EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

[inthenightmods]

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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Comments

clark kent / superman | dc | open to all

[uplifters]

making the best of it.

[ The races are cool and all, but with the lights shining this brightly and the town lit up the way it is, Clark thinks it's the perfect time to cultivate the land in the greenhouse.

That being said, dressed in a tank top that reads I FLEXED, BUT THE SLEEVES FELL OFF and some old, secondhand (or third, or fourth) jeans, Clark's modern farmer look is perfected by the plaid shirt tied around his waist and the boots on his feet. He is, incidentally, pretty stacked.

Clark looks like a totally different person when he works, making sure that the soil in the greenhouse is prepared just so for putting seeds in. It looks like it's been divided with a plan in mind, and indeed, on one of the wooden tables, Clark's drawn-up diagrams are present for anyone to see.

As he finishes the last of his raking, he rises to his full height again-- or, at least, as full as it can get with his back still a touch curved. Clark sighs and wipes the sweat off his arm with his forehead, flicking it all off to the side, and as he turns to return the tool to its rightful place, he finds himself looking surprised when he catches sight of whoever's just entered the greenhouse.

He squints too, though, as if he can't see... and true enough, right by the diagram are a pair of thick spectacles.

Clark laughs sheepishly. ] Sorry, I can't quite make out who you are... [ So he'll stay where he is, just in case this is someone who isn't too keen on him making his way forward towards them. ] Is there anything I can, ah, help you with?

[ A moment. ] Or did you want to help me?

opal open prompt.

[ There are two distinct sets that have joined the brief shower coming over Beacon. One set is a complete, plain white-- boring and nondescript, so to speak, save for the perfect smoothness of the jewel. Each opal weighs the same, looks the same, smells the same; they're mirror copies of each other, down to every little detail, and it's easy to match them up.

The other set, meanwhile, consists of clear opals varying in shape and size, gorgeous in the way they reflect the light of the aurora up in the sky. At first glance it might be difficult to understand these opals all belong together, but picking them up will trigger an inexplicable change: these opals become longer, starting to resemble a crystal more than anything in shape, even if the material stays the same. Each crystal seems to have the same design carved into them in the same, laser precision.

Have you picked a WHITE OPAL or a CLEAR OPAL up? Whichever one it is, the memory will begin without regards or discrimination, and hopefully you're ready for whatever it is you get. ]

wildcard.

[ Obligatory wildcard prompt. Clark is going to spend daytime hours, as seen on the tablet, starting with the crops in the greenhouse. Nighttime hours are for Kal, who can easily be seen floating pleasantly around Beacon or even just hovering in a fixed position with his eyes closed, just listening for danger. They're both really happy about the aurora!

Now, for mechanics with the opals:

1. Let me know if you want a white opal (Clark) or a clear one (Kal).
2. Please indicate if you want a proper thread where you get to ~live the memory, or if you just want a memory for your character to see/keep/experience passively without influence (i.e. I'll give you a tag, you don't have to tag back).
3. "Living" the memory varies; for Clark's childhood, you might be taking the place of his imaginary friend, for example, or being a secret figure only he sees that seems to keep saving his life with these fantastical powers. In his adulthood, you might be in control of his body while sharing the same mind. For Superman, being a secret figure is most likely, but in action sequences you'll definitely be having half of his powerset and helping him save the world by making up for what he can't do.
4. Given the openness to variation, I'm definitely open to any and all specifications you'd like to give. Please do let me know if you're leaning towards happy/sad/angry/action/etc. memories!
5. Non-headcanon scenes will be coming from the Superman Anthology (Superman, II [both the original and the Donner cut], III, and IV), the original run of the Kingdom Come Elseworld comics, or the CW's Crisis on Infinite Earths. If you have a preference for canon scenes in particular, please let me know.
6. Each character availing of a memory receives a unique one.
7. All memories will be written out by me, so there's no need to watch any Superman videos.
8. Characters are welcome to keep any opals they find if they wish, unless game mechanics appear later where characters will know if they're "missing" opals. This is because Clark's going to want to collect all of his and will come for you.
9. Please let me know if you have any outstanding triggers. If not, I'll be assuming you're fine with all subject matters. This goes for preferences as well; no indicated preferences means you're leaving it up to me to do whatever with it.
10. I have no limit on memories given, but I do have a limit of 10 proper/interactive threads. If I'm full-up on interactive threads, you're still welcome to get a memory for your character to experience passively!
11. Characters can, at most, have two memories each of Clark or Superman. At least one of these memories must be experienced passively.
12. Interactive threads will probably be written similar to a Dungeons & Dragons scenario with my metatext asking you what your character would do, albeit without any dice rolls required on your end. That being said, I'll be prioritising those threads the most for this event and will be writing shorter tags so we can get shit done.

