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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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Don't be." This is simultaneously quite light and quite firm. She can't smile yet, but she can be warm. "This is what we do for ours. You've got a lot to get through, and if that means big crying fits or screaming or breaking shit, you can do that, and I'm gonna be right here through it. You're still here, you matter, and I care about you. Ain't changing."

And while she can expect he'll be lingering in this spot awhile longer, she can get out ahead of something. "Second nap'll be here in the spare room. Not letting you out into the cold for a long while."

"M'not gonna break your shit, Misty," Soldat says, but they maybe sound a little guilty, thinking about their rare but memorable escapes into the treeline to find a sturdy trunk to punch. Usually for a good ten minutes. The one time, in a fit of extremely stupid frustration, they emptied a whole clip from the glock into the tree they'd been punching when that hadn't been enough.

But they're not gonna break Misty's stuff. Or anybody else's, for that matter. Trees are safe outlets for frustration, right? As long as there aren't any spirits living in them, right?

"Not saying you're going to, I'm saying if you did, it wouldn't change my response any. You do what you need to do when you need to do it, and count on me hovering around." Two pats to his head, before she resumes the stroking. "Stuck with me. No spooking off, no apologies."

They absolutely do not deserve that, but they also have no ability to turn it away. Maybe it makes them greedy or weak or a terrible person, but they're just not capable of saying no to unconditional acceptance even knowing it's too good for them. So they say, small-voiced, "Okay." (Better. Handler. I hate you.)

And they also require their handkerchief. Their eyes are leaking again, but at least this time it's the normal kind, not the great awful sobs. Kind of hurts, like their eyes are tired of crying and the serum hasn't helped them recover yet. They uncurl enough to find their pocket and get the square of fabric out. "Probably still gonna apologize," they warn.

"I'm glad." And now she can smile; a peaceful point has been reached. "And that's fine, too. If it's apologizing I won't mind either. Just putting it out there that you don't have to. You've earned some crying."

Soldat did not earn anything. But protesting is exhausting, and they're already exhausted. Instead, they stem the flow of their eyes and nose, and lean their head back to thunk against the kitchen cabinets. Eyes going shut, for another minute or two anyway.

Thinking about it, they do have to admit to one thing: "Must be right about some things. If I'd done that four months ago. Be calling it a malfunction." But they're aware of what it was, a fucking breakdown and epic crying jag, and aware it's... normal. Maybe not for them, but in general. For human type things.

Yet another sign of change. Jesus. What's even happening to them.

"Course I am, I'm on top of these things." With a grin, she'll scoot to lean alongside him. Time for a breath, herself. Rough week all around, it seems, and even with cause to expect it it's...taken her a little aback. "And I'm proud. For all this."

The metal arm makes a halfhearted grinding noise, but then subsides, accepting the outside pressure against it. Soldat doesn't even open their eyes. "Proud. For having a hysterical moment on your floor. The fuck for." They can't even muster up a questioning tone, but she'll be used to that by now. There's nothing positive about this, that they can see, nothing to be proud of.

They always were shit at understanding their own emotional reactions to things.

"You acknowledged something that's obviously big, and awful, and weighing on you, and you let a lot of it out. You let yourself have that, and you let me help. Didn't try and run or deny it or push me back. Plenty of people in relatively better shape are bad at that." Case in point: she. "Things coming to the surface means you're growing. These are growing pains. But you got through this just now, right? I think that bodes well."

One eye comes open, rolling aside to look in her general direction, though all they can see from this angle are her knees and hands. "Not sure I coulda stopped that if I tried." Maybe the talking. But she'd asked. They're still not exactly practiced at refusing to answer questions, particularly not from Misty.

And the worst of the headache is gone. They still feel over-full in the brain, and their eyes hurt, but... that nagging, wound-like ache isn't there. Or it's so far reduced that it's hardly noticeable. Huh.

"Not sure I like this growing thing," they say, shutting that eye again. "Seems like a pain in the ass." It's kind of up in the air whether this is a joke or not, even to them.

"It sucks. I'm not promising you anything other than a frustrating, slow, awful process. But you'll feel a little bit better after every storm, and you'll come out of it so much better than when you started." It's a little more somber, but she's still smiling. Progress is progress, and she'll take it in any and all forms. "You're tough. I believe in you."

Ugh. Sounds fun. Sounds like some missions they've done. Sounds like the programming process. (Reprogramming. ... huh. That's more insightful than I'd expected from you. No.) "I guess at least I'm used to slow, frustrating, painful slogs. Just usually I get to go back to cold storage at the end of it. Instead of having to keep dealing." Not that "gets to" it really the right phrase. It's not like cryofreeze was fun. But it was better than everything else.

