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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That's a particularly beautiful stone, isn't it? Rosinante is halfway to downtown when the blue glint catches his eye in the light of the aurora, filtered through dark trees. He sits down in the snow before he lets it touch his bare palm. Some of these have been heavy and he isn't always the most stable on his feet when he comes out of them.

This one is no exception. For the first time in his life he thinks of the stars as lonely. There's a resounding emptiness that echoes within him as he comes out of the vision. The snow glitters like the night sky, mirroring what's above and what still resides in his palm.

Nobody should have to live through a thing like that. It's one thing to hear what Will experienced and another to see it through his own eyes. They've both been through hell; both been torn from one life and dragged into another, with a transition far crueler than any person deserves. He thinks on this over a cigarette, not ready to get up immediately.

When he does, he turns around. Downtown can wait. He pauses briefly to text Will, though. Probably shouldn't drop in unannounced, since he's not always at home, and anyway he's wanted solitude these last several days. Can't blame him after that expedition went so horribly wrong.

Found one of your opals. Figure you'll want it back, out of someone else's hands. You around?

"Around" is perhaps a bit subjective, but it's not like he's out in the woods. Or up at the museum, like last time he wanted to avoid everyone. Still, there's a definite span of a few minutes where Will considers saying "no".

He had hoped that, somehow, either none of his own memories would be scattered around, or that they'd fall somewhere that no one would find them. He's sure there would be some that most people would find incredibly boring: long hours spent staring at chemical formulas and data readings, trying to orchestrate the tiniest of adjustments, which then have to be compensated for with several more. Maybe there would be memories of school, of reading endless articles and writing several theses.

But then there's always a chance that something else might be out there. Something he doesn't really want to see, but wants other people to see even less. He does a lot of work maintaining the image of someone without attachments, good or bad. He'd hate to have it ruined by a stupid rock.

So as much as he'd prefer to spend more time under the twisting aurora, he makes himself get up and start moving.

I'll be back home shortly.

He knows better than to ask any questions about the thing over the network. The fewer people who know about this, the better. He'll wait until he meets Rosinante at the cabin.

Guess he'd better hustle - good thing he has a long stride.

Don't rush. I'll meet you there but it'll take me a couple hours from here.

Maybe there's somewhere closer they could meet, but Will's cabin is awfully convenient for privacy, and he knows the guy will want some of that after seeing this. Just in case, though, he stops in at The Invincible on the way back anyway and picks up the bottle of whiskey Maes had gifted him over the holidays. Doesn't seem worth saving for a celebration - there isn't much to celebrate here. Instead he'll offer to share it with someone who might need a good drink after this particular memory.

Eventually he arrives at the cabin, cigarette in his mouth and hands in his pockets to keep the chill off. Any day winter wants to quit, he'll be ready for it.

Knowing it'll take Rosinante a while, Will takes his own time getting back. It's a good opportunity to prepare himself for human contact when he hasn't been in the mood for it. Not something he'd usually force himself to get over so quickly, but sometimes you have to do things you don't especially want to.

He's slow about getting inside and removing most of his many layers. He's not really fond of this whole "winter" thing himself. It gets incredibly cold and ice just piles up all over the ground? Terrible.

When Rosinante arrives, Will does what he usually does, opening the door and leaving Rosi to let himself in while he takes a seat.

"I suppose I should probably be grateful that, whatever it is, a total stranger didn't find it."

He's sure that'll happen eventually, but he's not looking forward to it.

Initially, Rosinante doesn't say anything in response to that. He looks at Will, closes the door behind him, then pulls off his knapsack with its toolbox inside, his coat which he drapes over an arm, then heads over to sit down.

"Maybe so. It's not something I'd want most people here to see." But he sure doesn't think he deserves to be thanked for it either, given the contents. He pulls the box out of the bag and onto his lap, pops it open, then retrieves the stone - which is not just loose in a container but is now also packaged in a handkerchief - and hands it over. He really didn't want this one getting mixed in with the rest by accident, though thankfully it's also very distinctive. Still, seemed prudent.

Is there any risk someone is listening in? Probably not, but he'll give Will the same courtesy he did when he was told most of the context for this, and so he snaps the fingers of his empty hand, shielding the majority of the cabin's interior with a sound barrier centered on the two of them.