If you have any questions or you'd like to hash things out in detail and we haven't done so prior to this, feel free to PM me or find me on howletts. I'll be happy to give my Discord through PM as well, if you can't find me on the game server. ]

Clear opal pls! a couple days into the event

[worthallthis]

[Soldat is picking up opals, because there are so many that contain their own memories, and they need those, dammit. By now they're pretty sure the black ones and the red ones aren't their own, so they touch nothing black so they at least start to experience fewer other people's memories without their permission. But these clear, reflective ones are so close to the ones they've found and been given with pre-HYDRA memories in them that it's hard to tell them apart.

So Soldat is kneeling in the snow to collect one without a second thought, hoping for something of their own, but prepared if it isn't.]

[uplifters]

[ With the shine of the aurora reflecting off the opal, it lengthens into the shape of a Kryptonian crystal before the memory filters in. Soldat will hear the whoosh of wind before he feels bitter cold, brushing against the parts of him that are flesh until it feels like all of him is flesh.

He’ll blink, and the world around him will have changed in an instant. Beacon and its glowing lights have become the bright light of an all-day sun.

But with that light comes excruciating, muscle-aching pain.

His mouth tastes like dried blood. His lip is swollen, and so is his face. There’s probably a fracture in his ribs, making every breath he takes wheezing, and besides the already overwhelming weakness is the steady throb of ache however he moves.

A thought will pass in his mind, but not in his voice: I have to find Father. (It’ll sound very much like a certain man in blue and red tights’ voice, even if he’s nowhere to be seen.)

Off in the far distance is an unnatural crystal formation, reaching tall and high towards the sky. The crystals glint in the light, gorgeous and otherworldly, and Soldat will feel the desperate need to go there.

There is a car a few feet behind him. The wind blows, cold enough to make the body shiver and the teeth chatter. Soldat has no abilities whatsoever.

What will he do? ]

[worthallthis]

[Well, if there's one thing Soldat knows, it's pain. Even without the serum, pain is still familiar and, in its own way, a little comforting. They take stock of each injury methodically, make notes of the ones that actually impede function, and then set each one to ignore except the ribs, and those only to remember to be careful of them.

This is. A weird one. Interactive is not the norm, but Soldat'll go with it. Not one of their own, clearly, because there's a car that doesn't look like it came from the 30s, and oh, hey, that's a familiar voice. Shit, of all the memories to pick up....

They try to think like an alien. What would an alien-- with no powers, apparently-- do? ... take the car to that place they want to go, would be logical. So they take it slow back to the driver's side to check for keys-- or hotwire the damn thing; Soldat knows how to do that-- and drop inside if it looks viable to get them where the memory-Kal wants to go.]

[uplifters]

[ Soldat’s attempts to hotwire the car are successful! The hands they use are, notably, incredibly cold, though Soldat’s innate ability to keep themself from thinking of things like that seem to help with mobility.

The thing is, right on the information panel the needle for gasoline’s pointed right at the ‘E’. So while the car is working, battery and all, it doesn’t seem to want to move.

We’re out, the voice in their mind supplies unhelpfully. You’re going to have to use your legs.

Is there anything else they want to check inside? ]

[worthallthis]

[(Well, fuck you too, buddy. Sergeant, be nice, he obviously ain't used to having to use his legs. Or being banged up.) While in there, Soldat peers around for a coat or something, any useful weapons (if they're not themselves, there's probably not much use to having a metal arm), or information that might fill them in on what happened to this version of Kal-El.

