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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The harbor, more often than not this week, has been his hangout of choice. The aurora captivates him, and so many of the glittering stones rain down in places he can easily reach - or pull them closer with the branch he's been using if they hit the ice first and don't go flying off too far into the lake. For now, though, he's just taking a break, sitting back and watching the lights.

He turns at the sound of footsteps, and reaches out to take the stone. "A good one, hm?" Thankfully he has quite a few of those - little points of brilliance in a life that took too dark a turn too early, and ended with such violence.

It's Law, again. This particular memory has found its way to him before and that gives him hope. However these are created, maybe it's no coincidence that some of his fondest, most treasured moments are ones that have surfaced multiple times. This time he doesn't cry, thankfully, but instead smiles softly as the memory fades and he finds himself staring off into the light and shadows thrown by the aurora and the surrounding trees onto the glittering snow.

"He's a good kid," he says, voice surprisingly warm compared to how he often is here, so stoic and careful. "I hope he's doing all right on his own." He has to hope. The alternative isn't something he can stomach thinking about.

Experiencing Rosinante actually being happy, actually being silly, had been an interesting and pleasant insight into the man. Soldat can't miss the warmth, the smile. It's like Steve. (Or Steve before the horrible gnawing feeling that's replaced the comfort and reassurance of the happiest memories, anyway.)

Nope, not thinking about that.

So they ask, "How old was Law when you died?"

"Thirteen." Almost fourteen, actually. He'd celebrated Law's birthday alone here in Beacon - a day full of bittersweet memories and far too much alcohol.

"Old enough to fend for himself, but I hope by now he's found friends, or someone who can take him in." Just because he can survive on his own doesn't mean he should. All he wants for Law is a normal life. Kids need friends at that age in general, and Law in particular is at such risk of growing more isolated and more angry if he doesn't have some warmth to balance it all out.

Assuming he managed to figure out the ope-ope fruit. Assuming he got off the island at all.

"Nobody should be alone," Soldat agrees with a nod. Thirteen is a good age to start taking responsibility, to learn, but definitely not alone. That's basically Soldat's motto these days, that no one should be alone. "You were good to him. Probably taught him a lot. He'll know what to do, what to look for."

"Yeah. Thanks," he sighs. It's truly a shame they hadn't had more time together. He'd learned a lot from Law as well. Not just medical stuff, though that too - the kid's head was full of that kind of knowledge and he was always eager to share whatever morbid new fact he'd learned. But Law taught him how to laugh and smile again. How to be himself. How to look after someone. How to love and be loved in a way he hadn't felt since he lost his parents - and maybe not truly even then, since he was too young at six to know fully what that kind of affection really meant.

That makes him pause for a moment, quiet. He's resisted getting to know and care for most everyone here partly because that's just how he is, and partly, maybe, because he's afraid of letting go of Law. Of letting someone else fill that spot in his heart. Is that right? Is it healthy? Ugh.

Time to break out the cigarettes and light one while he mulls this over. Absently, he holds the pack out to Soldat as well. "Want one?"

Yeah, pal, that "nobody should be alone" applies to you, too. Doesn't matter who, so long as Rosinante's got an actual friend or three in this place, that's what's important.

The cigarette is quite readily plucked out with a wry half-smile. "You really think you have to ask?" They offer it to Rosinante's lit end for a light, themselves. "I've wanted a whole ration of these in rapid succession after some of these memories." The Sergeant's favorite coping mechanism had apparently been chain smoking, since drinking didn't do a damn thing, and the motions of smoking had been soothing even if the nicotine hadn't cut it. (And a whole pack in a row did a little, at least.)

Fun discovery, that recollection.

Having done this often enough now, Rosinante shakes his head and gestures to Soldat's lantern with his own cigarette. "Gotta light off a flame like that, since the light won't spread from one cigarette to another - one of the weird quirks about this place and fire."

Still, as he places the cap back on his, it looks likely he's not about to offer his own lantern to light off of - unless Soldat's is one that can't, that has no flame, just a light. He'll wait to confirm. Just protective of his own. Seems prudent, even though he imagines Soldat is plenty careful enough.

"But I hear you. I might have to reorder from Rastus early to make sure I have enough to cover April." He's been going through them quickly, and offering them regularly to Will too these days.

Soldat makes a little face, but does bring their own lantern around, opens the metal shutters (displaying a little bit of a crack in the glass and the tiniest bit of green light leaking from said crack, if Rosi is paying attention), opens the glass shutters, and dips the tip of the cigarette into the flame there. That feels weird as hell, actually. Maybe next time they'll find a torch.

Then there's the process of locking it all back up again, cigarette dangling from their mouth. Only once it's locked and they can take the smoke back in hand do they say dryly, "Maybe I should start asking for some, myself, so I don't have to keep bumming off of you."

They know Aziraphale and Crowley probably won't mind. Would Misty or Javert? Hmm, intel needed.

