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 few." There's a smile, small and a little tight, and their eyes slide away again, off into the darkness. "All of them new. There was." They pause, because it's hard to say, for more than one reason-- one single memory of a parent, good though it is, who is long dead by now and who they'll never get to know, but who will never know what his son turned into. And a reminder that oh, hey, this body used to belong to an actual person.

But it's still a good thing, no matter ho hard it is to say. "There was a father. He used to tell stories."

"All of them new?" he repeats, turning it into a question.

Now, he knows Soldat went through some pretty extensive training that might more accurately be called brainwashing. And some actual physical reconstruction, torture, and more. That much was clear through those strange memories he had obtained. So perhaps it makes sense, ultimately, that they don't actually remember some of the past. But all of them? How much is missing?

He shakes his head before Soldat can answer that, though, lets it become rhetorical. "I have two for you," he says as he squats down to pull out the box he's been collecting them in and sets it on the ground. "I'm still not sure I fully understand them, and I don't think you'll like them. But they're yours. If you want them."

Everything's missing, Rosi. Literally everything, except what's come back since they died, and they're not entirely sure how many of those are real, since half of them came from green-eyes hallucinations. It's a rough existence, man.

At the thought of two whole memories, Soldat actually twitches, both hands inching up as if to snatch the opals immediately, but they drop down an instant later because that was so rude, Jesus, Soldat, keep a lid on it. There's no hiding the hopeful expression, though, even if it flickers away quickly and they focus firmly down on that box. Which apparently has memories in it. "Yes. Please. I would. Even awful ones are still mine." They're filling in the holes, slowly but surely.

The important questions, though: "Did I have the metal arm in either of them?" Because those are by far the worst for other people to experience. And Rosinante already know that name so it's probably better that he get those, than anyone else who might not already know.

Wow. They practically jumped for the opals without knowing more, didn't they? But that's fair. It's hard to imagine how he would feel if a large portion of his own life was missing. Of course he'd want to regain what had been lost, even if the truth was painful.

"One of them," he says as he pops the box open and uses the spoon inside to scoop out the two stones in their little labeled slot. "One seemed like it was before then. The other I think was right after you got the arm."

He angles the spoon toward Soldat with the two stones in it, while mentally preparing for whatever this might result in.

Rosinante can tip them into the metal hand, since they know that one doesn't activate anything. So there's no big reaction yet, just metal fingers closing around the stones and holding them close to their chest, as if relieved to have them back even without knowing what they are yet. "I'm sorry. The ones with the arm are the worst ones. You shouldn't have had to remember any of that." If it was right after... they don't actually have much from that time. After the worst of the experiments, before the missions started, maybe. The training. They know there was training.

Having a metal arm is sure convenient on top of looking completely badass. Shame it came with such an emotional cost given the circumstances. Almost makes him feel bad for thinking about how cool it is - which he does often. Look, he can't help it sometimes. Who wouldn't want a cool robot arm?

He shakes his head. "Don't need to apologize. I've seen all kinds of things. It's just how life is for some people. We get the worst of it so others don't have to," he says as he slides the toolbox back together and tucks it away in the bag again - but for now he stays seated on the ground otherwise.

"In the early one, there's a guy who must have been your friend once. Steve. Don't think I've heard you talk about him before."

That's... an interesting way to put it. Soldat could almost be glad to take on all the memories of torture, all the crappy conditioned responses, all the unrealistic reactions to things, if that meant someone else didn't have to have them. If they could save actual people (Soldat... Shut up, Sergeant.) from this kind of damage.

Maybe not all the killing people. It's hard to think of how they could be making the world better by killing HYDRA's targets.

So they nod, thoughtful, and can smile absently at the comment. "Steve. Yeah. He was my first happy memory. Shared an apartment in Brooklyn-- in the city. Before everything. He was an artist. And sick all the time."

"He must have cared about you a lot. Seems like he came looking for you when you were in trouble." He nods toward Soldat's hand, then, indicating the opals.

In a particularly dangerous circumstance, actually - trouble is understating it. But he still hasn't sealed their surroundings down, and openly talking about torture feels like a poor idea in those circumstances. The confusion in that memory, of this Steve who ought to be small and sickly but who isn't, he chalks up to trauma. Nobody's head is on right when they're in enemy hands.

Soldat pauses, frowns. While that does seem like a Steve thing to do... he really wouldn't be very useful, coming to help. Something pricks at the back of their mind, somewhere in the memories they don't have-- or have but don't acknowledge. They look down at their fist, opens it to look at the opals. "Which one is the one with Steve," they ask.

There is actually a clear difference between them: the earlier memory has much less of the rock encasing it than the one where Soldat had the metal arm. Before Rosinante can even point out the right one, they know. It has to be that one. They pocket the one with more stone wrapping around the shine and spark, glance up at Rosinante for confirmation, and then touch their flesh fingers to the brighter opal remaining.

The memory rocks them back a step, leaves a feeling of nausea behind, leaves a pounding headache, because a very important wall just came down in their brain. That was Steve. And that was the last stupid target. "Oh god. Oh fuck he was right."

He does nod to confirm, but Soldat seems to know which to go for, which is interesting. Some of these stones do look fairly unique but he had taken it for coincidence. He's no geologist, though he does like pretty rocks.

The reaction, well - Rosinante hadn't known what to expect, so it is what it is, but it makes him curious. "What was he right about?" he prods cautiously after a quiet moment. Maybe he'll even get an answer.