Armed with... probably nothing, but maybe they'll be lucky... Soldat climbs back out of the car and starts the trek towards the crystalline structure.]

cw for injury in the last link

[uplifters]

[ Soldat will find a receipt in the passenger's seat reading for a diner, a coat in the backseat, some gloves and used lipstick in the glove compartment, and-- if they choose to look in the trunk-- the trademark blue and red tights along with a tire iron. The latter's the closest they're going to get to a weapon. The former, meanwhile, seems to have a bright yellow and red "S" on its chest as opposed to the black and red one that Kal has back in Beacon.

The trek is going to be pretty difficult if the pain ever gets to them, because the body they're in is battered. There is an ache in their jaw and in their eye and the taste of blood is stale in their mouth; they're not exactly the picture of health. Though it's a painful trip, it's fairly uneventful, up until they come across a wide, cold river.

There is a patch of ice that can be hopped onto, if they try, though there is also the matter of getting that patch to move across the river. Nearby is a polar bear, who spares them a glance but seems to stay relaxed despite it, like their presence is one that they're used to. Perhaps it lives somewhere nearby?

That's Kelex, the voice in his head says fondly. She gave birth about three months ago. ]

making the best of it

[originallutece]

[She thinks she vaguely recognizes the man-- Clint? Something with a C-- working in the greenhouse, but she hadn't expected him. She'd come here purposely early, hoping no one else would be around, but more fool she.]

My name is Madam Lutece. I don't believe we've met.

[But perhaps it's good they did, if he's actually experienced in this kind of thing. She takes his glasses, stepping forward to offer them to him.]

And no, I'm not-- I'm here to see if I can grow a few specialized plants for myself when the next ferry comes in, but I've little knowledge on . . .

[She gestures vaguely.]

All of it, really.

[uplifters]

[ Clark takes the glasses with a gracious dip of his head and a soft ‘thank you’, fixing the legs over his ears and scrunching his nose a bit to help it settle atop it. ]

Well, you’re in luck, Madam Lutece! [ That’s… the title she prefers for herself, right? Clark vaguely assumes that isn’t her first name, but doesn’t question it. ] I happen to know a thing or two about farming. [ As if the rake in his hand and the perfect, organised lines in the dirt matching his drawn plans weren’t proof enough. ]

[ He takes one of the gloves on his hands off, wipes the sweat kind of sheepishly on his jeans, and then holds that hand out for a shake. ] My name’s Clark Kent, ma’am. What kind of, uh, plants were you thinking of adding?

[originallutece]

Elderberry, foxglove, lily of the valley . . . and a few others.

[They're names she's memorized, not names she truly knows. She hasn't any idea if they can even be grown in a greenhouse. But if she's no chemist to buy her things from, she'll have to make them herself.

She takes his hand, her grip strong and her gaze slightly guarded.]

Are you familiar with any of them?

[uplifters]

Well, yes. [ Clark's own grip is just as firm, but he releases it once the customary handshake's been done. ] Elderberry's common for medicinal purposes, but foxglove and lily of the valley? [ His head tilts slightly. ] Pretty d-dangerous.

Might be best to use, uh, pots for them.

[ His head cocks, brow raised. ] Did you need a lot?

[originallutece]

I believe in being prepared. I'd rather have too much than not enough over the coming year.

[There's a scar creeping out from under the collar of her shirt, dragging all the way up the left side of her face. Maybe that will help him understand why she wants such dangerous plants.]

Pots. Any other requirements? A certain amount of water, or lack thereof? And dirt, presumably.

[uplifters]

Huh. [ Considering the greenhouse, Clark rubs his chin. ] If you'll want a lot of them, it might be best to use the ground instead. But we'd need signs and divisions to, uh, make sure no-one takes anything on accident.

[ Then he turns to look Lutece's way, smiling. ] The elderberry and lily of the valley should be okay outside the greenhouse once the snow's passed, if you want your own personal plot and live close to a torch. [ Moving to put the rake aside with the other tools, Clark goes to put the glove back on again as he opens the first bag of seeds so he can work while he talks. ] They don't need tons of light, and they don't need warmth nearly as much as the f-foxglove. But they can start as pots here for now to be moved when they're bigger.

