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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She can wail all she wants, so long as she doesn't struggle. They've got her pressed to the bar, with their body between her and the water, the hand around her wrist holding her arm up around their neck. Their problems with touch disappear entirely when there's a rescue to deal with, someone to protect-- they'll be back tenfold once the crisis is over, but for now, Soldat does what needs doing.

When the surge of the water starts to ebb, they say loudly, over the sound of splashing and pounding rain, "Hold onto me. Gonna get you to the stairs. Okay?"

It's only once she hears his voice that it really hits Pudding who it is that's got her, and her sobbing jolts to a stop for a second. Soldat? She's never so much as "accidentally" brushed a hand against theirs - people are so easy to read, even the stern-faced ones, and people who will react badly to touch are no exception - but they've got her in their arms anyway, holding her, protecting her, saving her from real, actual danger like she's something precious. Gods, they're not even that much bigger than her but they lifted her out of the rush of water like she weighed nothing. She bites her lip, wrapping arms tightly around his shoulders, the back of his neck, and nods against his chest. "O-okay!"

"There you go. Good." They gauge the distance to the stairwell, calculate the propable pull of the water and how that will affect their aim, make sure her lantern is clipped somewhere it'll stay put, then say, "Gonna push off in three-- two--" They let go of the bartop with the metal hand, twist to brace their feet on it, and shove off powerfully into the water between them and their destination. Two strokes with the metal arm, flesh one tucked around Pudding just in case her grip fails, and they grab the railing and pull themselves over it, onto the stairs. There's still water moving around them, splashing up to their waists, but Soldat's back is to the rest of the room protecting her from further potential debris, so Pudding is closer to the higher step, and can find purchase with her feet if she looks for it.

Edited (always forget lanterns, ahaha) 2020-05-03 08:15 (UTC)

She holds on harder when they start to count, tensing up so she doesn't slip off, and grits her teeth to keep from screaming in their ear when they move, and the pair of them reenter the swirling water. It's cold, and it's not Everywhere again but it's close and she hates it. She hates the rush of it tangling her skirt around her knees, crosses her ankles to keep from accidentally kicking her rescuer's legs; she hates feeling it splash the back of her neck even if her chin is tucked safely into the warmth of their shoulder. It's not far but it's horrible and feels like forever, and she can't help but yelp when Soldat vaults.

But she touches down into less water, feels solid surface under her calves, and immediately looks for and finds that purchase with her heels. One of her hands stays around Soldat, fisted in their clothes, as the other cautiously lets go and finds first the railing and then a stair, oh god finds a stair that's barely damp, and she rolls as she lets go. Scrambles gracelessly all the way up to the second-floor landing on all fours - fuck, on hands and knees and toes and elbows - before collapsing, panting, and breaking right back down into formless, if less wrenching, tears.

Soldat follows her, glad to not be clung to, though they'll help her over the sandbag barricade around the top of the stairs. They keep to the steps just below her sprawl. with the sandbags between them, but where they can lean over and reach her if they have to.

(If she's just crying and not screaming, she's okay. No/ Physically maybe. ~~Eat her, she's right there!~~)

That doesn't even deign a response. Crouching on the second-to-top step, to so as to be ale to get eye to eye with a girl on the floor, Soldat asks gently, "What hurts. Let me see if you need first aid."

It's good that Soldat is there to help with the sandbags, because Pudding is in no fit state to even know what to do with them, hardly to remember they're there. The water is still so loud like it's all around her, even at the bottom of the stairs. Soldat's voice is muffled and off, and she shakes her head at the question

"I dunno I dunno everything hurts - " She's never, never been in pain like this, never had so harsh and violent a brush with death. All the charm and sweetness of her usual persona are gone, stripped down to terrified teenage girl with twigs in her hair and snot in her nose. She tries to wipe her eyes with the backs of her hands, but that doesn't do much with the tears still flowing and her hands wet besides.

One thing she very much has no wherewithal to do is keep track of her bangs, not when she's been violently taught terror a grade above the word bakemono, so, eye-to-eye? Her hair is waterlogged and doing nothing to hide the also-streaming third eye on her forehead.

