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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"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.

Yeah, they will. (Possibly not for a few days, as various Things will get in the way, but. Eventually.) "Milk, maybe," they offer, as well. It's pretty clear when milk starts to go bad, between the smell and the curdling, plus it goes bad much more quickly than most things when left out.

They finish off the cigarette, right down to the tiniest bit, since it's not like the metal hand can get burned by the tip. They roll it into the metal palm and crush the remains, holding it there until they can get to the nearest building to trash it. "I am sorry about those memories, again. That second one was probably confusing as hell." It was confusing enough even for someone who'd apparently lived it, but for someone from a world with such different kinds of tech, to start with, it had to have been completely incomprehensible.

"I'm still not entirely sure what all of it was," he admits. "But I understood enough. Just never seen anything like most of that. You're not the first person I've met with a metal prosthetic, though."

It's just incredibly rare in his experience - only something you'd see on someone wealthy or incredibly skilled in mechanics, or someone with access to such a person. In the Marines, he only recalls seeing one - a captain on a ship bound for the Grand Line, who had lost her arm in a battle against the Whitebeards in the wake of the so-called pirate king's execution. But hers hadn't been as sophisticated as Soldat's, and the arm is only one element of that entire strange memory.

"Anyway, no need to apologize." He's seen his share of darkness, so what's a little more?

Soldat turns their closed fist around, examining it. They're completely familiar with the metal arm, after all this time, but they know it's unusual. They've honestly never seen anything else like it. Not even the Chair or the portable cryotank was as advanced as the arm. "It's at least fifty years old, I think. May have been upgrades, inside, but. I don't remember it ever really being different." Rosinante saw the memory-within-a-memory of when they first got the arm. It didn't look any different then than it does now.

They're curious, though, looking over at Rosinante. "What metal arms have you seen?" Maybe it's like theirs. Well, probably not, given the level of tech Rosinante has talked about and demonstrated knowledge of. But they're still curious.

The arm is... older than Soldat themself? He opens his mouth but hesitates before asking. Right - Soldat had mentioned being frozen for quite a while, at one point. And the memory had hinted at it too. Hm. He hadn't realized it was so long, somehow. Must feel like time travel. He frowns, then answers the question as it's posed to him.

"At home. A Marine above me on another crew had one. I never saw it up close or anything, though. And I know pirates out there sometimes have them made. The longer you're out there fighting, the more likely you are to lose a limb to something but most people don't survive that kind of injury unless they're especially strong, or lucky. Yours is the first I've really had more than just a glance at," he answers.

"Yours - so it was attached some time in the past, and then you were frozen with it. Is that right?"

"Frozen many times." How much have they told Rosinante... well, might as well just tell the whole story. "I was put into cold storage-- frozen-- between each of my missions. I don't know the longest span of time I was allowed to stay thawed, I don't have enough memories back to guess. I have the impression it was a few days at most. Long enough to set me on someone to kill. And then drag me back to the Chair."

They roll the metal shoulder a little, half of a shrug, and answer the question Rosinante didn't ask, but which they can guess from the expression he made at the revelation and how most people react to hearing their age: "I've done the math. HYDRA had me for about seventy years, and I had to be at least nineteen when they captured me." Older, actually, but they don't know that for sure.

While he's heard some of it before, hearing it again with more context and more time to know Soldat makes it sink in a little better. Before, he recalls, he didn't really have enough information to judge. Was that just how Earth treated its soldiers? Was it perhaps an effective use of their technological advances, as strange as it sounded?

Now it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he frowns. It deepens on hearing those numbers. Effective? Maybe, but cruel.

"Taken out of your time and used as a tool. I understand now, I think. Better than I did. What they did was - that's not how you treat anyone. Ever. I'm so sorry."

Soldat's heard that before. Everyone keeps apologizing for... their whole life, or something. This time they're weirdly more embarrassed about it than usual-- maybe because of who it's coming from, when Rosinante wears indifference like a good winter coat and irritation like a very smart hat. "Everybody keeps saying that," they say awkwardly. "It's fine. It's over. Ain't like they can get at me again in here."

They're pretty sure. Like 80% sure. It's possible they could get revived back in life at some point, maybe, like if time here works differently than time in their own universe, but. Still pretty sure not, at this point.

"It shouldn't have happened," he says, not quite protesting Soldat's attempt to brush his sympathy aside, but still feeling the need to speak up about it anyway. It's not just the polite thing to do, it's true. He is sorry that humanity, for all its beauty and creativity and everything else, can also be so cruel.

"But I'm glad you're here now. Away from that life." Not glad he's dead, mind, because this doesn't really feel like death even if it technically is. It's a second shot for both of them, away from places and people and histories that have harmed them both. He thinks about it often. He's not glad to have left Law and Sengoku, but in so many ways, being here is easier than being at home had been. World Eaters aside, anyway.

One admission of discomfort is all they're gonna make. Soldat is hungry enough for positive attention still that they'll take the sympathy, even if it confuses the hell out of them sometimes. "So am I. I never wanted to die." Well, once. Briefly. Preferably while taking out as many of field command as possible. Then they forgot about it after being revived and wiped again, yay HYDRA. "Even with all that shit, I was always fighting to stay alive. But I guess it's the best thing that's happened to me. Pretty much since I got drafted."