The snapping seems out of place, though Will seems to remember something about it, faintly, from a time before. If he doesn't remember it well, then it probably happened when he was on something. But the moment it happens this time, the noise of the wind outside stops short, and all the background noise of the forest, noise Will barely notices, goes silent.

Hm. He's going to have to ask about that. But for now, Rosinante's somber mood and the fact that he's not even willing to make physical contact with the opal, that has Will's attention. He can tell that he's not going to get an explanation of what's in it, which, combined with everything else, makes him very wary. He hesitates a long moment before unwrapping the stone and brushing his fingertips across its surface.

And then immediately drops it.

He jumps up from his seat and starts pacing, the urge to run pulling at him even outside of the memory. It's hard for him to catch his breath, and he has to close his eyes to stop seeing bodies on the floor. He hates for anyone to see him like this, but he couldn't stop it if he wanted to. It would happen back home, sometimes, and there he could just reach for pills to calm himself down. He should've asked for those instead of the weed. It helps, but it's too slow.

When he finally stops moving, he doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what to say. That isn't what it looks like. Except it absolutely is. It was self-defense. But was it, really? I'm sorry. And he is, but he also isn't. Yes, he would've preferred if things had never gone so wrong, but stuck in the same position, given the same choice? He'd do it all again. No hesitation.

Well, he might not have gone to look this time.

Will is free to take his time, for Rosinante is patient. Understanding, he'd like to think. Yes, what happened was horrible and yes, death on that scale is... alarming. It had been one thing to hear it told and another to witness it through Will's eyes.

But he takes some small amount of relief in the clear fact that Will does react to this. That he did back then, too. It's more than just knowing it's wrong and fearing punishment, but something a little more visceral. Will isn't as wholly callous as his brother, nor is he as completely desensitized to death as Law had become.

After Will stops pacing, Rosinante casts his eyes elsewhere - staring at nothing in particular. The floor. A coffee mug, forgotten. Will is uncomfortable enough without him staring.

"You told me, already. So it's not a complete shock. You did what you did to survive."

It's not great, but it's done and there's no taking it back now.

Right, yeah. He did tell him, though the memory is hazy. It was the first time the Night Market showed up, he thinks. He'd gone a little overboard with the more, well, recreational things on offer, and he wound up rambling about things he should've kept to himself.

Though he supposes he's grateful for it now. If Rosinante had seen that memory without context, there could've been a few problems. He doesn't really want to think about it, even.

"I— Yes, but—" But what? But that doesn't excuse it. Except that's making the case that those lives were more important than his, and there's nothing fair about that. There's nothing fair about any of it. That isn't how the world works.

He finally manages to calm down enough to sit.

"It is what it is, I guess." His voice is even flatter than usual. "I think I wish you hadn't seen it."

Does that mean he would've rather spared Rosinante the upsetting vision, or just that he wants to protect himself? He thinks it might be both.

It is indeed what it is. Rosinante had his whole walk over here to think about this, and had to reconcile his fondness for Will and who he is now with the things he had done. It truly isn't excusable and he's not sure he'd even call it forgivable. A more compassionate person, knowing the situation was dire, might still have worked out a way to save more than just himself. Will is more than clever enough, he just didn't want to.

But by that same token, are the things Rosinante has had to do in his work excusable or forgivable? He'd like to think so - that the good outweighed the bad every time he'd had to pull the trigger. Still, people suffered as a result of his own actions. Will's morals are not his and he doesn't exactly agree with them, but - well. That doesn't mean he can't treat the person before him with compassion.

"I understand. But I'm glad it was me who found it," he repeats. "We don't have to talk about it, I just wanted to make sure it got back to you. I... I'm more concerned with how you're doing in general.

Which is also not itself a particularly pleasant subject, but maybe the calm in between then and now has been pleasant enough. Maybe he doesn't need to worry about Will, but, well. He does. This is just what caring about someone is like.

At first, the last part of that doesn't really register. Will's still out of it, and only the first bit catches.

"Right, better you than anyone else, at least." He pauses. Hesitates. "It didn't go so well the last time someone else found out. Before, you know. Back home." So before death, he means.

"I don't know who, and I don't know how, but at some point, the people I was with, they knew. Probably why they started blaming everything on me." He rubs his face. "Ignore that. Probably none of it means anything to you anyway."

There's a moment of silence before everything finally registers. God, this is just like being asked if he's okay. No one does that. No one gives a shit and that doesn't bother him because neither does he.

