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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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.

[ peter hadn't meant to see the memory, or experience the — whatever he experienced.

it sends chills down his spine and he wants, desperately, to pretend that he hadn't seen anything. to wrap the stupid stone up in a cloth and shove it under a bed and forget about it.

but he doesn't. that wouldn't be fair.

it's not that he thinks he won't be able to look at jason in the same way. it's not that it changes his opinion of jason, not at all.

what it does do is slot a few things in place for him. it means he understands jason a little more. he understands — not entirely, he wouldn't dream of claiming he could entirely understand — his feelings about bruce. about batman. hindsight is twenty-twenty, and peter thinks he understands some of their conversations a little more now. he wonders if he'd have said anything different if he'd known. he wonders if he'd have had as much patience, if he'd been jason.

he thinks he can understand both sides of the coin: he doesn't let himself kill for a number of reasons. one is the simplest, one is that it's morally wrong, end of. the second is that he thinks if he did, he wouldn't be able to come back from it either. he thinks that he's violent in a way he wouldn't be able to rationalise from any of his villains.

he knows, too, that if he'd been faced with that choice, he'd have made a very different one to bruce.
he knows that if it had been may or mj, his anger would have been cold and unrelenting and whoever had hurt them wouldn't have lived to see the light of day.

he doesn't know if he thinks batman made the right call.

he sends a message, then: the usual place and hopes that jason will know where he means. he doesn't specify a time — he figures he'll go and just wait. there are worse things to be left with than his own thoughts, and he thinks that it'll give him some time to think of what he wants to say to jason.

he sits on the roundabout, legs planted on the dirty, dusty ground. his head's bowed and by his feet is his rucksack; in his hands is his tablet, though he doesn't seem to be doing anything with it. ]

[ 'the usual place' he says. Jason considers the opal he's found, and frowns. he'd been considering reaching out to Peter. having a friendly chat that started with, "so you've been buried alive before. sucks, don't it?" or something irreverent. Something that doesn't quite allow the seriousness of the feelings to settle, or gives no respect to the terror.

because irreverence is a coping mechanism. and it's one he thinks that he and peter share-- just with a little more flare for violent tendencies on his side. ]

sure.

[ he could say more. maybe actually say that irreverent joke that he'd been thinking about in his head. but there's something needling at the back of his head that maybe, with as little as peter's said, that he's managed to say a lot.

and jason doesn't like any of it, as he makes his way to their usual meeting place on the roofs of beacon. ]

Gotta stop with these late night calls, Spidey.

[ he says when he lands on the roof. he's not trying to conceal his presence, not this time. ]

[ peter doesn't jump when jason arrives. he could, easily — peter does tend towards being easily startled, but it's a fact he plays up, along with an air of general incompetence. it's easier if he's thought of as a joker, if he's taken a little less seriously than he really, truly ought to be. it's easier not to wallow because it's easier not to sink if people are laughing with you rather than at you.

he glances up at jason, taking the moment to study jason. he almost feels ashamed, embarrassed, for having seen something so intensely personal, something that so obviously wasn't his.

(no, it's not shame. it's not embarrassment. it's guilt.
of course it's guilt.)

he opens his mouth — go on, he thinks, make a joke, parker. say something funny, because that's what you do when you feel uncomfortable.

(but what is there to joke about?)

he lifts a hand, in tandem with the opening of his mouth before seeming to decide that he's not going to run with it at all. instead, he drops his hand onto the bag next to him, gloved fingers stretching out across the top and pulling the material tightly together before pushing it towards jason. ]

For you, [ he says and then he's silent, for one second, then two, then— ] I'm sorry.

[ he can guess what that is. and he can't let the world freeze, as he wonders what, exactly, from his litany of problematic memories, peter could have seen that would make him react this way. actually apologize. there's a desire to play it off, like nothing gets to him. but that would be an outright lie, he knows.

skipping because of a stupid status effect doesn't get to him. the darkness of this place, as long as he works around it, doesn't get to him.

but this is something that made peter want to find him immediately, just to give back the opal. and here he was, trying to lean in to irreverence. again. ]

Ah. That explains it.

[ he reaches out to grab the material, feeling the hard surface under the cloth. here they were. ]

Found one from you, too. You beat me to the punch, though.

Huh? [ oh. ] Right.

