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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[ elektra has yet to handle one of these things, pretty as they are, so when she takes the stone from matthew it's without any precautions, though it does end up landing on a part of her hand that's covered by her sleeve. ]

It's a stone. Red, with some kind of iridescent reflections when you rotate it. It's like it's got part of the fire inside it, but the reflections change color in the light. [ her hand shifts to hold it differently, her bare skin touching the stone's surface for the first time. ]

Edited 2020-02-26 02:05 (UTC)

( there's a press on the tip of his tongue, wanting to know what kind of stone... though maybe it doesn't matter. he doesn't get to say it, either, instead it morphs into a distant Elektra? Did something happen? that echoes in her head like it's miles away from her.

maybe the tight curl of fingers around her arm are felt, somewhere far away.

or maybe not. maybe it's just a bump of someone walking past. this is home, New York. it is loud and bright and grimy all around, and people running into you on the sidewalk? happens all the time.

dad might have said to stay outside the gym, he'd just be a second, but you're nine now. you take "stay outside" very liberally. you have the perfect argument in case he calls you out on it. you are outside the gym. just a few blocks farther than he thought you'd be, that's all. you just want to check out the juggler you saw on the street corner, you'll be back before he's even done. he's always taking forever in there, hushed and grumpy talks with his manager.

and the juggler is amazing. you feel the twitch in your palms, admiration and wonder and wanting to learn something that hardly makes sense, no matter how long you watch. but eventually you decide you'd better get back, because Battlin' Jack Murdock doesn't take it easy on you, just because you're nine, just because you're a kid. compelling argument or no, you'll be doing the dishes all week, and you've got better stuff to do. you amble down the sidewalk like you own it, people running into you and glaring at you and one nice old guy that you see every time you walk with your dad to Fogwells that smiles, nodding at you from behind his fruit cart.

and then, suddenly the air changes. the atmosphere goes from easy to tense. people are looking at some spot behind you and there are screams everywhere, screeching of metal colliding and tires screeching. the intersection is a madhouse of cars trying to rush out of the way and duck to the side as a truck barrels out of control down the street.

there's an old man covering his head in the crosswalk, terrified by the traffic peeling apart like the ground splitting open like the zipper in your windbreaker. he doesn't see what's coming, the truck, it's going to hit him and nobody else sees it. nobody but you.

you have to do something. you have to save him. you have to. you feel a few beats of terror in your chest but you ignore it. you're the son of Battlin' Jack. he's not afraid and neither are you. if you run, as fast as you can, throw everything you have at him... you'll both be clear. you'll both be okay.

all you have to do is be fast, ignore the fear, ignore the danger. all you have to do is run. )

[ his hand curving around her arm is the last sensation she's aware of as herself; before that she can see him trying to speak but can't hear anything he's saying. the eternal night fades from view to be replaced with new york city in the daytime, bright and loud and colorful. she knows this isn't her mind or body, part of her is aware of this even as his consciousness takes over, letting her see the scene play out from his point of view.

she's seeing, which is already a hint that something is wrong in spite of the initially idyllic setting, the feeling of invincibility that all young children inherently possess. but it's not until she (he, she) spots the truck oncoming that she realizes what's about to happen, even if he doesn't.

stop, she tries to will herself, you're not gonna make it. but she's riding shotgun in his mind, can't do anything to quell the urge to run coiled tight in her body, can't silence the voice going now, do it now over and over in her mind before her (his) body propels into action, running toward the old man.

all she can do is watch. ]

( there's no stopping it. the wheels are already in motion, slow and hesitant stumbles at first, but then you're running. and you're fast, you've always prided yourself on that. there's nobody on your block that can beat you in a race, half the time they try and cheat and start it without warning and you still win. you run with everything you've got, because if you're fast enough, you can get him out of the way. nobody else has to get hurt.

your lungs feel tight as you push yourself a little too hard, but it doesn't matter, you ignore it. a little pain doesn't stop a Murdock. there's screaming and terror and clashing madness all around, but finally you're in the last few steps and you throw your entire body into pushing the old man out of the way. he skids on uncertain feet a few steps before he trips over them and crashes into the sidewalk, but the sidewalk is safe. you pushed a little too hard and you're going down, but somehow you're not afraid. because he's safe and you know from the lack of pain in the freefall that neither of you got hurt.