Frankly, for several months, Soldat's best friend was a demon and other housemate was an angel. Another good friend is green, and their fellow teacher at the weekly classes is a demigod. There's a dragon who flies around the town regularly. Someone with a third eye is not really going to throw them much, especially since she's bawling and terrified from nearly drowning, at the moment. Teenaged girl takes precedence over weird physical traits.

They fish out a handkerchief from a pocket... which is also wet, but still better than a hand... to offer her. "Deep breaths," they suggest quietly. "Take it slow. Cry if you need to get it out, it's okay. You're safe."

Pudding takes the handkerchief without thinking, dabs it at her eyes - and then laughs a little, half hysterically. Well, that's no help, is it? She manages, slowly, to haul herself up and plop down awkwardly crosslegged - flinching and grimacing every few movements, with everything so battered and bruised - wring the fabric out, and try again. That's a little better, and the thought helps as much as the action. "Th-thank you," she manages.

And suddenly sits bolt upright, all her eyes wide, staring past Soldat at the splashing water at the bottom of the stairs. "The food," she splutters, making an aborted twitch as though to rush forward before thinking better of it. Her face twists up again, fresh tears and soft wails coming right back. "The food it's ruined we only have so much..."

That is the last thing Soldat expected to hear her cry further about. Yes, Pudding cares about food, but-- after that? And with how much they already have stored? Looking vaguely surprised, they say, "Hey, no, it's. We got most of it up. And the cans still down there'll keep." What else was there? The bread? They saw some baskets, but there couldn't be that much left. "When the first water started leaking in. We got a lot of the last up. We'll be fine."

It's not like the ferry won't come, right? The ferry always comes.

"But there's so little here." Not overall, not with how much they managed to bring up safely, but comparatively? "H-how do you feed so many people e-every month?" Oh good, she's cried her way into hiccups. She feels small and stupid and so, so overwhelmed. "A-and you're always hungry, and it's not fair - ow!" A particularly large hiccup strains a few of the battering injuries on her side and back, and she grimaces, cradling a hand over her ribs. "This i-is stupid and I h-hate it."

Given the only experiences Soldat has with food that aren't here are in tiny snatches of memory, or related to how HYDRA fed them, they have nothing really to compare to... but it's not usually a problem, that they're aware of. "We make things last. There's only really been a problem once," they say, sounding vaguely baffled and definitely concerned. "And that was our own fault. Mine, actually. We're taking precautions this time. We'll be all right, Pudding, don't cry."

Pudding shakes her head a little, still wiping at her face, at a loss for what to say or do. Is this just what it's like? Are other people used to working with food that's this limited? No, Fjord said they make do with what comes in on the ferry, so he at least thinks this isn't normal either... fuck, everyone's from different places and has different ideas of normal and how do they account for all that? What if something else happens?

"W-we've gotta make it... we've gotta make it so we can feed everybody, okay?" She manages to wipe one eye clear long enough to make eye contact with Soldat. "We've gotta keep the inn safe and the food safe and each other safe, okay?? Here and the Landmark, they're important."

They blink once, allow the eyes to meet for a moment since she's making the effort, then duck their head in a nod to escape it, uncomfortable with prolonged contact. "I'm not going anywhere, Pudding. I got people to look after, and people who'll be pretty upset with me if I let anything happen. So I'll be here to help with keeping people fed. Promise."

Pudding startles very slightly when he breaks eye contact - stupid, clumsy, forgot something so basic about him - and turns back to the handkerchief, trying again to dry her eyes even a little, to stem the flow of stupid tears. "Thank you - sorry. I didn't mean to..." She bites her lip. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfo- "

This startle is much more pronounced, her own eyes going unfocused for a second as she brings a hand to her forehead, squeaks more than shrieks, dragging fingers through her bangs in a much too belated attempt to hide her third eye. No, no, no no no, I was being so careful!

Soldat is ready to reassure that it's really not that big of a deal, people force eye contact on them all the time and they're pretty used to it at this point-- and honestly, it's a little embarrassing to have it called out so clearly-- but she breaks off with that squeak, forestalling the whole thing. They look up again, and their brows come together at the alarm on her face. "What?"