[ peter's not sure if he wants to know. he's relived so many of his worst memories so many times and though he knows he has good ones there, too — happy ones, ones with him and may and ben; him and gwen and harry and mj, the four of them; him with each of them, separately; the bugle—

though he knows his life is full of more joy than he allows himself to realise at times, he's not sure if he wants to know if that's what jason saw.

he thinks maybe it'd be better if he hadn't. would it be like a kick in the face? peter, who's lost so many people important to him, compared to jason, a guy that had — died and not had the one person he'd hoped would avenge him do that.

making a joke feels like it'd be making a joke about norman. making a joke about bridges and gwen, but it's not his pain to joke about.

he wonders, too, how the teenager here — bruce wayne — can grow into that man. he knows they all do what they do for different reasons, hell, that was why frank was—

well, frank, right? and peter knows that for as much as he might try and say "I'm trying to be a better person" or "I made a mistake once and I'm trying to do better", he knows it's an obsession.

with great power must also come great responsibility, ben had said, and he'd taken him so very literally. he has that rule and then he has the others: the ones that keep him on the straight and narrow. good people, he thinks, don't need rules. he could see that, in batman. the words — "it'd be too damned easy", he'd said, and though peter had only experienced the memory the once, that had stuck out and stuck with him. peter understands the sentiment, even if he can't imagine those words coming from his mouth.

it's honest in a way that peter rarely is. honest in a way that jason didn't — doesn't — deserve.

he's had nightmares like jason's memory. nightmares with gwen and norman, with gwen asking him again and again why he didn't save her. the goblin, taunting him again and again for not saving her. taunting him for not killing the goblin in return.

why?

gwen deserved that much, didn't she?

(I'm sorry, he always says in those dreams.)

but harry didn't deserve that much.

did he?

norman was a psycho, he'd never be a better person. ] —Uh, [ peter gestures at himself. ] Spandex me or me me?

[ Peter’s never asked him that before, and it instantly reminds him of the memory he’d seen. Something he wished he didn’t relate to as hard as he did. And he tilts his head lightly in response. ]

You’re asking the guy who’s been more comfortable going by his alter ego for years. [ a beat ] No mask.

[ he decides to get serious. It sounds like they have things to talk about one way or the other. ]

When you get that mask off, you wanna go first or me?

[ he doesn’t need to point out the obvious. Honestly, he wouldn’t say getting buried is a common part of their job, unless you’re dead. There are some tortures that we’re either beyond villains capabilities— or their imaginations. Whichever. Maybe the villain specializing in that niche hasn’t come into their own yet.

That’s a dark thought. ]

[ abruptly, peter wonders how long ago that memory was for jason — if that was what made him decide, quote-unquote, that he was more comfortable going by his alter-ego. he wonders, too, if jason would say that if he knew what peter had seen.

peter inhales sharply and pulls off his mask, mussed hair curling down into his eyes and, incongruously, he thinks that he needs a haircut.

he doesn't answer jason's question. he shifts his weight and turns to look at jason. it'd probably be easier if he wasn't, but— ] There was you, [ he says, carefully, and pauses. he doesn't mean to, but his gaze shifts away from jason, just for a second. ] Batman and — [ and who? had the third guy been referred to by name? ] —a clown? [ he finishes, intonation lifting ever so slightly with a question. he wasn't a clown, but—.

he doesn't know if he needs to say any more than that, or if he should, not unless jason asks. ]

[ there are several memories that that could cover. But theorems something that hardens in his face, as he considers the two that this could— possibly be? Neither are great, but one... ]

Just us three?

[ not his siblings and batgirl. Not thinking for a brief moment that that fucking clown had sliced their faces off. Which just left the one from soon after he’d come back. Which was a wreck for different reasons.

He doesn’t particularly want to talk about either. ]

Uh, yeah. Just the three of you. [ a breath of a pause and peter considers what he'd seen. what he'd experienced in only the loosest of ways. he runs a hand through his hair, thinks of an addition — he could describe it vaguely: abandoned building, a conversation, but trying to make jason guess wouldn't be fair.

his mouth twists a little. ] You wanted to know why. [ peter doesn't elaborate on why what, he assumes — perhaps correctly, perhaps incorrectly — that jason will be able to put the pieces together. ] And you wanted him to make a choice.

[ "him", he says, and he knows he won't need to specify which of the two he means: batman or the clown. he thinks that even if the building had been filled with a dozen or more others, peter wouldn't need to specify the him as long as batman was there.

he'd thought he'd known how important batman was to jason — to, in the sense that he was impactful, but he doesn't think he'd have been able to guess at the intricacies.

