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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It doesn't feel like they're on an upswing. It feels like things are falling apart the more holes they fill in-- even Before HYDRA wasn't great, dragged into a war he didn't want to fight in. The happiest memory with Steve feels ruined, knowing what they do to him. The Sergeant is just not equipped to deal with this shit. (I'm tired of this. Get the fuck out here.)

Soldat stops pacing abruptly, wincing at the start of the now-familiar headache, and takes a second to try and calm down the way the Sergeant hadn't even bothered to do-- folding paper. This way for a crane's wing, then that way, then back in on itself.... The arm gives a purring little calibration loop under their sleeve, and they finally put the opal away in a pocket.

They take a slow breath, then actually start pulling their fingers through the tangle their hair wound up in. The accent is gone when they say, subdued, "Sorry, Misty. It's been a rough few days."

Credit where it's due: the difference in carriage is noticeable. They're distinct, distinct entities. In some sense, it's all the more worrying even if it isn't new or urgent. The matter tabled for the moment, she allows herself to deflate.

"Don't apologize, I brought it up. Didn't think he'd just jump out like that. Didn't really have an outline yet. You okay?"

"He didn't think he would, either, just kinda happened. He doesn't like doing that much." And now he's withdrawn as far back as he consciously can, avoiding the whole situation. Soldat doesn't necessarily blame him. They drift over to the seat closest to hers and sink down, giving up on detangling for the moment in favor of rubbing their forehead. The tugging, gentle or not, was making the headache worse. "I'm okay. As okay as I'm gonna be, anyway. You?"

She shrugs limply, eyes turned downward.

"Sorry. About that. To you and him, I guess. I didn't-- I don't know."

Guilty, maybe. Apologetic. Drained. That was more intense than it should have been, sooner than it should have. Upsetting him is a horrid, heavy feeling. "Shouldn't have brought it up, maybe. Or not like that."

That tone of voice, that listless shrug, manages to be slightly alarming even despite the headache and emotional exhaustion. "Hey. No. Not your fault." Soldat reaches over to pat her forearm with the flesh hand, just cuz that's the side she's on. They don't even look, they just know where she is and pats. "Was important to you. To know what it meant. Yeah? S'fine."

"Could have been more tactful or something." The impulse to shrug again is ignored in favor of appreciating the contact. "Thought more about it. Couldn't just hold onto it, is the thing, and I couldn't give it back without asking. Not the best with big things that happen this quick, and it's - not something that's good for a person. Him or anybody. Doesn't mean riling him up for an answer is productive."

"Maybe. But he's not hard to rile up. And you're not wrong." But she still sounds unhappy, and they're just. Not great with the words thing. And their head still really hurts.

So they drop their hand from their forehead, fish into one of their pockets on the left side of their coat, and pull out a particular opal that they're very familiar with, now. Set it on the table. "Palette cleanser," they suggest, pushing it towards her with one metal finger. Should she touch it, she'll get this charming memory.

Making Soldat worry is even worse, so even if she weren't voraciously curious about whatever he would be willing to show her she'd have taken it for something to do. And it's perfect. It's not familiar, but lived-in and abundantly warm as if to compensate for...everything, more or less. Everything is so lacking in warmth. (And bitter. Because he'll have school tomorrow, and he won't be him in a decade or two, and he's died, and god, they've died, and it takes some bullshit like this to get it back--)

But so warm.

The opal is gingerly slid back toward him, and she is absolutely crying now. Pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes she's quick to preempt: "I'm fine. That's just a better one than I was expecting. You're all so cute."

They get it. They really do, even if they feel a little bad. Tucking the opal safely away again, they say, aiming for gentle, getting calm and soft: "Fair play. You've made me cry loads of times." Well, like three or four. That counts as loads. Then, more quietly, reminding themselves as much as her: "It's not all bad stuff." Just. A lot of it.

There's a smile, at least. She's not sure she believes that latter point, or if she would even allow herself to, but that one remark hits where it has to.

"Sounding a little optimistic there, Soldat."

They're not really sure they believe it, either. But they can play the game well enough to say, back, "You and the kid must be rubbing off on me."

They produce an actual handkerchief for her, next.

"Bout time, you need the levity."