Soil's got to be moist, which means you have to water often and make sure the soil absorbs it easy. I recommend loam.

[ He lets out a 'hm'. ] Lilies can take clay soil too, though.

[punctually]

[ hit me with ur best shot

by which i mean, clear opal, please. ]

[uplifters]

[ Marvel's headed for the gulag. He's going to break it wide open onto the Justice League.

These are the words that echo in Peter's head as he shoots through the air, gravelly and deep in their solemn warning. Desperation has been slammed into every bone in his body, sending his heart thudding in his chest, and the world blurs around him as he moves impossibly fast through the air. A cape is flying behind him, it seems, straight as a rod with the speed it's being subjected to. More than that, for all the effort he's expending to fly, it looks like Peter doesn't need to breathe at all for it-- he can feel the exertion, certainly, but he can also feel buzzing energy seeping into him, like the push and pull of waves on a shore going in hyperspeed in every cell in his body.

Then there is the distinct ache of a punch to the gut, and instantly after Peter's ears will pick up a scream happening directly below him... and lower, and lower, and lower, like the scream is hurtling downward after being right up there with him.

The further he flies, the fainter the scream gets, but Peter will find that if he focuses his ears enough, he'll be able to hear that scream as if he's right there with whoever's making it. It shouldn't be too hard to turn around and retrieve whoever that was, if that's something Peter intends on doing, especially since the voice sounds... familiar...

The words from earlier continue to echo in his head, though, steady and unflinching: Marvel's headed for the gulag. And instinctively, Peter knows which way this gulag is.

What will he do? ]

[punctually]

[ riding in the jet is distinctly different from actually flying through the air, and thankfully, this is a memory so it mostly just takes him a few seconds to adjust and accept that yes, he's flying. as fast as he runs, which is actually pretty cool, all things considered. the not needing to breathe thing is convenient, and so is the fact that he seems to be getting a boost from somewhere he doesn't know. he's definitely not complaining about it, though.

more importantly, he knows where the gulag is. and it takes him less than a second to decide nah, and stops flying instead.

he lets himself fall, a sheer drop straight down as he listens for that scream he heard, and pushes himself to try and go faster to catch up. he isn't thinking about anything, he doesn't even know who it is, but he knows he needs to reach them. he has to, because he wasn't able to before and he'll be damned if he doesn't try here. ]

[uplifters]

[ Peter flies away from his goal and a sense of guilt stabs into his belly like a hot knife, twisting in direct response. This isn’t the right way. The gulag’s in the opposite direction. People are going to get hurt and you need to save them, they need your help, they need you to be there--

Still, Peter finds what he’s looking for. It doesn’t take much effort to fly faster, it seems, so long as he puts his mind to it.

The voice belongs to a terribly confused looking Kal, frantic and wide-eyed and thrusting his hand out towards Peter when he sees him.

His mouth forms the word please. Peter doesn't need to be close to him to see it. ]

[punctually]

[ it hurts, the way his stomach twists with the guilt and the knowledge that he's putting so many people at risk just so he can save this one person. but he ignores it, the pain and all the consequences that come with it, because nothing else matters the second he recognizes that it's kal that's plummeting. the guilt gets shoved away and replaced by determination instead, and peter keeps reaching out, stretching his arm as far as he can to close his fingers around kal's hand.

faster, he thinks, urges himself, and once his fingers brush along his, peter grips tight and pulls him up as hard as he can. ]

[uplifters]

[ The difference of gravity pulling him down and Peter pulling him up makes Kal let out this noise of pain; if it were anyone else, his arm likely would’ve popped out of its socket. As it is, Peter has a good grip on him, but despite his ability to fly now at ungodly speeds, it seems his strength remains the same as it’s always been. ]

Thank you. [ The words are gasped out of Kal’s mouth, and he takes in the look of his saviour before his eyes widen as he lands on his chest. Right in the middle of Peter’s chest is the crest for the House of El, and Kal can’t believe it. Peter will find he’s in full tights, too, similar to the one that Kal wears even if the crest on Kal’s suit is black and red instead. ] …who are you?