Soldat holds very still, eyes fixed on the ground, but the arm plates are reconfiguring under their coat and their head is still pounding. "He said I knew him. My last target. Captain America. He said. I knew him my whole life. He was right. Because it was Steve."

Rosinante got an abbreviated tale of that confrontation on the helicarrier. So at least he ought to recognize the name Captain America-- and now the name Steve. Which are, apparently, one and the same. It's a connection that Soldat has been very, very carefully not making, until this memory made it impossible to ignore.

They tried to kill their best friend. As far as Soldat's current memories say, their only friend from Before. They might even have succeeded.

Yes, Captain America is a name, or title, he recalls. Someone vague, a defender of a kingdom he's heard reference to here as the home of many of the people gathered by the portal. Someone that Soldat's HYDRA wanted removed for whatever reason, and as he has no real knowledge of either side he can't possibly judge who is in the right and who isn't. HYDRA's methods he's skeptical of, as clearly Soldat wasn't treated by them the way he would expect military leaders to treat their elite soldiers, but sometimes hard things have to be done in order for there to be justice for the rest.

"I'm sorry," he says, for he can tell this revelation hits Soldat hard. He'll let the mystery of how a sickly artist becomes something far more remain a mystery for the moment. Of course, now he's not sure what else to say either, for what do you say to that? A person suddenly realizes they were set up to kill their best friend, simply because they were on opposite sides of some sort of war.

Hell, Soldat doesn't even know. All they know is that is the same face, the same voice. The same person. They finally move, and it's to shakily scrub a hand over their face. For once, they're not crying. Big emotional moment, and there's no tears at all. They hardly even feel anything but shock and the persistent headache. A headache isn't even the kind of pain they're used to ignoring.

(Not the greatest sign, pal. I know. God, Steve. How could I do that.) But it feels more bewildered and lost than angry or upset. Their happiest memories all come from Steve, and they-- shot him. Stabbed him. Hit him again and again while Steve just lay there and let him.

"Christ," they mutter, squeezing their eyes shut against a memory they do already have. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I. Should have waited. Done that later."

"It's all right," he says reassuringly. "If it were me in your shoes, I'd want to know too. Can't imagine not knowing most of your own past. Guess I'm just glad there's a way to get some of it back somehow."

How, though? Every time he stops to try and work out the mechanics of the situations they're put in, he's left at a loss. The opals are created by the deaths of forest spirits being bathed in light. Flying too high. Maybe striking against whatever it was that killed Stone. Why should fragments of their destroyed bodies become memories of the people below them? Especially memories that should have been long gone?

"If you need some time alone, I understand. I'll keep looking for more for you."

"Used to it. Used to call memories coming back malfunctions. Wasn't supposed to happen." They still do, sometimes, if they're the full-on flashback kind. Those still feel like malfunctions, somehow.

Soldat has made the connection between the spirit deaths and the opals, to, but hasn't the faintest fucking idea how it works. Kind of like most things in Beacon. They're just taking advantage of it for entirely selfish purposes.

Though now they're wondering if that was a great idea. The nausea hasn't gone away, the headache is still there, and they feel like their head is too full. Keeping the worst of the emotion out, which will probably only make it worse later. They bury their face in both hands, opal pressed to their forehead, though thankfully it doesn't throw them back into the memory to touch some other part of them. "How do you handle having so much in your brain."

Malfunctions. That's cold. That doesn't sit well with him, like some of the other unsettling details in that second memory. Just doesn't feel right to treat a person like that, he keeps thinking. He knows it's sometimes done, those sorts of extreme experiments to turn someone into something new and better and more effective at killing - by both sides, in his world. The deals his brother had laid out with the emperor Kaidou sounded like they could result in one hell of an army if they succeeded, so of course the Marines have to use their own research teams to be prepared. To fight back. And as much as they stand for good and justice, he knows his side hasn't always done the right thing either.

He dips his head at the half-question, shrugs. "It's easier when you've always had it. Every moment adds to the last. You don't think about all of it at once. It's all still there, just quiet."

Thank gods for that, because there's a hell of a lot buried in his own head he doesn't care to think about most days. But it's there. Made him who he is, for better or worse.

And all of this shit apparently made Soldat like they are, too. At least Rosinante is properly functional.

Soldat leaves their head in their hands for a long moment, the metal arm still making quiet mechanical noises, just trying to breathe and not throw up. Carefully not thinking about the target's-- about Steve's face, after they hit it so many times. But they can't hide forever.

Well, not while standing in the middle of the woods with Rosinante right there, anyway. (Up and at 'em, buddy.) They take one more slow breath and finally drop their hands, expression settling into the safest and, really, most comfortable mode: complete lack of expression. "Thanks, Rosinante. For the memory stones. And always being patient." Someday. Someday they will be able, and allowed, to reciprocate.

That time really ain't now, though.

"You're welcome." He knows that flat expression well. Uses it all the time himself, though less here than in the past. He really is starting to find ways he can be himself here, even if those ways are small and limited.

And Soldat, he hopes, will find himself too eventually. They don't have much time for self-discovery left, though.

"And... let me know if you find any of mine, all right?"

Even in six months, the change from Asset to Soldier to Soldat is pretty noticeable, if one knows what to look for. They're doing all right, Rosi, and they'll get the rest of the way there.

They nod. "Of course." Maybe by the time they do collect some opals for Rosinante, they'll be closer to stable, and can even give him some explanations.

If he wants them, anyway.

Time to slink off and try to digest this, make their head stop pounding, and probably eat something. (Who are they kidding, the answer is always eat something.)

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EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

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