It's probably for maintenance, she figures, but if that handkerchief doesn't strike as the most gentlemanly nonsense--

"Thank you." Of course it's accepted, and a moment is taken to start dabbing at her eyes. Purposeful, as if all of this will fade once the task is done. "This'd be a hug moment, just for the record. Won't do it, but that's what'd be happening."

Sometimes maintenance is cleaning the arm. Sometimes maintenance is wiping one's nose when it starts to run because it's fucking cold outside. Sometimes it's drying one's eyes because one cries way too easily, these days. It's all good, Misty.

"I have levity," Soldat protests. Very soberly and seriously. "I'm very funny, Misty." And because the idea of a hug is confining and makes their head pound a little harder, the do the next best thing and put their hand around her wrist for a gentle squeeze. "And this is a wrist-hug." See? Sense of humor. They have levity. So there.

The grin widens. How self aware that is, she can't quite parse, but it's very funny. The wrist hug gets an actual laugh, even as she's returning the pressure. "You're hilarious, you're completely right. Thank you. Really."

Well, considering this was meant as a joke in and of itself, obviously there's got to be some self-awareness going on. They give her wrist a fond little shake, then let her go. "You're welcome." Soldat picks themselves up, rubbing at one temple. "And now I have to eat something." It might make the headache better. Or at least distract from it. Distract from the things that caused it.

"Apologize to him for me, whenever he's in commission?" This can be the last of that; regrettable overall, but best put to bed. "Anything you want. I can help, unless you were looking to keep yourself busy."

"You can help," they say, shuffling wearily into the kitchen to find something easy and quick to put together. "Not so much keeping busy. Just my head hurts. Food might help." It's not like they entirely understand it's pretty much entirely psychosomatic-- they don't even know that word exists-- so explaining properly isn't happening. The closest they can get is, "Feels like there's too much in my head."

"Drink while you go, then." Accepting this at face value, suspect timing largely chalked up to the real possibility his issues are bound up in actual, physical issues with his head, her chief worries are simple ones. Hydration, rest, and the like. Sleep would be a poor suggestion. "And then keeping still, however much you can. Nothing demanding this afternoon."

There's a still a schedule to keep to, Misty. It's just luckily not a very strenuous schedule right now. After this, in fact, the plan was to go hunt down more memories before bed. That's not looking like quite as pleasant as before, to be honest. Digging out the cocoa rather than the coffee, for comfort purposes, they say quietly, "Used to be able to be still. For hours. Just not thinking about anything but the mission. Watching surveillance or waiting for a target. Could probably still do it. But it'd be really, really boring now."

It's what happens when your brain starts to work a little more thoroughly: you learn what boredom is.

"I don't mean doing nothing, cher." Exactly one elbow to elbow nudge as she digs through the fridge. There's no plan going in, but, hey, grilled cheese has a good track record for sad food so far. "I mean just resting. Talk, read, game of cards, stuff like that where you're not moving so much."

Grilled cheese is always approved of. Especially if she adds some tomato or something. "Oh." They set the kettle on to heat the water. "That just doesn't make me think 'still'. Being still means not moving." That's a pretty specific command. "Be still". That's not what Misty means, though, which is a relief. "But cards is fine. And music."

"Relatively still, I mean relatively. As opposed to, y'know, all the running around and patrolling." Exertion, really, minimization of exertion is the point. Cheese grilling has commenced. And look - tomato. Knows him so well. "Whatever works, whatever helps, I caused it so I wanna help fix it."

They get down two mugs, then settle back against the counter to wait on the water, and the sandwiches. Aw, tomato. Best handler ever. "You didn't cause my headache, Misty. It's been around since yesterday. Just gets better or worse."

"Made it worse then, still counts." She's liable to set about henning now and then too - injury or discomfort of any significant sort are fair game. "You're not worried? That's a long while."

"Never had this many old memories banging around in here. Coming back all at once. Might just be how it works." For a beat, their expression does shade a little concerned, looking aside. "Hope HYDRA didn't really break something in here." It's entirely possible all that electricity just... did permanent damage to their long-term memory. The places in the brain it's supposed to stay. They really have no way of knowing.

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shadowsran - 2020-02-23 04:35 (UTC) - Expand

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