Rosinante is always paying attention, or so he'd like to think. He's been trained to do so. He's curious, anyway, about the lanterns of others in general - but that slip of green, that trace of a crack through the glass, that's unexpected enough to cause his expression to slip briefly from neutral to somewhat alarmed. His eyes widen and he straightens his back a fraction of an inch, as if about to sit up rather than slouch forward as he's been doing, though he doesn't end up doing more than that slight but perceptible flinch.

Is it just the light from the aurora reflecting off the glass? He peers upward and exhales a breath of smoke. "Yeah. Rastus doesn't seem to mind so long as I pick up after myself. No litter, that's his rule."

He can't help it. He glances back again, looking to see if the green is still visible - or if Soldat has shut the lantern back up altogether. It can't be one of those malfunctions from the previous month, can it? All of these so-called events, as Robin had named them, seem to finish up in a week or two. They don't linger.

They have, sadly. It's habit, keeping their light shuttered up so it doesn't give their presence away, and also because yeah, they're well aware of that crack and some of the questions people might have about it. Sometimes they show it to people on purpose, but usually that's for a reason. And it's not like they need it, with the aurora shedding plenty of light.

And they're observant, too: they saw that look. But he's got to ask if he wants to know.

"I remember. I'll be careful." It's nice to just have a drag of smoke and blow it back out again. The Sergeant in particular, in the back of their brain, just seems to unwind. It almost makes the headache feel a little better, too. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He has to ask, he decides easily. If it's just affecting Soldat only then it's something they can manage, although that's not ideal for this to be affecting anyone. But if it's more widespread? They all need to know. Whatever happened to those lanterns is ongoing and could disrupt them at any given moment.

"You checked on your lantern recently? Thought I saw something just now. Sort of like how we were all affected last month."

"Yeah. I kept a souvenir." They look resigned about it, but not at all surprised. Clearly, they're aware. "Kept hoping it would go away... but it's still there weeks later. Don't think it's going to."

They consider a moment, have another drag from the cigarette, then decide to offer the more detailed explanation. Rosinante might need to know, in case the Asset ever needs to be stopped. He could probably do it. He would probably do it, the way an actual friend might not. "During the last couple days of the lantern malfunctions. While you were laughing at everything. I. Broke. Into pieces of myself. The Sergeant from the war. The. One. With the name. From before the war. And the Asset. What I was when I first came here, only worse. Afraid, angry, violent, looking for orders."

A brief pause, then the admission, "The Sergeant has been here since almost the beginning. In my head, making idiot comments and sometimes helping. Now the Asset is, too. Because of that crack. I think." There you go, Rosi. The most embarrassing and potentially troublesome piece of Soldat. That was a lot of words, and they're gonna hide behind the cigarette for a minute now.

Huh. Well. That's disconcerting in a lot of ways. He'll have to keep an eye on Soldat, make sure it doesn't progress into anything worse. At least it seems like a lower-key effect than what he had suffered himself, thankfully.

"The others you're usually with - Aziraphale, Misty, whoever else. Inspector Javert. Do they already know?"

Like usual, Rosinante takes the weirdness mostly in stride. Good job, man.

"Misty knows. She's a handler, was afraid it might. I don't know. Talk to her." Try to throttle her. Whatever. "Sora knows." Their face scrunches up just a little. "Sora wants to fucking be friends with it. Jesus. Don't know what I'm gonna do with him. Haven't told Javert, he doesn't know about either of them, but it already respects the Inspector's authority. Went to him for orders during the malfunctions. So he should be safe."

They sigh, look aside, guilty, because the implication there is some people might not be safe. They probably should have told someone like Rosinante earlier, right after the Asset attacked Sora probably, but it's just... embarrassing, admitting your own head talks to you, and you talk back. And there's still the remains of programming that says not to talk about what goes on in their head, ever. "The Sergeant and I are keeping it mostly contained so far. Only actually came out once, mostly just mutters at me. Demands to pick music for Misty."

It being the Asset, of course. He remembers how Soldat refused to accept their personhood on arrival. That fragment of themself, more thing, more weapon, than human, exists in some confused state still - and that's fine so long as it doesn't become a hazard but of course he's worried about that possibility before Soldat even brings it up. It's almost helpful to hear them confirm they're aware of the risk.

He'll let the thing about Sora go. Guy's weird. Needs to pick his friends better.

"The problem, of course, is that nobody knows how containable something like that is. It would be one thing if it was just a part of you and what you went through. But the things that happened to my lantern twisted me into something I've never been. Manage it as well as you can, but we should be looking into causes. Maybe fixes."

Dr. Solis must know about this. He resolves to write to her after this conversation. She's the only one he can think of who handles lanterns enough to have a guess about what's going on.

Still refusing, Rosi. Still refusing. ... it's a lot harder at this point, though. The breaking point is coming.

"Seems to work so far about the way the Sergeant does," Soldat offers. "Voice in my head, interacts with me, with each other. Only comes out rarely, if spoken to directly or something. Startles it. Came out with Sora because he talked about something Russian-- a country on Earth, where it was made. Where it. Where I was programmed." It's possible it'll be different with the Asset, because of the lantern crack, but so far data suggests not.

