An almost-glance over her shoulder, more the acknowledgement that she could than an actual look, but is feeling self-indulgently lazy. Instead, she kisses the knuckles of the woman who’s pressed against her back, blonde hair fanning over the pillow. They both look— content. Happy.

“I hope you didn't just default to letting me be the little spoon because I'm short.”

She stretches, a cat-like arch of her back even as she lies on her side, making her muscles shift under the cartography of ink and scars on her back. There's tanlines from tank tops despite having been in Chicago for a few weeks, although they're less stark than they used to be, and her shoulderblades are inked with constellations, more reaching lower down her back.

A little below her shoulderblades, though, start the scars. Some thin lashes, barely visible in parts, others thick welts that stand out from the skin.

“I can be a big spoon, too. You don't gotta deprive yourself.”

The woman chuckles, "I'm having a hard time imagining you big spooning me."
She has the kind of voice that always sounds self-assured. Upper class, native Chicago accent, very calm in contrast of Sarissa's erratic energy spikes. "If we fell asleep and I let you big spoon, I would bet money on waking up the next morning with the roles reversed. This is just— the right fit. But you are welcome to try role reversal sometime."

Sarissa grins, and gently bites Georgia's knuckle. "I can be a big spoon. I could be like a salad tossing spoon, or a ladle."

There's a soft laugh behind her, and Sarissa shivers at the gentle scratch of nails along one of the constellation tattoos on her back. "Sure, Theron."

( in general, the second she realized what these damn things did, she's been destroying them.

not just because she hates the idea of plucking memories she's not willing to share straight out of her head for anyone to find, but because she hates the idea of that happening to anyone. she's doing it mostly for her own ends, sure, but she'll destroy any memory rock she finds, whether it's hers or not. she's not sure how these horrible things are being made but she's not interested in finding out. she avoids touching them because she doesn't want to peer into personal figments of thought any more than she wants someone else to peer in on hers.

she touches some on accident, despite herself. one knicks her knuckle, or she accidentally steps on one and is jolted by someone else's memories. this one in particular fell straight on her head like obnoxious and painful rain. the memory it holds is less obnoxious. the feeling of it warm, familiar, comfortable. it's something she hasn't been able to feel in so long it feels a little wrong to destroy. if she had a rock like this of Laura, she'd want to keep it.

(they just never got that far.)

the stone skitters across the bar counter to settle by Sarissa's elbow as she sits by the bar. the queen of darkness herself is avoiding eye contact, unusual for someone with so little shame. ) She's right, you'd be a shitty big spoon. ( there's no skirting around the obvious, that she knows and she saw, well enough to deliver the memory to who it belongs to. so why bother? might as well be upfront about it. )

( Her gaze slides to the stone, and Sarissa visibly tenses, rigidity inching up her back even though she hasn't moved. Her jaw clenches and unclenches, and her gaze flickers to the stone. There's only one person it could be, even if she can't recall the exact conversation. )

I don't want it.

( More lie than truth, if Carmilla's got much sense of insight. Her jaw is tight, and her gaze moves back ahead of her. )

Congrats on getting a view of Satan. That's real special.

Satan is looking a hell of a lot better than I remember.

( why, because she's personally met Satan? or maybe she's just reflecting on that tall, horned red guy. pretty easy to go up from there.

she isn't sure she buys it. even all the ugly, bitter broken figments of her relationship with Elle are still hers and still vivid and there's still parts of them that are beautiful, if she searches long enough. the stone has enough of a tie to the way it felt to be in that moment that Carmilla has to doubt, but maybe one can not want the memory and be unable to let go of it all at once. she shrugs. it's not her job to call a stranger out on conflicting feelings about their past. )

Then break it. Your brain rock, your choice. ( as for her, she's thoroughly unsettled by a memory that even fleetingly made her feel like somebody gave a shit. it's even worse to be out of it and to grimly realize that sensation wasn't even meant for her. she needs a drink. )

Yeah, well. If you're that high up the unholy corporate ladder you can afford good work.

( Does that make sense? Debatable.
Her jaw works for a second, clenching and unclenching, and she reaches for the stone, but she stops short of touching it, reaching back into her pocket for a handkerchief and then picking it up with that, just to be safe. )

We were engaged. It just got... complicated and I didn't realise.

( Carmilla didn't ask. Maybe Sarissa should ask: ) Still want to punch me in the face?

( she pauses, considers, and then purses her lips, saying without saying that she can accept that logic. why should satan be a goat man with cloven feet when a beautiful lure is so much more effective? you get more bees with honey than vinegar, and all that.

she skirts behind the bar and fishes out what she wants with intent, rather aggressive movements. there's far more thuds involved than need to be. )

Spoon talk is always complicated, ( Carmilla agrees wryly. no, she can imagine there's more involved that involved that kind of ire, but she still has the glowy static of contentment flitting through her from the comfortable afterglow of that moment. while it ended ugly, there was at least a little good to look back on. )

Did you make all these invasive pebbles fall from the sky? Because if that's the case, maybe. Otherwise, not worth the effort. ( not to say she isn't annoyed enough to take it out on someone that doesn't deserve it, but she's been crushing opals with a hammer for most of her day, she isn't really feeling clocking somebody on top of it. )

( 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? )

( cathartic for who, exactly? Carmilla rolls her eyes over her purloined liquor. )

You've really got to get that masochist thing under control, sugar. It's getting out of hand.

( and maybe, Carmilla learned a long time ago that hurting physically didn't really erase the emotional ache. alternatively, Sarissa, just try blanking out all emotions ever and become basically emotionally catatonic. it works*!

*it doesn't )

EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

memory 4: ota nsfw in the sense that there's two people hanging out nakedly in a bed, doing nothing

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