you hear the crash more than you see it, feel it in vibrations. you're still falling, though, too much momentum into pushing the man out of the way, and you roll into the fall to try and lessen the scrapes on your elbows. there's something wet on the road but you don't hardly think of it, not even as a metallic clang echoes in your ears as one of the barrels tumbles from the capsized truck, and it breaks open as it hits the ground and sprays over you, over your face and into your eyes. you're almost too in awe of the moment to think about it, or even consider what it might mean.

there's sirens everywhere and people screaming. you just stay where you are because you figure the worst of it is over. you even hazard half a smile, proud of yourself. when your dad sees you saved a guy's life, surely he's not going to be that mad. he won't believe it, probably, but he'll be proud of you after he realizes. you stare up at the blue of the sky and buildings pressing in on the skyline and try and catch your breath to get up... and realize that your skin is starting to itch. like the time you got sunburned from spending 8 straight hours at the public pool, the itch starts small and slowly increases to a burn.

you don't really know what's happening, writhing in discomfort and confusion and realizing you hurt a lot more than you thought you would. you try and get up anyway, but someone nearby says, ) Don't move, don't move. Help is coming.

( you stop, even as your arms and legs twitch, trying to listen and yet wanting to get up and away, as if that'd stop the burning that's all over you, that only seems to be getting worse and worse and now, finally, you are scared. you try not to, because you're nine and you're brave and you don't need your daddy all the time. he wants you to be a man, crying for him when you're a little scared isn't what a man would do.

and yet you can't help it, as the burn starts to get excruciating, as your body twitches to try and fight the pain you can't stop, you can't do anything but wish he was here. Jack would know what to do, he'd know how to stop this pain, he'd... he'd...

suddenly his voice is there, and somehow the fear fades a little, in the simple trust a boy has for his father. you're still scared but then he's there, pressing a hand to your chest to keep you down. ) Matty? Matty, Matty, don't move, okay? ( despite the direction, you try and lift an arm to wipe it across your face, because that's where the burn is worst and you just want it to stop. maybe if it sinks into the cotton of your shirt, it'll hurt a little less... )

[ she screams. she can't tell if it's because she's screaming or if matthew is, but it happens either way, the sound tearing from her throat as the pain starts to manifest, the itch and burn in her (his) eyes clouding their vision, the blue of the sky starting to go cloudy and then black. she tries to keep them open as long as she can because she knows this is the last he's going to see of the sky, tries to keep them open long enough to see his dad one more time, but it hurts too much and his eyes are tearing too much for him see.

she can hear his father's voice suddenly and can feel matthew calm down, incrementally but it's enough for her to focus back on her own thoughts and not matthew's. she tries reaching for his father's hand, for all the good it may or may not do.

she can't change things for him, as much as she wants to, knowing what happens later on. what's done is done, and elektra finds his fear becoming replaced with her own anger.

why show her this when she can't do anything but bear witness? ]

( the reach is pushed down, another bid to not move. suddenly having your dad with you isn't quite enough to make you feel like it's all going to be okay, that it's going to work out. and the illusion completely shatters as Jack shouts with a terror you've never heard before for someone to get some help. Jack tries to cover the panic in his voice when he speaks again, promising it's going to be alright, not to move, not to move. )

What happened? ( you beg, to your father, to the universe, to anyone that's listening. not the accident, you remember that, you know how you got here, but why is everything burning? why does everything hurt? why is everything starting to blur at corners of your vision, like when you try and keep your eyes open to watch the late show with your dad, and stubbornly holding them open only makes them heavier.

there are distant voices, but they hardly make any sense. at this point it hurts too much, and despite the attempts to hold your hands back you fight past to press them to your eyes. ) Dad, it burns, ( you say, a little boyish panic finally creeping past the confusion. close your eyes, Matty. he pulls your hands back and brushes at your face with his dirty sleeve, but it doesn't help and it all hurts so much, it's excruciating. and he told you not to, just like he told you to stay by the gym. but you open them anyway, to watch them fade all the more. to watch the black sink in at the edges. to watch it take over. )

Dad... I can't see. ( your heart is racing more now than it was as you ran headfirst toward a car accident, because suddenly you don't feel invincible anymore. it feels like it's beating out of your chest as you stare out at nothingness and no matter how you fight it, you can't make what you lost come back. ) I can't see, I can't see. I can't see. ( it comes out in panicked sobs, as your father holds onto you, your only link in the darkness. you cling to his shoulders, shoulders you know like the back of your hand, but they still feel a little foreign for not being able to see them, or the look in his eyes.

your panicked shriek is the last thing you remember, until the dark becomes to strong. it's almost more comforting than being in the moment you are now, to lean back to a place where your eyes stopped working, where your father can't even convince you everything is going to work out okay. so you let yourself fall. )