"I'll be fine." He doesn't like to lie, but it's not a lie if you've convinced yourself, now is it?

That's the sort of white lie anyone says in even lighter situations, so he takes it with the pile of salt it deserves. He'd say the same. Usually does.

What hurts far more is the knowledge that everyone Will worked with turned against him in the end for something he did as a child. People can and do change - not everyone, not every time, of course, for his brother exists. But most people aren't like Doflamingo. Law wasn't. Will certainly isn't. There's someone in there who deserves so much more empathy than what he's been given.

Rosinante isn't exactly sure how to show that, though, that's always the hardest part. He feels it, but what does he do with it? Well - he brought booze for a reason, so he lets Will's assertion hang in the air for a moment as he reaches for his bag, then withdraws the bottle of whiskey and holds it out.

"You want some? I think we could both use a drink."

He'll figure out what else to say eventually.

Ah, liquor. Always there when you need a good distraction. It's an excellent subject change, and Will latches onto it immediately.

"An understatement. I think we both need several."

He reaches out and takes the whole bottle, prying off the cap and taking more than a shot's worth straight from it. He takes a deep, hissing breath, and then reluctantly offers it back.

Rosinante gladly reaches for the bottle to have his own gulp. It's good stuff, too - probably the sort of thing meant to be savored more than the two of them are likely to do right now. Oh well - it's probably better that they're not drinking shitty booze while already feeling miserable.

He has another drink just for good measure, then drapes an arm over his folded knees, leaving the bottle in hand within easy reach for Will to take back if he wants more, since he imagines he does. He'll even generously shift the conversation to himself, which he's normally loathe to do.

"I've had a few people find some of my memories now. Wish they hadn't, but anyone who's told me has been understanding enough. Or maybe that's just what they're saying to my face." He shrugs. Most of the people here aren't actors - he probably would have picked up on that by now for many of them. On the contrary, a surprising number seem completely naive. Of course, only Cao Pi found one truly damning, and Cao Pi is certainly one person who isn't always straightforward with everyone.

Drinking shitty booze in this condition would just be insult on top of injury. The fact that it's the good stuff takes just a little bit of the edge off. In more ways than one.

Rosinante is right that Will would want more. They'll probably just wind up passing it back and forth after every drink. Will rubs his face with his hands.

"Just saying it to your face? What, are they that bad? It can't be anything as bad as—" He's not going to repeat it, but the implied end of that sentence is something like being a mass murderer.

Some of the things he's done are in fact quite awful. He had to maintain some sort of legitimacy as his brother's second-in-command for four years, after all. Truthfully, nobody has come to him about those things, though, and maybe he's been fortunate and those memories didn't make their way to the people of Beacon at all. He hasn't quite figured out the pattern of which memories become converted to stones, if there is one at all.

"You don't think so?" he sighs. "I'm guessing you haven't found any of mine, though if I'm wrong, I'd appreciate having them back."

He's only kind of stalling as he takes another drink. He could share the opal Cao Pi found, or at least describe the memory, and have that be the answer, he just doesn't want to. Bombing hospitals isn't a great look, even if he doesn't regret doing it. But telling Will things nobody else here knows isn't his favorite plan either, just because he feels like he's losing control of how much of his history is getting out around the town.

Will hadn't really forgotten about the stone in his pocket, but it had taken a backseat to the horrors of the one he was given. Because, somehow, it wasn't horrific. Even with the knowledge that the man involved was a monster, even knowing that on some level, the entire interaction was a lie. There were definitely some negative emotions all wrapped up in it, but the memory he'd found wasn't necessarily a bad one.

Still, he feels an unnecessary amount of guilt about having accidentally hidden it.

"Actually—" Will clears his throat, producing the opal, neatly wrapped in a makeshift paper envelope. "I wasn't intending to keep this, I just..." Well, maybe Rosinante will understand.

Without trying to justify himself any further, he holds it out.

Oh. Well, good thing he spoke up, though he does believe Will probably would have gotten around to giving it up on his own time. Probably. It's packaged nicely, and not buried away in the depths of some container. He had kept it on him. If he had intended to hide it, neither of those things would probably be the case.

So he takes it with a nod, opens the envelope and touches a finger to the stone. A wave of tension rides up his back as he observes the contents, and when he's back to reality he frowns down at the paper and stone in his hand and wraps it back up.

"Did I ever tell you much about my brother?" he asks as he then has another drink from the bottle.

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EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

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