[ In the far, far, far distance, Peter will hear a call for Superman, though less for help and more in anger. Kal doesn’t seem to react to it, but it also looks like he doesn’t hear it at all. ]

hi i'd like the 2 for 1 deal

[pearlstrings]

[Bruce is not looking at memories for the sake of prying, he's attempting to locate those that belong to the people closest to him- to collect them for safekeeping. It is, perhaps, not a show of consideration that most people would expect or maybe appreciate- but it might also be the only thing he can do, given the circumstances.

What brings him up short here is the two stones ahead of him because there have been a scattering all over town in the unlikeliest of places- but this is the first time he's seen two so near one another. As if they belong together.

They don't look identical by any means and he's inclined to believe they have separate owners- but perhaps they're people who know one another well. Perhaps they're people who've known each other for a very long time. Bruce hesitates. And then reaches.]

1/2

[uplifters]

[ The first opal’s memory is as simple as its looks; it is smooth and white and unsuspecting, but the sheer loneliness that fills Bruce at its touch is as pure as anything else. Sounds filter into his ears: footsteps, chatter, rubber squeaking on tile, but the loneliness gnaws at the edges of his consciousness, and Bruce’s eyes are filled with tears, hot and wet as they drip down his cheeks.

I could get out of here if I wanted to, is the stubborn, almost desperate thought that passes through his mind as the scenery fades in. It’s not that different to being in Beacon; it’s dark all around, and what little light there is passes in through tiny slats. It’s suffocating, though, and Bruce’s lanky body is trapped in an extremely closed space, and it won’t be too hard to deduce that he’s been shoved into a locker. I could get out of here if I wanted to comes in once more, but it’s a little difficult to think much else around the crying.

These aren’t tears of misery, though. They aren’t the tears of a sad boy who feels helpless. Beside the loneliness that hollows out Bruce’s chest is the distinct flame of anger, because he could get out of here if he wanted to, but he isn’t.

It’s uncertain how many minutes pass with Bruce trapped in that locker, fists clenched and breaths trying to steady in a calming mechanism (briefly, an image will pass of a kind, elderly woman rocking him back and forth, murmuring soft things like that’s it, my love, breathe in… and breathe out). But the noises from outside fade away once the bell rings for the next class, and one of those tightly clenched fists touches the metal of the door in front of him.

I could get out. I could do it. I could open the door if I really tried. It’s not like Pa would know I did it, so long as I don’t get revenge on them other boys. Oh, but they’re awful, and I hate them, and they’re so mean, and so terrible, and I can’t believe they threw my textbook in the trash, Pa worked so hard to get money for it, I can’t believe--

Suddenly, however, the sound of a girl’s voice filters through, soft and worried as she calls out: “Clark?”

And like clockwork, golly, it’s like a needle’s been pushed into whatever bubble of fury that was boiling in him, replaced only with the blinding relief that somebody cares.

The door is opened; the girl knows the combination, meaning this probably isn’t the first time this has happened, and as Bruce stumbles out of it and lands kind of awkwardly on the floor, he’ll see a pair of shiny black shoes in front of him. Looking up shows the girl that owns them—your girl next door, really, with blonde hair and kind eyes and a genuine look of worry on her face, and as Bruce’s heartrate rises into fluttering territory, his mouth opens to form the word, ] Lana.

[ “Oh, Clark, are you okay? I can’t believe they locked you up again.” ]

Shucks, it’s… it’s okay. [ Bruce sniffles, and remembering he’s essentially spent all his time locked up crying makes him scramble to get on his knees at least, wiping furiously at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. ] I couldn’t have fought ‘em off, anyway.

[ You could’ve broken their arms if you wanted to.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” Lana comes down, catching Bruce’s arm to help him up to his feet. “Who knows what could’ve happened to you, huh?”

Bruce laughs, hiccuping slightly after the crying. ] I don’t much like the hospital, so…

[ “And I wouldn’t have liked seeing you in there!” Lana tuts. “But I would like to see you in Math class with me.” ]

Oh… [ Bruce’s shoulders sink. ] Brad and the guys got my book from me, though.

