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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[And, naturally, it isn't the violation so much as the contents that terrify her. Rosalind's breathing comes too quick; she swallows dryly, though her face is impassive. He looks so disappointed, unable to meet her eye, and surely that's because of what he saw.]

Tell me what you saw.

[It's almost a plea. She's kept the secret of Robert for nearly twenty years; it's terrifying to have someone else know.]

The first was of you sitting on the couch. Robert asked you for a dance.

( Her feet were bare. It's a little more intimacy than Javert would have liked to have seen. He's never much cared for relations between men and women, it's only the fact that it's Rosalind that causes him embarrassment. He doesn't look up, and it's probably the most uncomfortable she's ever seen him. )

The other was of your death.

( That needs no explanation. )

[She exhales slowly, softly, her head tipping forward as she stares at nothing for a long few seconds. All right. All right, so he'd seen Robert. So he'd seen them intimate, gathered in one another's arms, looking at one another so adoringly there could be no mistaking how they felt one another.

All right.

All right, then. She sits slowly, her fingers curling and uncurling against the grain of the table.]

You needn't ask my forgiveness. I doubt you picked them up knowing to whom they belonged; it was a mistake.

[She sounds distant, but she means it.]

But now, I think, you understand why I wouldn't tell you what Robert looked like.

Because it is unorthodox.

( Not to mention impossible, in most worlds. It's not something Javert would have ever thought up on his own, and he doesn't particularly like to think about it now. His brow knits together.)

I still don't understand it.

[How to explain Robert? An impossible task. Who could ever understand? They're so unique, so brilliant, so far past anyone else in the world, in all worlds-- how could anyone understand them?

She's never tried to explain it before. She's never wanted to. But she will for Javert.]

. . . we were teenagers when we met. Seventeen.

[She says it slowly, but her mind whirls desperately, trying to figure out how she'll make him understand.]

It was an accident, really. We had no idea the other existed. We were . . . I told you I could make doorways in universes? This is how it began. With an atom. I was experimenting with an atom, trying to suspend it, and so was he. By fortune, or fate, or mere chance, we picked the same atom.

I woke up one morning to find my atom suspended, when I'd known for a fact I had left it in a different state. The oddness continued over the next few days: the atom would fall and be resuspended at odd intervals, on and off. It took Robert and I less than a week to realize what was happening: that the atom itself was caught between universes, and that he and I were both experimenting with the same methods. Rather like two people fiddling with two switches that are connected to the same light.

Well. Once we realized, we began to communicate. It was dreadfully slow, but we were fascinated by one another. Who wouldn't be? A person like and unlike you . . . you, if you'd made different choices. We were infinitely different thanks to our sex; we wanted to understand how that single chromosome of difference affected us.

We wanted to meet. And eventually, we found a way. But in the meantime . . . oh, it took years. Years of letters in Morse code, transmitted by a single atom, flashing on and off. But--

[Mm. This is a lecture full of science, and that won't help. Rosalind glances away for a few moments. The tips of her ears are red, because she really isn't used to talking about this, not at all, but it has to be said. He has to understand.]

. . . I was so lonely.

Not-- not that I pined for a lover. But I was . . . no one-- no one-- could keep up with me. By the time I was six, I had surpassed my parents and my tutors; by ten, I was clawing at the walls I was so intellectually frustrated. No one understood, but more than that: they didn't want to.

Perhaps I could have found a happy life being solitary. Romantic attachments were never part of my plan. But it wasn't just about romance, do you understand? Before Robert, there wasn't a person around me who wanted to admit how brilliant I was.

They thought me eccentric. They thought me a joke. A woman, doing science? It was funny, until I surpassed them, and then it simply couldn't exist. So they would try and subvert it. Every day, in every interaction. You can't imagine-- the-- the comments, the patronizing little names; the assumptions that I had erred on all my equations, because everyone knows women are dullards, fit only to take to bed or to act as domestic servants.

The looks, the leers, the-- the assumption that all I needed was a man to put me to bed, to tame me . . . the doubt, the anger, the blatant idiocy every single time, every damn day, Javert.

[In a moment, when she isn't so caught up in herself, she'll realize that he understands at least a little. Of course he does. Why else is he so hard on himself? So stern, so guarded, so perfect? Because he came from the gutter. Because in some ways, he had so much more to lose than Rosalind ever did.

He never faced the trials of sexism, no. But he faced his trials, and how odd, how similarly they two weathered through them.

But that's for later.]

And then Robert was there. He was-- he was everything I ever wanted. Interested in what I had to say, what theories I had-- he deferred to me, he consulted me. He was the only one who could see me for what I am. Who looked at me and saw a person, not something to be broken or mocked or used. He saw me, all of me, and loved me not in spite of it, but because of it.

I don't--

[No.]

I didn't love him because he was me. Do you understand? I loved him because I loved all the ways he differed from me. I loved him because he was a good man, a far better person than me. I felt-- I felt safe with him. Admired by him, loved by him.

