logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: BOTTOM OF THE RIVER

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: BOTTOM OF THE RIVER

characters: everyone.
location: everywhere.
date/time: april 15-30.
content: preparation begins, and rain falls.
warnings: n/a. please cw tags appropriately.

an early warning: april 15-17

When someone goes to check the readings at the weather station in mid-April, they notice something - an immense low-pressure system incoming in just a few short days. Looks like rain on the horizon, although it isn’t immediately clear how long it will last or how much will fall - but it seems like spring has come to Beacon, and April showers bring May flowers, right?

Better get to work.

into the water: april 18-30

Thick clouds obscure the light from the stars. The air grows thick with humidity, and soon, showers begin to fall. It’s gentle at first - a pleasant sound as the drops hit the earth and tap out patterns on the roofs.

This only lasts an hour or two before the heavens seem to open up, letting loose sheets of pounding rain that make it hard to see more than twenty feet ahead of you. The sound is immense and deafening, and you find yourself shouting over the noise as you scramble to make the last of your modifications, find your friends, and take shelter.

Within days, the water falling constantly off of the edges of the rooftops has begun to dig trenches in the soil, and the river swells and overtakes its own banks. Town becomes a moving stream of water that threatens to knock you over and take you with it, and entire sections of Beacon are cut off from each other as you find yourself unable to cross the former banks of the rivers even through flight. Torches get swept away, bridges collapse, and buildings begin to crumble.

Were you prepared?

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EARLY WARNING.

( she's not in the mood for this.

after the whole debacle with the green eyes, she'd really rather not put her energy into anything that isn't about stabbing those bastards through their creepy glowing eyes. a little rain does not sound like her personal problem, which means she'd much rather not do anything about it. still, all the alarmist freakouts and weather readout panic does at some point get to her. if only because she has a place she likes, and she is not inclined to let a storm blow it all away.

so, incredibly begrudgingly, she starts with supporting the foundation. it's a little tricky to drag heavy things around the exterior without being noticed, or maybe she is noticed. she is running out of reasons to give a fuck, and does it anyway. the sandbags seem a mostly pointless gesture but she does do her part. weird how she can lift about five of them simultaneously, but she seems to operate under the idea that lifting that many at once means she doesn't have to work as fast. )

God. Fuck this. ( menial labor. she'd been so set on avoiding it, from day one... and yet here she is. she's internally battling on if she should just forget about the Landmark and let all of Beacon drown. if anyone has a particularly motivating speech to motivate the masses, she'd be a good target. )

INTO THE WATER.
carmilla will be in and around the landmark inn.

first few days of the storm.
( once the rain hits, there's not much left they can do. she spends some of her time on the main floor the first few days, sometimes trying to read but mostly just staring at the fortifications with obvious doubt in her expression. is this entire thing going to be blown out and wash away around them? she's not scared of that happening, per se... but she's also not excited about losing the only place she has managed to not completely hate.

however, if she spots someone looking like they're even entertaining going out the door, she'll close her book (there's a sexy teenage merman on the cover, so what's that about) and give an especially dark glower across the lobby. )

Looking to drown yourself on main street? There's no point going out there. ( not that she cares. she's just pointing it out. why not stay in here, where it is dry-ish, with the creepy little gacha machine that is still humming sad little songs in the corner? wait, where did that come from? and does it have a blanket over the top of it? )

middling.
( once the waters start getting especially bad, and the rain keep falling without stop... well, Carmilla starts to see the writing on the wall and fears for some of the things in the lobby and on the bottom floor. granted, she might want to be more worried about finding higher ground, but look. while it is rare to inspire her loyalty, occasionally it happens.

first things first — she scoops up the wily spirits that haunt the Landmark Restaurant. if she sees someone in the lobby, she'll shove one of the wriggly little monsters toward anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby. ) Take it upstairs and shut it up somewhere it can't annoy me, ( she says, even as she holds onto Salt Shaker as they desperately dump as much as possible in her hair.

once those little monsters are dealt with, her next priority is the bar. she will carefully and meticulously carry as much of it as she can to higher ground. how much higher? well, at some point she gives up, and ends up in the middle of a random hallway surrounded by a litter of bottles, sadly chugging at a bottle of whatever had been closest when she gave up. if anyone happens on her, she has nothing to say in her defense, though she will offer them the bottle. )

final days.
( after more than a week of constant rain, the main floor floods. a part of her considers bailing the Landmark and hoping some place is still safe. if she bothered to try, maybe she could find it. instead she finds perhaps the least dry, least safe place she could possibly go — the rooftop.