[ “That’s okay.” Smiling, Lana’s hand comes down to grip Bruce’s, and the touch is so warm, so gentle, that it’s impossible to do anything but blush because of it. The anger is almost nothing now, not when Lana’s being so kind, and Bruce may not know anything about what love is, but maybe this is it. Maybe it’s the way someone’s hand feels in your own while they smile at you, maybe it’s the way that they look at you and you know that you never have to work hard to earn that gentle gaze in their eyes. Bruce loves as much as his little heart can handle, and returns her grip with a soft squeeze.

“We can share my book, okay, Clark?”

Bruce’s voice is soft, shy. ] …okay, Lana. Thanks.

[ "Now let's get you cleaned up. I'm sure Mrs. Peletier won't mind us getting back a little later than we already are."

With that, she leads him along, and the first memory ends. ]

2/2

[uplifters]

[ The second memory begins differently from the first: the image is built, of a sky rushing past him as he flies, and then the sounds come in—he hears everything, hears everyone, hears cries for help and the name Superman.

The guilt is a familiar feeling. There is an exhaustion to this body, but for all his years of saving the world, it doesn’t make the misery of knowing he can’t save everyone any less painful.

At the moment, though, it isn’t everyone he needs.

It’s Bruce Wayne.

The sign for Gotham City is sped past, but Gotham itself seems different. It looks cleaner, like there’s order in it instead of chaos. Out of the corner of his eye Bruce might be able to see shadows of black zooming past him—more than one, even, moving in directions where he can hear trouble brewing.

He needs to get to Wayne Manor. The goal sticks in his mind like glue.

But Gotham, God, it’s so different from the way it looked before. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to look around it, either… ]

Clark (White Opal) -- Child/Teenish?

[notthatjason]

[Jason was starting to lose track of the number of opals he had found over the past few days, even if most of the memories were unique and varied enough that he wasn't going to forget THOSE, especially the ones involving a certain mouse, duck, and dog.

Oh, and the toys, he couldn't forget that either.

So far he'd only found one that was truly painful, but most had made him realize and truly appreciate just how varied the people of Beacon were. After much deliberation Jason had decided to walk the beach again, seeing if any were buried in the sand. It was honestly amazing that his eye caught sight of the white one -- it was difficult to see in the sand but the aurora's light shone brightly off its surface.

There's not a lot of hesitation before Jason picks it up.]

[uplifters]

[ It's the sound of crying that comes first, even if it's quiet and blubbering like whoever's doing it is trying not to be heard. If Jason turns to look at it, every inch that his eyes travel transforms beneath his gaze: from the colours of the aurora, it turns into blue skies from above and what seems to be tall, tall walls of dirt all around.

The hand holding the opal will feel tingly, especially in the knuckles. Jason will notice that there's dirt on his skin, both on the top of his fist and on the side of it. There's dirt all over the front of his clothes, which consist of a plaid shirt open over a white tee and some old, comfortable jeans.

A little boy stands a few feet away from him, dirtied shoes flat on the dirt and his whole body sat and curled up in a ball. That's where the crying is coming from, it looks like; he's got his arms wrapped around himself, his glasses askew as big, fat tears roll down his face and fall onto the dirt beneath him.

The kid can't be more than seven years old, and he looks terrified.

There's a dog collar held tightly in one small fist, but no signs of a dog anywhere. ]

[notthatjason]

[Jason blinks, gazing up at the sky as it shifts and he realizes this feels a little different than some of the other memories he had gathered so far. He'd enjoy the blue sky again if it weren't for the crying. He'd never had younger siblings, but as he'd gotten older at camp he'd taken it upon himself to watch out for a lot of the younger campers, even before he'd been made Centurion or Praetor.

His eyes find the boy soon enough and he's so focused that for the moment he doesn't notice the wardrobe change or think too much about the strange difference of this memory. He's a demigod, you kinda just learn to roll with these things.

He crosses over to him, eyes flicking to the collar and registering the terrified look. It's not enough to go on, so he crouches down near the boy. He uses the same voice he always uses with kids, soft but reassuring and firm. It had been getting more use lately because it also tended to be the voice he used with some of the spirits when they were being cheeky.]

Hey. What happened?