Elektra. ( it's a sudden whiplash, no doubt, and there's a bit of familiar panic laced in Matt's tone, he's just better at hiding it now. ) What the hell was that? Come back to me. ( he's definitely knocked the stone out of her hand, but, it didn't seem to help any. that memory wasn't letting her go until she experienced exactly what it wanted her to. )

[ dad, it burns.

dad, i can't see.

i can't see

i can't see

i can't see -

she feels herself say the words as he speaks them, tries to will herself to stop him from thrashing around. it burns, the rest of their body aches; she's reminded of the hand's poisoning only she hadn't lost anything from it, not like this. her (his, their) heart is pounding faster than she's ever heard it, his fear and her anger combining dangerously. it's overwhelming, the pounding growing louder and louder and drowning out the sound of his father and the gathering crowd and the residual sounds of the accident and the city and and and -

elektra finds herself suddenly returned to her own mind, eyes snapping wide open when she hears his voice, older and deeper now, but with the same panic underlying in the tone when he says her name. she gasps as if she's breathing for the first time, like she'd just been drowning and was now surfacing for air.

it takes a second for her to realize she's back in control, able to move and look where she wants to, and she looks at him, eyes wide open and frantic and just staring for a few seconds before his words fully register.

her hands start trembling and the rest of her body follows before she reaches for him, arms winding tightly around his torso as she tries to anchor herself to her own mind. ]

( he has no clue what is happening. it isn't entirely new, around here. in Beacon Matt consistently feels less capable, less aware, less knowledgeable to his surroundings. and he hates it. he can't know and can't understand so much of this place, because his powers aren't what they usually are and on top of that, everything that happens here is so outside of his comfort zone. it's not yakuza, it's not mobsters trying to take over a neighborhood, it's not even the rich and powerful trying to flex their influence over people without enough money to fight back.

it's magic, it's spirits, it's supernatural and inexplicable. he is entirely powerless to what just took her over, he has no idea what happened or if he can even pull her out of it. truthfully, he doesn't think he did pull her out of it. she was completely unresponsive and suddenly she's back, hands shaking and breath caught in her lungs as arms vice around him like he's all she's got to hold onto in the midst of all their darkness. )

What happened? ( he asks, trying to dispel any shake or fear but it's impossible. just like the memory burned in her head — both Murdock men do their damnedest to hide their fear, but it sneaks through all the same. ) Where did you go? ( bodily, she'd never left. that's not what he means, and yet somehow, it's exactly how it felt. ) Another hallucination?

[ it's a while before she's able to stop trembling. having something (someone) solid to cling to helps, and while she can't answer his questions right away hearing his voice helps ground her, too, even as she can still remember how acutely she'd felt everything as him, how his voice had come out of her mouth when she'd tried to speak, but could only say his words. ]

You. [ that's not enough of an answer and she knows it, and she pulls back a little to look at his face - he can't see her, but she can see him and that helps her to realize she's in control again, that her mind and body are back to being her own. ] I saw - I think it was you. I was you.

( no, it's not enough of an answer, and he's palpably confused. him? even when she clarifies, he's not sure he understands. he decides maybe trying to press her to talk after whatever happened might not be the most helpful suggestion, instead drawing her closer. she does seem a little calmer when she's got something solid to connect to, and sadly about all he can do for her is be that anchor.

when she finally pulls back, he lets her. he can tell she's searching for something in his expression, in vacant glasses that hide his eyes, ones that might look toward her but can't really see her. ) I don't understand. You were right here, Elektra, I handed you that thing and then you faded, but... ( the reassurance dies before he finishes it. ) That thing showed you something?

[ she swallows, still trying to catch her breath. her hand reaches out, touching his cheek, confirming that he's in front of her and she's not still stuck in his memory. he's asking her to clarify what she meant and she's not sure how to explain exactly what had happened. ]

Yes. It - it showed it to me from your point of view, something that had happened to you. I saw -

[ she hesitates, but only briefly. they've promised each other honesty, and she knows he'd want to hear this, but it feels so intrusive. she'd known what had happened to him, but this is different. ]

- The accident. I saw the accident.