They consider the idea of fixes with another hit of the cigarette. "Misty thinks it'll go away on its own as my brain gets better. Gets more used to not being fried and ordered around all the time. I'd rather fix it if we can. Just in case." They have to write Solis, too... after the next ferry comes in with their data from the portal. The idea of terrifying, to be honest.

"Yeah, I'm not convinced it'll just go away. Not with your lantern looking like that. Whatever role your memories have in giving it its own life in your head, that's not the full reason why it's there."

As in, don't blame yourself for this one, man. It's no more Soldat's fault than if they were hallucinating the Asset as a separate person thanks to some trick by the green-eyes. There are things here that take their thoughts and fears and give them faces. Make them tangible. Give them real weight. That's not brain stuff, that's something external.

"All that aside, though, do you think you're getting better? Since you've been here?"

Yeah, they're not really convinced the Asset would go away, either. But it was still a theory they felt the need to share, to put all the cards on the table no matter how ugly they might be. Even though it's a quiet relief to hear that someone suggest that the violent entity in their head isn't something they actually want there without consciously realizing it.

The question is a surprise, but for once something they can answer easily enough. "Well. Yes. When I got here. No way I could talk about this shit. Could hardly talk about anything. There's people now I'm actually not afraid of, at all." Not a very many, but it's important steps anyway. They have another smoke for fortification, and as long as they're not looking at Rosinante they can add, "I remembered. There was. A father. Sisters."

As he listens, he watches the smoke from his own cigarette float upward and take on the colors of the aurora. Sort of hypnotic - but then, smoking has always been one of his own forms of meditation. Or, whatever it should be called. Something he can do to take his mind off other things. Addiction being what it is, the cigarettes are certainly not limited to those quiet moments of solitude, but he appreciates it when they are.

He nods along, then glances over at Soldat at those last phrases. "Your family. I'm glad you've remembered them, that would be a terrible thing to lose."

Soldat shakes their head just a little, still looking away, though the metal arm is calm, at least. "Only pieces right now. And. It's still hard to think about too much. Look at too close." Like the Steve thing. It all makes their head hurt. Their insistence on not being a person is hard to hold onto in the face of little sisters, parents, remembering being small and whole and having a full range of emotions, not colored by fear or pain.

But if they decide they're a person, after all that they went through, what they did. That a person did all that. What then.

They can't think about that yet, either. (You are such a fuckin' mess. Says the voice in my head. Case in point, pal. Goddamn case in point.)

"Give it time. Maybe it'll get easier, and maybe it'll start to come back stronger."

And hopefully the memories are good ones. How painful would it be to remember one has siblings, and then afterward remember they were killed too young? Morbid maybe, but not out of the question in his own experience - life in his world isn't always easy everywhere.

"No need to rush it, though," he points out. "There's plenty to do in the present."

Already know about one sibling death, though the direct memory hasn't come back yet, so. They're aware of that, too. Soldat sighs out a bit more smoke. "Yeah, there's that. Keepin' busy. Got Jason to set up the patrol list, sure you saw that." They took initiative, Rosi, a little tiny bit, just like you said to.

Which reminds them: "Met a guy who can put things in a pocket stasis thing-- food, medical supply-- keep it fresh. He's experimenting with how much he can fit before going public with it." There's downsides-- if Somnis disappears on them, they might not be able to get that food back-- but that's for other people to work out if it's worth it. Soldat found the exploit, now someone can make the decisions regarding it.

"Yeah," he responds with a bit of a smile. The patrol list is a nice thing to have, especially as they get more and more spread out. The Invincible is still at the center of things, but with the village and the hotel over an hour's walk away each, they need to be more organized than ever.

Pocket stasis though, huh? That's a surprising ability. "Interesting. A lot of what we have here doesn't seem perishable, or if it is, it takes a while. But I don't think anyone's tested the maximum limits on how long, say, raw chicken keeps before it spoils. Would be worth doing sometime."

A very minor waste of food in order to learn something - for he had been talking to Gregor about this earlier in the month. The man seems to know something about decay, and it truly is strange how little of it they've seen here.

Well, honestly. Seems an easy enough thing to try, kind of surprising nobody has yet. "Can try that. If Aziraphale doesn't find it and throw it out." A pause, thinking of Aziraphale's face at finding random uncooked food sitting somewhere, even if it's Soldat's bedroom. "Maybe Misty's house would be a better idea. Think she'd appreciate the experiment more."

"Suggest it to her, then," he says with a shrug. "Just have to keep the spirits from eating it. Or maybe Gregor himself might want to do it, but she could speak to him about it. Maybe try meat as well as something else. Bread. Something already cooked."

Or the more science-inclined probably will come up with their own ideas as well as smart ways to go about testing all this stuff. There are probably signs of decay other than just smelling bad or turning green that they could track, but he's no expert. He just supports anyone who wants to do something that will help them learn more about their situation among the dead.

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