"Full disclosure, anyone tries anything on par with that here, I'll kill them. Awful slog, but one you'll get to remember. And if you remember, it only needs to happen once." A huge trade up, in her opinion, though any reluctance on his part is understandable.

"You're already on the mend now. You're doing great."

"Nobody here can even approximate cryofreeze except maybe Kuai," they assure her wearily. "And don't think he's gonna. It's fine." No reason for her to worry about something that's never going to happen, even if they wanted it. Which they don't, not really.

They open their eyes again, this time just looking blankly across the kitchen. "Why is it. On the mend. Or getting better. People keep using those phrases." And Soldat can kind of see where they're coming from, a little bit, their opinions from the perspective of an actual functioning person, but... they function. Don't they?

"I mean anything like it. Anything that involves you stuck in a place you don't wanna be, or doing something you don't want to do. Anything." The powder-keg mentality rearing its head for a moment. It'll pass.

She laughs, brief and without much mirth; sad anyone would ask that question.

"I love you to pieces, but you're not in top form. You've got a lot of wounds in your head, and they can't go unchecked. They have to get opened up, helped, healed. Dunno what the end result will be, but I think it'll be a guy much more comfortable with himself. Not needing such a strict schedule, or any handlers, or panicking when you hear your name. Lot of hurdles before that, which is what these are. Getting better."

The immediate thought is to deflect. They're fine. They function. They don't need that name, they're got a perfectly serviceable one now-- if Javert wasn't a handler, what else could he even be-- and schedules are nice for keeping one's day properly filled--

--but--

--hugging Misty after the frog memory had been hard. And if she hadn't been careful, even in her own grief and pain, they might not have managed it at all. There's still the threat of shut-down. The word "doctor" throws them into almost as much of a panic as that name does. They're scared almost all the damn time, even now, even if it's ignoreable because they're so used to it. They just sat on Misty's floor for ten minutes and sobbed their heart out, for Christ's sakes. That probably is not fine.

Soldat groans a little and bangs their head lightly on the cabinet a couple times, resigning themselves to it with ill grace. They're gonna have to fucking get better. They have no idea what that's gonna look like, either, except that they know they can't go back.

It's as if she can sense the hurdle being leapt. He's allowed some moments to his thoughts, though there won't be many thumps before she speaks up.

"That's the spirit. It'll feel worth every single second of this when you're done. Swear on my life."

"The spirit is banging my head against things. Okay. I can do that." It's a little snarky, and the humor is less than stellar. But dammit, Soldat just had a really bad afternoon. Or whatever. They're probably lucky they're speaking in complete sentences. "Should probably get up."

"If you want. Like I said - afternoon nap, just upstairs. If you wanna take a minute and get yourself a drink, could even throw the bedding in the dryer."

How the doting tables turn, Soldat, how they turn. Warmed bedding is the height of you-need-spoiling.

"D'you need a hand with it?"

"Need to eat first or I'm gonna regret it. But. Yeah, after." They'll stay here for the "night". Even if it's early still, maybe getting a little extra won't hurt anything. It sounds kind of appealing, at the moment.

Haven't hauled themselves up yet, though. Working up to it, maybe.

With this she stands, a hand offered to assist him if only as a gesture.

"Sandwich or something. Low effort. Just to fill up and give me a minute to fight with the sheets."

"Don't fight too hard," Soldat says, taking her hand but mostly pushing themselves up, instead. She's no waif, but they're also extremely heavy, thanks metal arm. "No wars in your cabin please. I'd have to avenge you and I'm too tired right now."

"What if I'm in the sheet reserves, huh? This is my big shot."

Big smile. Getting back to normal, buddy.

"You're gonna sleep like a rock, and you're gonna feel great after."

Or possibly they're going to have nightmares and wake up grouchy, but eh. Maybe she'll be right. "Hope so." They do extract their hand almost immediately, albeit with a hesitation and then a little pat to her forearm right after. Then they slink over to the fridge, pausing to squint at the bowl of eggs they never did manage to do anything with.

Maybe they can scramble them up real quick. Wouldn't want them to go to waste. That won't take long. Not as exciting as omelets, but quicker, and still protein. Maybe with some cheese and tomato diced in.

"Hope's good, run with that." And with a thumbs up, she'll be off sprucing up the bed. Ten minutes in the dryer across the board, remade as quickly as she can manage. Pillows fluffed, even. Torch carefully transferred - warmth, and safety. Short of leaving a mint on the pillow or cookies on the nightstand, this is as good as it'll get.

Whatever he busied himself with, she's quick to chime as she hops downstairs, "If there are dishes, I'll get 'em. Bed's ready whenever you are, no focusing on anything else."

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