it is incredibly unapparent how long she's been up here, standing in the rain and staring at the dark sky. she's leaning against the railing and wincing up through the rain like she's looking for something, though what? hard to say. it's easy to assume she is completely out of it, however, eventually she turns her attention to the company that's found her. her eyeliner is giving up the ghost and she looks somehow younger, even with her hair and clothes completely plastered to her skin. )

Do you think it's going to stop? Or is this it? ( it almost seems biblical, this much rain. like an angry god is trying to wipe them all away. she's not exactly religious, but somehow... she's getting the sense this is more than just rain. the dead world trying to reclaim itself. )

[ With all the preparations made to reinforce the Landmark, Haein has nothing left to do but try and weather the very literal storm. Since his room's on the third floor, he's not too worried about anything springing a leak, and he occupies his time with lots of sleeping and reading. Occasionally he'll venture to the lobby to grab something to eat or drink as well as inspect the state of things, but for the most part he stays shut in his room.

It's on one of those ventures that he finds himself stopping short at the sight of someone surrounded on all sides by bottles. Haein pauses in outright confusion at first before his brain catches up with his eyes. Alcohol...?

Gods, someone had the good sense to save the booze. ]

Shit, did you carry the entire bar up here?

[ He draws closer, his gaze sweeping the floor in awe. He should've thought to do the same... The lobby's holding on for now, but there's no telling for how long, so this? This is a genius level move that Haein can respect. ]

( for the most part he stays shut in his room, huh? talk about relatable. that was exactly what Carmilla had spent her first few months in Beacon doing, and she's frankly annoyed with herself for caring enough to crawl out of her own purgatory, even for the sake of self preservation. why does she even care if this place washes away? it's not as if it matters, and yet...

she shrugs at the inquiry, raccoon eyeliner seeming especially racoonish after getting rained on. she's more or less dry, so it must have been awhile ago. )

More like half. The schnapps can get washed away for all I care. ( she eyes Haein with bland curiosity, even as she takes another glug from her bottle. it looks like ... vodka. maybe don't share with her, actually, what kind of monster puts back vodka straight... ) Who the fuck are you supposed to be?

( that's "what's your name" in cranky vampire, if Haein wasn't aware. )

[ It's like looking into a mirror... Has Haein ever decimated a handle of vodka by himself? Signs point to yes. It's probably a real problem, but he does a fairly good job keeping it under wraps.

Which is why the sight before him is all kinds of odd. He's never drank in public in a way that would catch him any attention, so finding someone seated on the floor with a bunch of alcohol surrounding them? For anyone to run into? That's more than new. ]

Haein, [ he replies easily enough. He speaks in a similarly cranky language, so the phrasing isn't all that fazing for him. In fact, he'll throw it right back. ] Who the fuck are you?

[ Despite the language, there's no heat to his words. This is his rendition of a casual conversation. ]

( it would be a real problem for a human, probably. Carmilla is not one and is currently not doing too much to impress on people that she is. she will drink this entire bottle without any sort of shame, her liver died more than three hundred years ago and if what's left of it was going to give out on her at any point, it already would have.

in her slight defense, though, she's only actively drinking one of the bottles. the rest are scattered around her like she's the middle of a highly alcoholic orbit.

it's hard to tell through narrowed dark eyes — Carmilla actually appreciates someone that doesn't flee in terror the second she bares her (metaphorical, conversational) fangs. humans can be too damn sensitive, and it's not that she cares when they immediately blip out of conversations that seem mildly aggressive, but it's way more fun to have a back and forth. )

Carmilla. Penthouse suite. That is, if this whole damn place doesn't wash away. ( hence her drinking. she likes her cushy digs. )

[ Right... Haein never really had to worry about doing damage to his organs with the way his body knew to heal itself at any sign of trouble. But after arriving in Beacon, he's found that it doesn't work that way anymore. Scratches don't heal in a matter of minutes, bruises stay put, and aches are a constant. Is this how normal human bodies are? It's honestly terrible.

But the effects of alcohol last longer, and that's a silver lining he can grab hold of. ]

It's doing a better job than I expected.

[ His tone is a bit distracted as he goes back to glancing around at all the bottles. ]

So is this a hoarding situation or are you sharing?