(he wouldn't have wanted to.) ]

[ he wishes he hadn't seen that. he could say it until he was blue in the face. or, well, think it. but he wishes he hadn't. and yet, if it had to be someone in Beacon that saw it? he's glad it was Peter, and not Bruce. Or worse, someone who didn't know. so, he does he want to have this conversation? ]

Well. I figure you can guess I was pissed after coming back from the dead.

[ he admits slowly, maybe a hint of amused frustration in his voice. ]

And the way I came back isn't exactly known for bringing back the same people who died. [ a beat ] Though, let me be clear. That was definitely all me.

[ he didn't need his anger getting extrapolated as being part of the Lazarus Madness. The truth was, he was always a little bit angry. Even as a kid. it's just now, he's extremely angry. but it's still his, and he hates the suspicion that he might lose it at any moment, no matter how founded it might seem. ]

[ peter doesn't say anything, not immediately. jason had alluded to it before, had mentioned dying — that this is a little after that helps to slot a few more pieces into place: the anger, for one. the desperation, for two. his expression flickers a little when jason explains that the how of how he'd come back isn't know for being back the same people, and his thoughts first go to zombies, though he bites back the remark.

for now, at least. there's a time and a place — although more because jason almost immediately states that the young man in the memory had been all jason, and peter's honestly not sure whether he ought to believe that or not. he doesn't know enough about the how, doesn't know enough about jason to say if it's true.

whatever the case: it's who jason is now. whoever jason had been before he'd died, coming back from that would almost guarantee he was a different man from the who he'd been before. death wasn't something one just got better from without something changing.

whoever said it didn't affect them would be a liar, peter thinks. ]

Sure, [ he says, at length and at last. he tilts his head a little and watches jason from the corner of his eyes before shifting his attention away. he thinks of when otto had taken his body, thinks of when otto had attempted to rid himself of peter entirely. it wasn't the same, but could peter say he was the same guy as he'd been before? then, he thinks of gwen. of her clones and he makes a noise. it's not a laugh, but it's a little more than a huff of breath or a sigh. ] I can't say I understand, but I get it.

[ he pauses. there is one question— ] Who brought you back?

I came back for reasons I still don't entirely understand.

[ He turns his head, a little awkward as he explains, the motion both obfuscating and buying him a moment to think. after all, he'd wanted to talk to Peter about the whole "being buried alive sucks, huh?" thought. But, then this. Then all his crazy got dredge up.

And honestly, that wasn't even close to the worst he's ever been. That was pretty lucid. Those are questions that still nag at the back of his mind. especially after Bruce readily forgave Damian for killing. After he dragged him back to Ethiopia for "maybe you'll remember how you came back so I can bring Damian back." ]

Woke up in the nice coffin that Bruce buried me in. It was probably, what, 6 or 7 months later?

[ he looks back at him at this point. ]

Seems like an experience we both share, anyway. For different reasons. And anyway, that doesn't answer your question. Woman named Talia al Ghul, one of Bruce's old flames, decided to throw me in a Lazarus Pit to fix all the shit that was wrong with me. Probably figured it a favor to Bruce, when she still felt like doing them.

[ peter murmurs a soft huh at jason's reply, though when he gets to seems like an experience we both share, peter's expression shifts into surprise, then confusion, then— oh. (wide-eyed understanding). that'd been — god, peter thinks he'd struggle to put a date on it now, just that it was something that managed to feel a lifetime ago and, simultaneously, like it happened just last month.

it's not something peter's ever really discussed. it's not something he really tries to think about — sure, his arrival here had brought back memories of that, but he'd been through worse. at the end of the day, he'd come out the other side and he was still him. he'd had a better ending to it all than kaine.

he half listens to jason's continued explanation, only really paying attention to the key words — bruce, flame, pit. (jason had mentioned that last one before—.) ]

—Right, [ he answers, exhaling as he does so. a breath of a pause and he splays his hands, then taps his fingers against a leg. ] That was thanks to my favourite psychopathic Russian, Kraven. [ beat. ] Sergei Kravinoff. [ he chooses to add — it's the answer to a question jason hasn't yet asked. ] A hunter — you know, the epitome of the manly man, sees the beauty in the circle of life and not the Disney Lion King kind of circle; massive fan of potions and lotions that do way more than exfoliate the dead skin from your face... [ he trails off with a dismissive wave of his hand. ]

I keep trying to get him to write an article for GQ: you know, something like how you too can balance a terrifying love of death with the need for taking thirty minutes out of your day, every day, for self-care.

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EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

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