Why would I look elsewhere when I had all I wanted in front of me?

[She's silent for a few moments after that. And then, a little more tiredly:]

. . . it's unorthodox. It's strange and unusual, and I very much doubt there's anyone else in all the worlds who has a relationship like ours. But it isn't . . .

[. . .]

I love him. And he loved me. And we were happy, and that was more than either of us had ever thought we'd be.

Understand: I would not have kept it from you if it weren't so strange. But I wasn't . . .

[A beat, and she smiles, thin and tight.]

Selfish even past the end. I didn't want to lose you.

( He's silent for several moments, staring down at the grain of the table. It's a lot to process for someone like him, who wouldn't understand even if Robert and Rosalind weren't the same person. He doesn't understand any of it — why anyone would choose to spend their life with someone else — but he thinks he may be starting to. The way that Rosalind explains it makes it seem so logical, so obvious and inevitable. Javert cannot argue with it, and so he considers it silently, looking only slightly discomfited by his thoughts. )

You know that I am not experienced in such matters. ( He begins, his voice low. ) But I see your meaning. You would have fallen in love with him regardless of who he was. He made you happy. I suppose that is what matters.

( It's an incredibly sentimental admission, but Javert's still reeling a bit from having to see Rosalind cry. He doesn't wish for it to happen again. )

[Her eyes are locked on him for every single word of that. She feels as though she's holding her breath the entire time, too-- because it's so rare Rosalind doesn't have any idea what's to happen next. She's a genius, it comes with the territory. She doesn't know if he'll walk out; if he'll think her sinful, disgusting; if he'll tell others in his anger or horror.

He does none of those things. By some slim chance, by some miracle, he says precisely the perfect thing, and she doesn't know if that's better or not. Better, because it's what she wants; worse in that she doesn't know how to handle it.]

He did. Make me happy, I mean. Very much so.

[More than she'd ever thought possible. More than she'd ever dreamed another person could inspire in her.]

. . . I would tell you more of him, now that you know the truth. If you would like to hear it.

[It's not quite the question she wants to ask, but one thing at a time.]

If you wish.

( Truth be told, he hadn't held a particular interest in Robert before, beyond the ties that he had to Rosalind. Knowing that her and Robert are one in the same, that he is also the person that Javert has come to care for, with the difference of one chromosome, that changes matters.

He made her happy, and that is what matters. God knows Rosalind deserves it, after living the life she's led. He regards her quietly, before asking calmly, )

What of him have you not spoken of?

[It's not one thing so much as the whole picture. She's always been so careful, omitting little details, making sure his detective's mind doesn't put together the puzzle pieces.]

He was two inches taller than me.

[She smiles faintly, her fingers drumming against the table.]

And eternally smug over it, despite the fact it's nothing more than the result of a chromosomal difference. He enjoyed cooking more than I did, too-- or at least, pretended to, which is another thing, he was far more cheerful than I.

[It's nothing particularly shocking or new, but it takes on a new context now.]

To a limit, naturally. Just as competitive, though.

Why was it that he so ill, then, when you were not?

( He remembers Rosalind speaking of it. He did not question it then, taking it for what it is and not pursuing it, but he cannot help but do so now. Would something such as that ever happen to her? Javert selfishly hopes not. )

Ah.

[She smiles faintly.]

Because he came to my world, and not the other way around.

The universe does not care for it when two copies of the same person exist in one world. There was already an R Lutece existing in my world; to have another tampered with the fabric of reality. Robert's memories blurred, and each time our lives had differed, the resulting confusion . . .

[. . .]

When I say blurred . . . I mean that it was a fact that R. Lutece had attended Girton University. But it was simultaneously a fact that R. Lutece had attended Cambridge. Which was right? Yes is the answer, and his mind couldn't cope with those two facts. Did R. Lutece court Victoria Pendergrass, or live with her for a time at school? Did he, or perhaps she, enjoy the time they spent with their parents, or was it a time fraught with tension? For that matter, did they focus on their appearance, or did they have the luxury of not needing to?

All are true. And his mind could not cope with it. How could both be true? They could and couldn't, and so he hemorrhaged.

I trusted him to no other. I refused, not with--

[Hm. She pauses, and then:]

I did not trust my benefactor not to spirit him away just to keep me behaving well. So instead: I learned first aid, and I tended to him myself. Because we are the same person, blood transfusions were easy: of course we are the same type of blood, and so I transferred directly from my veins to his.

Over time, the hemorrhages eased. We found that music soothed him: it was a point of reliability. A middle C is the same no matter the world; he could latch onto that, and work from there. I would sing to him.

[There's something overwhelmingly wonderful about saying all of this. None of it is particularly shocking, but she's never gotten to lay it out like this, piece by piece.]

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EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

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1/2 im sorry its a novel

2/3 just kidding

3/4

DONE, FINALLY

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