( yeah, that's a real pain in the ass. it took her a good week to heal from the dings and scratches (read: slashes and stabbings) she'd endured during her delightful kidnapping. and maybe that had to do with how little she had to eat around here, running on a little bit of Masaomi had been pretty miserable until the bird man managed to secure her a new stash. it's something, but she might have to make more doe eyes at the dumb kid to make sure she has a secondary stash to fall back on. )

Are you kidding? It's downright biblical out there. Like something wants to scrub every last bit of this place off the coastline. ( a little grim, Carmilla, calm down. still, she can't be the only one thinking the intensity of this storm seems at least a little supernatural in nature. the better question is, if there is some pissed off spirit with weather powers, what the hell did they do to deserve this level of ire?

as for whether she's hoarding it... well, maybe. if she gets it up to her penthouse at some point, no one should expect it to return to the bar after all this is over. still, right now she's in the middle of the hallway, and she doesn't feel like baring her teeth and defending territory that isn't really hers. so she shrugs. )

The wine is shit here, just so you know. ( it's the 1700s socialite in her that makes her so particular about her wine. )

[ Too bad Haein's in the storm's crosshairs... The town doesn't mean much of anything to him, and neither does this hotel, but his survival is what's at stake here. He's died once before, and he doesn't plan on doing it again. So as annoying and frustrating as it is to somewhat care that the hotel stays standing, it's still in his best interests.

He debates whether or not to just grab what he wants and disappear down the hall. Carmilla doesn't strike him as the conversational type, which is just fine with him, but also how is he going to get his binge on when he only has two hands to carry bottles with? ]

Consider me uncultured. I've never cared for wine.

[ Wordlessly, he settles a respectable distance away from her, sitting down to lean his back against the hallway's wall as he browses the labels. Haein isn't too picky... But he wants to start this off right.

So whiskey it is. He uncaps the bottle, then throws it back like it's water. ]

( truly a mood, Haein. only, in Carmilla's case, she has been long enough to have some attachment to the Landmark. she likes her lair on the top floor, with exactly 4 more bathrooms than she needs and all the bedding from five different beds piled into a nest on her favorite of the lot. Carmilla often has had to share her space, usually with girls her mother was trying to sacrifice, so any time she gets to be independent she enjoys it more than she should. she's gotten Attached, always a mistake, any time it happens.

she doesn't want it to be destroyed, because then she'll have to go through the effort of scraping together another space she doesn't totally hate, and that is way more effort than just keeping an existing thing going. )

There's not much room for culture here, anyway. ( no, you don't say, girl with raccoon eyeliner surrounded by an army of hard liquor. really? she does judge him a little for his bad taste, but, it's to be expected. modern appreciation of a fine vintage is extremely lacking. hell, plenty drank barely aged wine and seemed to think that was how it was supposed to be. she's prissy about her wine and refuses to change.

despite the fact she's glugging away at vodka, she does lift a perfectly arched brow at his casual intake of whiskey. that's not a usual human take... or it's an alcoholic take. she can't really judge on either front, though. ) Cheers to our next death not being by drowning. Fingers crossed on that one. ( honestly, she's already done that, for like twenty years. so really not looking forward to trying it again. )

[ It's probably an alcoholic take... But that's a matter that can be discussed never.

After taking a pull, he brings the bottle down to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. Truly the very sight of culture. He's not used to feeling the warmth spread so quickly within him, but it's actually a nice trade-off (for now) from his body working overtime to heal itself. He's really not going to complain about getting drunk at a faster rate than what he's normally accustomed to.

At Carmilla's cheers, he raises the bottle of whiskey back up. He can certainly drink to that. ]

I'll be real pissed about it if it is. I like the water.

[ And he imagines dying by drowning would have him avoiding large bodies of water afterward. It's just one of those correlations that the mind likes to make. Well... whatever. To finish off the cheers, he takes another swig. ]

( yeah, Carmilla is also not complaining that her body actually feels the liquor she chugs like gatorade after a sporting event. not to say her vampirism kept her from feeling it at all, it just took a lot of effort. and more and more the older she got. she's not big on putting effort into anything, even inebriation. it's nice to get buzzed and not really have to try half as much.

she leans her head back against the tacky wallpaper, eyes closed. yeah, nothing like drowning a little to find yourself against large bodies of water. honestly, for her, the bad memories seem to sneak up more when she's in a smaller space, over a big one. she can do a pool, or the ocean, but sometimes a bubble bath feels too close to a coffin and then there's no shaking the memory of blood filling her throat and her lungs. which sucks, because she's a victorian girl at heart. she likes a nice bath, and there's nothing like traumatic flashbacks to ruin your soak. )

Or the rain. I like the rain. ( blame the alcohol for her actually saying she likes something, tbh. usually she's not so fast and loose with fondness. even for a weather pattern. )

[ Oh, Haein likes the rain, too. It's a nice excuse to stay cooped up indoors and not have to explain his reclusive tendencies to the kinds of people who usually pester him about it.