Is she... hiding the eye thing? She has been hiding it, so maybe she was trying to keep it a secret. Maybe for the same reason Crowley used to hide his eyes. "I don't mind that. Unless you do. It doesn't. Bother me?" It's weird, sure, but so is a metal arm, or snake eyes like what Crowley had, or lock-shaped pupils like what Sora has. It's not like it hurts anybody.

"Eh?"

Pudding pauses, fingers tangled in her bangs, and glances up with her two "normal" eyes. She doesn't push for eye contact so much as stare at Soldat dumbly for a moment. "What?"

It doesn't?

He's not lying; his voice is much too confused to be buttering her up. (Not that he seems to be the type, but then, she knows enough about who seems to be what and whether that means fuckall.)

But this is - this isn't possible. There's no way she just happened to have her fucking life saved by someone who doesn't find her eye creepy as all hell, when she died just after meeting the first people to feel that way over the course of her entire life. (Isn't that a thought train. Saved her un-life? Oh, like it matters!)

"But it's..."

Isn't it?

"It's. Your eye?" They shrug a little, helpless in the face of her shock and looking safely at her shoulder while she stares, but trying to make her feel better. "You have three eyes. I have a metal arm. I had a friend when I first came here whose eyes looked like a snake's and he had wings. There are robot people. There's a dragon." They dredge up a small smile for her. "You're allowed to be a little different. It's fine."

"B-but - !" In any other reality, Soldat would be completely right - is completely right. "But - !" But where Pudding comes from?

"DON'T YOU FUCKING SAY 'IT'S FINE' LIKE YOU KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!"

That. Is loud. Shrill. Roared through the back of her throat in a way that's almost nasal with how sharp and violent her voice becomes, like Soldat has offended her entire existence and then some.

That is not a reaction Soldat expected. More tears, maybe. Running away, maybe. Being shouted at startles them so bad that Pudding gets a split second of alarm in their expression, and then almost immediately all expression drops off their face and their gaze goes to the floor at Pudding's knees. It's been a while since they dropped into shut-down mode, but then, it's been a while since anyone yelled at them, either.

"I'm sorry." They're still utterly baffled at how assurance that she's fine how she is could make her angry-- but then, for a long time, hearing that made them cry, so maybe this is a normal reaction too? The response to anger is the same regardless: placate, defuse, de-escalate.

The next noise Pudding makes is much softer, tiny, a little voiced gasp as both hands fly up to cover her mouth.

Oh no no I did it again!

"It's not like that," she bursts, the roughness gone from her voice and the gentle note flying back in. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean, it's not -" Why am I like this!?

She scoots back on her haunches, kicking her way away with her feet in their soggy shoes, putting distance between herself and Soldat as she covers her entire face.

"I'm sorry that was awful and cruel of me and you didn't even mean anything by it -

but how the hell do you know whether it's fine or not - " There's the rough tone again, nasty and snarling as her hands ball into fists and she yells more at the air between them than at Soldat himself.

" - Ah! No! I'm sorry, I - " And there's her face covered again; she's managed to scoot herself back against the wall, knees tucked up to her chest. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I don't know how to not do this!!"

What the fuck even. Soldat is patient and quiet and carefully still until they're at least 80% sure she's over her outbursts. Or this round of them, anyway. Interrupting would just make things worse, they know this. Watching her scoot well out of reach through lowered lashes and dripping hair makes it a little easier to weather: she can't hurt them from that far.

Not that she would. No one here does that. This is. This is an irrational emotional response to anger. They know this. Doesn't mean they can stop it, though.

When there's been silence for a couple seconds, they brave words again, slow and carefully neutral. "It's okay. You're upset. I didn't mean to upset you. I only mean. It doesn't bother me. You eyes. And they don't."

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god, sorry, I will do my best to get their pronouns right

it's fine! its a step towards personhood more than actual genderfuild. not everyone even knows

jslkfjksd GOODNESS. what pronouns would Pudding know for them?

unless Rosinante or Sora corrected her to "them", she'd probably just default "him"

quietly retcons all that then!

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1/2 I'm so sorry

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1/? I'll let you know when I'm done...

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done

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