"Yeah," he says with a soft exhale. "I - While I wish I hadn't died, for the sake of the people who will miss me, it does come with its upsides. I've never actually had this much freedom."

Fuck it, he'll admit something about himself. He's known that he and Soldat share a lot, but hasn't really been willing to address any of it openly, because he never does. Maybe now is an okay time to admit it, though. Sure, he's never been frozen for decades or had his memory wiped or any of that brutal, horrible life Soldat was subjected to, but it's eye-opening being in a place where nobody has the ability or desire to judge him for things he isn't responsible for.

Soldat isn't sure that's a surprise or not-- they remember enough of their time in the military, now, to know freedom wasn't a thing much of the time, either. But... there was some. And there was camaraderie, there were friends made, people to care for and protect. They'd hated the job, but liked the people. The way Rosinante is bringing it up might well mean something more than the typical schedule and orders of his marines, and it's surprising to hear him open up on his own, express an actual feeling.

So Soldat takes it as important, and looks Rosinante's way, a cautiously curious expression on their face. "Your military?" they ask. "Was it that controlling?"

"I wouldn't say it was controlling," he responds. "But I've been a part of the Marines almost my whole life. Even as a kid and not really enlisted since, like I think I mentioned, my father was an admiral. So I basically grew up knowing duty, and discipline, and wearing a uniform. It wasn't bad," he adds quickly, and earnestly. He knows it all did him a lot of good. Kept him focused, turned a lot of his anxiety and fear around. "Just different."

There are still certainly things he can't bring up. The last four years might have looked like freedom, but in reality he was even more restricted. He had to act a certain way, affect certain mannerisms and play a certain role while on the longest and most terrifying undercover mission he'd ever taken. And of course, there was always the looming specter of his own origins which - well. He still can't mention that here even if it would probably be okay to do so. The deep dread in him, the anguish he went through as a child resulting from it, prevents him from even mentioning it. Nobody here would turn against him but fear isn't rational.

Well. Soldat can't argue that having discipline and set tasks and a clear chain of command is bad. It's how they prefer to operate, after all. But Rosinante said specifically that being here was good, too, because he had more freedom. They're curious, still.

"Is it strange to be here? Or good?" they ask. "You have to set your own tasks and have no one to report to." Just like them, if they hadn't actually kind of assigned people to report to.

"It's still strange, sometimes. Over half a year and I'm still getting used to it. But I enjoy it. Doing things for myself, making my own priorities, those are good things." Makeup, as silly as it is, is an outward reflection of that. Finding his own creativity and forms of expression, and maintaining the confidence to do so, to stand out apart from all these other men from Earth who don't have that same custom rather than blending in like he's done all his life.

But there's so much more to it than that, it's just harder to know how to put it into words. "It probably sounds funny, but I miss calling in," he admits. "I was away from the base for most of my work but I always checked in weekly. It was nice to know someone was out there listening."

And he regrets not calling Sengoku for most of those last several months. But he did what had to be done.

"Not funny." Soldat shrugs, looking somewhere between sympathetic and rueful. "I went and named myself handlers as soon as I got here, and not just to give me shit to do. I get it." Rosinante had a head start there, already knew how to handle his own self, but at least maybe they can understand each other this much. Sometimes your handler is the closest thing you have to a friend, the one who knows everything they need to, without having to guess. "Just nice to know you're not going it alone."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly it."

Especially for someone who never really had close friends. There were people he worked alongside periodically who he liked well enough, sure - even a few when he was much younger he had indeed considered actual friends, before work and travel made it even harder to get close to anyone. His job was always one best done by someone who didn't mind isolation and he fit the bill well, but it did mean that nobody other than Sengoku really got to know him - so calling in was even more of a comfort, knowing the man who would pick up was there for him and always had been.

"But there's a lot about this place that's good. When it's peaceful, anyway. I hope the spirits stay less hostile from here on out. It seems like we've made a lot of progress in that direction."

Hell, even when it's not peaceful. They haven't forgotten how complete and useful they felt during the siege, exhaustion and losses aside. Soldat opens their metal palm to consider the remains of their cigarette, then admits, "It's nice. Yes. But don't mind having something to hit now and then, either. Gonna try and take out the spirits that hurt the Inspector once my rifle scope comes in." It makes them feel a little like a failure, that they still feel so comfortable with and ready for violence. But it's not like the training and purpose programmed into them has exactly gone away. Loosened its grip a little, maybe, but not gone away.

"Oh, I know. That's what people like you and I are for. Someone's got to be good at hitting things and keeping the others safe."

His new rifle is certainly a fun toy, it isn't like he's going to deny that. Rather than being put off guns entirely thanks to his childhood, he's really taken to them. It's not the guns' fault. People will find all sorts of ways to commit violence with whatever tools they have at hand. Shooting is damn effective and he's glad he's both good at it and finds some enjoyment in lining up a well-aimed shot.

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EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

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