Not that those people are with him now... Haein's the dead one.

And wow, would he really, really like to not die again. The first time had been traumatizing enough, and he still hasn't fully come around to it. In fact, it's something he'd like not to think about for as long as he can. Maybe that's why he's hitting the bottles especially hard these days. They help him forget. ]

Imagine not liking the rain, [ he says with a incredulous huff. Though, he does stop himself for a moment to consider... ] Imagine liking the rain but it ends up drowning you.

[ Whoa. He's definitely on his way to being fucked up. ]

( she laughs a little, though nothing at all is funny about that revelation, dark raccoon eyes closing as she listens idly to the drum of the rain around them. they're cocooned enough by the sandwich of floors that the dim seems so far away. almost enough to forget about it... but not quite. )

What you love always ends up hurting you. Why not rain too?

( oh, good. she's appropriately inebriated that her depressive episode is all the more obvious. great. this is amazing. what a pair these two are. )

If I get to pick, I'm not dying by drowning. Maybe... maybe by alcohol poisoning. ( she stares curiously at the bottle she's been chugging, as if she's idly wondering if she can actually potentially die of that, with her vampirism super stamina slightly dampened by being here. apparently even that thought is not enough to stop her from taking another glug from the bottle. ) But not this trash. Maybe... Cheval Blanc. 1943 was a good year. That'd be the way to go. Just... trust me.

( since he has no taste and doesn't know good wine, he'll have to take her word for it. )

[ Ouch. Haein's expression immediately darkens at the reminder of being hurt from betrayal. He's got his fair share of experience in that department, and he knows all too well the lasting sting that follows a person around afterward. People don't recover from shit like that. Haein, with his ability to hold a grudge until the end of his life and then some, doesn't recover from shit like that.

He takes another swig from the bottle he's holding, and the change in subject is a welcome one that he quickly latches onto.

There's nothing that comes to mind if he were to pick a way to go. Probably something quick and painless. Preferably something that doesn't actually kill him so that he doesn't have to die. Again. ]

You say 1943 was a good year like you actually lived during the time.

[ Which... doesn't seem likely? Carmilla appears modern enough. ]

( yes, betrayal does stick with you. it doesn't get easier, even with hundreds of years to soften the blow. there's nothing that hurts like someone you love turning away from you, and she knows from experience. she's not paying him enough attention to notice the way his expression curdles like sour milk at the mention, but if she did — she's not gonna press on it. nobody wants to talk about how they've been stabbed in the back by somebody that mattered to them. this is not a show me yours and i'll show you mine situation.

Carmilla is deathless and sometime in her first century compiled an exhaustive list of what she considered to be the worst way to die. at least she's consistent in thinking drunkenly dying in her sleep would probably be the least terrible way to go about it. )

You don't have to be born in the 1900s to have had a vintage from then, ( she explains dryly, though honestly she was alive during that time. and she'd been drinking vintages from the 1800s then. being eternally 18 and picky as hell about your wine is a real trip. ) The notes in wine open and deepen the older they are. Modern stuff never gets a chance to get that complex.

[ Haein has no idea how to appreciate a good wine from a good year. The first thing he looks for when he's browsing a selection is the percentage of alcohol to volume. The faster it can get him to where he wants to be, the better. It's a worrying fact, but nothing that had been all that pronounced until now.

He's just taking his death a little hard, that's all.

And because he has nothing better to do than sit in a hallway and drink whiskey, he actually listens as Carmilla explains. ]

Shit, [ he mutters in response, sounding a bit intrigued. ] I don't think I'd be able to tell. Isn't that something people have to train for?

[ Or... they could also drink a lot of wine. ]

( look, she gets it. vampiric constitutions being what they are, she needs to find the heavy hitters if she has any hope of feeling it. or at least she did before she ended up here. it's nice not having to chug a bottle of everclear to even get a little tipsy. though, look, it's still faster, and sometimes that's what you need.

still, there are rare occasions when she's drinking to enjoy it over drinking to feel something other than terrible, she likes wine. and ask for learning the difference between good wine, and bad wine? she's got good news for you, Haein. )

Mostly, it just involves drinking a lot of wine. ( the biggest problem is they'd need one that was any good to tell the difference between the shitty stuff and otherwise. but shh no need to point that out. instead they could just start popping corks.

this friendship is already going places. )

[ Not a bad way to go about it. It's straight-forward, it involves getting drunk... There's a lot of potential here.