( Matt is extremely unversed in the supernatural. back home, there were occasional aliens striking down in Times Swuare. there was that psychopath with mind control powers in Manhattan for a bit. true and genuine magic is still hard for him to wrap his head around. she's told him some of what the Hand is capable, hell, he's experienced plenty here in Beacon. still, the idea of his memory being encapsulated in a stone and falling from the sky? that's a hell of a thought to wrap his head around.

he's silent a moment. he's not mad at her, not really. it isn't her fault, hell, he's the one that handed it to her. if he knew, would he have? even with the promise of honesty, nothing held back? probably not. not because it's a secret, he'd tell her plain how the accident happened if she ever asked. more that it's not an experience he would want anyone to live. not even Wilson Fisk quite deserved to watch life fade away from him as his father desperately begged for someone to save what was already gone.

his hand tenses, just a moment, before he rubs a spot between her shoulder blades. an attempt to comfort, though there's probably no good way to relax after living a moment like that one. )

It's just a memory. ( is that a fair description? maybe. maybe not. certainly not for him. but he wants to lessen the vice of terror in her voice, and hopefully for her, that's all it has to be. )

[ before the hand and aside from hearing about the alien attack in new york (she'd come back there once she'd heard about it just to make sure he was safe but hadn't approached; he'd seemed shaken and gobsmacked the way the rest of the world had been but otherwise fine and she had never had much faith in god but she'd thanked him that day), she had never paid much attention to the supernatural, either. she had never believed in stick's tales until the hand had told her what she was. and then they'd both ended up here.

it's just a memory. but it was his memory and she feels like she's violated something personal. not being in control was what had scared her more than anything else, but she still feels awful about having seen it. he's tense, keeping his voice and posture carefully neutral, but even as he rubs between her shoulderblades, trying to impart some comfort, she can tell he's not happy about it. who would be? ]

I'm sorry I saw it.

[ she hadn't intended to. she knows that; she knows he knows that. but she'd still seen it. ]

( no, he's not happy. he can't help that. he doubts Elektra would be happy if the shoe was on the other foot, even if they've agreed to be honest with each other. ugly fragments of your past aren't easily shared vocally, much less viscerally. he doesn't want her to see that but to be fair, he doesn't want anyone to.

in fact, she's likely the last one he'd want to really know what it was like, and there's no taking it back now. )

I'm sorry too. ( he's been there, he remembers, seeing that memory isn't something he'd want anyone to live. it's most certainly one of the worst memories he has. he wishes she hadn't experienced it, but he can't be mad at her for it. there's only accepting it. ) But it isn't your fault. I know that.

( he grimaces, slightly, turning away from her to glance around the path around them. the stones are scattered everywhere, not just the one he handed her. dozens more. ) Are all of these... ( memories? he's now fairly hesitant to touch one. )

[ she knows that. more importantly, she knows he knows that, and not just because he's just told he so. it doesn't change what had happened. she can't erase the experience from her mind, and it feels so wrong to have a memory that's not hers there. her hand frames his face fully, her thumb rubbing over his cheekbone, before he turns to examine the space around them ]

I don't know. [ she takes a look at the stones herself, enough of them scattered around that they could be a part of the path. ] I think we'd need to touch them to find out. [ not something she's particularly eager to do again. ]

Edited 2020-04-10 13:39 (UTC)

( he's not keen to try, either. even if the idea of seeing something, even through the eyes of someone else's memory, is at least a little tempting. in the same way that an addict can't quite help themselves from considering a fix. now that he's remembered what it's like to see from being trapped in the Green Eyes dream, Matt is especially tempted by the idea of actually seeing things... even though he wishes he wasn't. )

We should do what we can to avoid them. ( he's a liar by trade and evasive by nature, but apparently there is a limit for how nosy Matt Murdock will be. he can't help hearing, smelling, and feeling things people don't want him to know about, but that doesn't mean he needs to double down and pry in their memories, too.

he ducks a kiss to the palm of the hand near his cheek. ) Let's keep going. It belongs behind me. ( he does not want the stone — there's no need for him to relive that memory. he already has it seared in his head. )

[ she can understand why it would be tempting for him, especially after viewing how he'd lost his sight through his perspective. even knowing it was a memory, she'd tried fighting against it as if it could change anything, as if she'd return to her own mind and he'd have a few more extra moments of seeing his father and holding his hand. in the end it didn't make a difference.

he turns to press his mouth against his palm before saying they should keep going and she nods, tucking his hair behind his ear before turning to locate the stone that held the memory, pulling her sleeve over her fingers before ducking to retrieve it. she throws it as far into the woods as she can before turning back to him, nodding. ]

Let's go.

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EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

even though they weren't so great | prompt a

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this is gonna be longwinded i'm sorry

💕💕💕 i love every one of your words gimme em all

i will forever and ever amen 💖💖💖

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