And admittedly, Haein hasn't given wine much of a chance since he'd rather spend his time and money on the harder stuff. But in this place, where currency doesn't seem all that important and all he has is time, maybe wine deserves a shot or twenty.

It's too bad the selection is what it is. ]

Then I guess it's time to familiarize myself with the shitty stuff.

[ Perhaps a good thing that he can't tell? There's only going up from here, after all. ]

No time like the present.

( what else have they got to do, really? especially with the rampant flooding, they only have so much to do before they lose their mind. it seems like a perfectly reasonable use of their hours while trapped inside hoping they don't get drown or the building under their feet doesn't wash away. if anything the alcohol is bound to help in the lingering dread of a situation like this!

she lifts her vodka in the laziest cheers in the world. )

We'll have you calling out notes and fragrance and mouth feel in no time. ( is she serious? is she joking? is she drunk? she giggles, hinting she's well on her way to at least 2 of the 3. )

[ meg's only been around for a few weeks and doesn't necessarily have the attachment to it that some of the others she's met seem to. she is, however, rather acclimated to natural disasters and how to handle them, and honestly is there anything better for her to do?

she can't lift the amount that carmilla apparently can, but she's moving significantly faster, and the other woman's muttered irritation catches her attention as she starts moving to pick up another. maybe it should strike her as odd that she's carrying that much without effort, but meg hardly bats an eye at it; she's just come from somewhere where magic and extraordinary things are commonplace enough to be acknowledged, but uncommon enough that most people can't access them. ]

Need any help with those?

( look, if Meg isn't going to comment on it, Carmilla is not going to go out of her way to explain it. hell even if she was directly asked, she probably would not go out of her way to explain it. it is what it is and any time she's ever tried to make excuses for her vampiric superpowers, it's always been super obvious. better to just not, if she doesn't have to. )

Go for it, ( Carmilla says, waving a hand dismissively at the pile that she's been swearing at instead of moving. ) What's the point of this, anyway? If it's going to be as bad as everyone is saying, this is going to last us all of a day. Maybe less.

( they don't have what they need to truly protect the building. and if they did, maybe one or two of them, certainly not the whole town. it's a waste of time and a waste of energy, and Carmilla has never been great at doing things even for a great cause. it's even harder when she feels like it's ultimately pointless. )

[ vampires would actually be something new to encounter for her, though she's not unfamiliar with the concept. people eating other people isn't exactly popular and those who participate are usually doing it as a power play and not because they need human blood to survive, but that's neither here nor there.

all things considered, she'd prefer not to be eaten if she was given the choice, but being used as a juicebox sounds way better than being the holiday turkey replacement.

anyway, meg goes to retrieve a sandbag from the indicated pile, hefting it over her shoulder. ]

Maybe they'll use that time to figure out a better plan.

Edited 2020-04-24 21:20 (UTC)

( truthfully, once she connects the dots of Meg's background, she'll be interested in digging in a little deeper on what supernaturals were like in ancient greece. Carmilla is old, but not that old. even Mattie couldn't give her perspective on things before BC, and her sister wasn't much to dwell on history when she could engage in the present, anyway. Carmilla has always been fascinated by history, and specifically supernatural history — first hand perspective from someone that lived it would be fascinating, especially to a girl who finds so little in life to be interested by.

Meg wanders over to tug another sandbag from the pile, Carmilla just flumps against it, dark head falling back against the uncomfortable wall. )

Once the water is here, there's no time for a plan B. ( sorry, she's just being a negative brat, Megara. she might have a point, but, it's not helpful to sulk and complain. )

[ her perspective is especially unique, since she'd been toiling for the lord of the underworld prior to her actual death. it's still something of a culture shock to not be there now, especially since everything in beacon, while rustic, is still way more modern than she's used to. things being solely lit by torches is at least familiar.

the girl slumps against the pile instead of taking on the substantial load meg's already seen her handle, and her eyes roll as she adjusts the one she's carrying. ]

And yet, you're here helping.

[ well, not at the moment, but still. ]

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EVENT LOG: BOTTOM OF THE RIVER

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