logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: HUNGER AND THIRST

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: HUNGER AND THIRST

characters: everyone.
location: around beacon.
date/time: september 19-30.
content: some new friends - or enemies? - seek offerings, and offer something in return
warnings: memories may involve violence, death, grotesque body horror. please cw as appropriate.

pining for the things i could have been.

Recently, the forest spirits have been agitated. The crooners, those that remain, chatter noisily and strut with purpose. The lunch lady hunches over their station and holds claws to their face, miming peering through dense brush. The skunk judge murmurs about the ones from the countryside. Word has passed beyond the reaches of Beacon's light - there are people in town, and they are mostly good this time. These lantern-bearers have lasted longer than most. They may even want to help.

Seems these spirits will have to see these people with their own eyes, and test those rumors themselves.

For the first two prompts below, please feel free to NPC spirits yourselves. However, if you prefer, you may post your toplevel under the MOD-CONTROLLED SPIRITS header and we will do our best to drop in and out with interactions as time permits. These are not intended to be one-on-one threads with spirits written by the mods, and you will likely not always want to wait for a mod reply at every step and may find yourself doing some minor NPCing all the same, but we will do our best to keep up with you and your thread partners who tag in!

In that header, please specify whether you want a friendly or antagonistic spirit, or if you want a surprise, you can always say "surprise me!"

ALL MY JOYS.

You come home to find spirits in your wardrobe, with socks on their hands and pants tied in daisy chains from wall to wall. Abruptly they squeak and dive for cover, or crash through windows in their attempts to escape. They steal things that are yours, only for you to find them days later, floating in the lake or buried in the greenhouse. Can you chase them down alone? Maybe you need some help.

Not all spirits are so troublesome. Maybe you turn up at The Landmark kitchen to find that one spirit has already gotten the coffee pot started - well, except it has poured instant cheese powder from a box of easy mac into the pot. But at least it's trying to help! Maybe you can show it how the machine works. Others wind up at Solis's labs where they thumb rapidly through books and peck at computer keys, and more than one takes samples from the shelves and shoves them in your face. Did you need this alien foot in a jar? No?

A pack of roving... branches? crawls around town. They have no mouths with which to speak, but instead vibrate and clack their many tangled limbs together. They grow in number and size, making a thicket of live wood that bars you from a doorway, completely fills up a section of the tunnels under the town - or makes an impromptu and convenient bridge, if you think that climbing on someone's limbs is appropriate. Is it?

Largely these spirits seem neutral, even benign. Confused. They might ask for your help, or try their best but they struggle to communicate even more than the usual forest spirits do. They have no sense of what your personal space is, though, and more than one will reach for a lantern to bring it closer and investigate. Awfully uncomfortable, so what are you going to do about it?

ALL MY GRIEF.

At any moment, the above interactions can go south fast if you meet the wrong spirit. The one who took your lantern? Decides to run off with it, leaving you gasping for air and with very few options if you are to survive. The branches constrict and crush you, or drop you suddenly in the river. Are they here to harm you, or just to test your limits?

Others will be malevolent no matter what. The scrapyard dog snarls and pulls at its chain as it watches the thing that stalks and hunts. A small herd of soft, wooly spirits crouch low to the ground, whimper and pant as if sick or starving, only to turn on you with vicious teeth once you seem invested in assisting. Better hope you have someone nearby who can help you fend them off. Or is it better to try to distract them and make an escape? Will they be convinced to stand down, or will they wear your face as a new mask?

ALL MY BONES.

You are directed by the local spirits to the dense curtain of trees where torchlight fades to darkness. The ones you are familiar with hang back, but nod for you to continue ahead alone, or with a friend or two if you prefer. The more people who go together, the stronger the connection - as indicated by the spirits grabbing at your hands and linking them together, and giving a very serious nod. Bring your offerings whether they be food, stories, gifts, or memories of your own, and hope they are sufficient. Place them on the forest floor, or hold them out to the air. The new spirits will find you, they promise; this is not a trick. Make yourselves comfortable on the damp, mossy ground and wait for the sound of footsteps in the leaf litter.

For this prompt, you are welcome to describe your arrival to the site if you like, but all that is required is a comment with the names of the people involved, and the offerings you bring. Characters can make multiple offerings and visit multiple spirits as many times as they wish.

Afterward, a spirit will lead you back to Bonfire Square and encourage you to tell others what you've learned from your new guests. No fair keeping the goods to yourself alone!

LEFT IN THE LONG NIGHT.

After connecting with spirits, you are led back to the bonfire, to recover and recuperate from the joining of hearts, minds, and memories. You will find yourself weary, in a way the flames seem to help. The glow of the campfire is comforting, tempting. It might be difficult not to fall asleep or try to draw others into enjoying the comforting lull of crackling firewood along with you.

The weariness does fade, after some time around the fire. You're not the only one resting from the experience in the glow of firelight — and there's likely things you've seen to share. Ideas and memories and pieces and figments of past to fit into place like puzzle pieces. Now is a good a place as any to share it, isn't it?

Lastly, those that approach a spirit in tandem will find an unseen consequence. A link between them that isn't so easily shaken by a short stay at the fireside. Characters will find that feelings and sensations seem to move from one to the other without warning. Fear, anger, mourning, resentment, joy, love. Touching makes the link stronger, but even distance isn't enough to stop it. Did you want to share night terrors, even a mile apart? Or to taste coffee, even though you're in the middle of brushing your teeth? Well, too bad. The effects will last for two weeks, whether you like it or not.

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A nice few silent seconds pass before-- Oh. Oh, Soldat.

"Hey," she murmurs, tinged with what would be a laugh if only for levity's sake, "C'mon, don't go getting all sad on me now. Hardly one hug in." A press into his side, in lieu of a nudge. "Only happy tears here."

There's the sniff, a hasty and almost apologetic one, and they bring up the flesh hand to wipe at their face. "It's not. It's. I." Pause, regroup, sniffle again. There's a confused tangle of relief, love, guilt, even a little anger. "I wanted this. Over and over. But I couldn't. I can't have it. I." Hell, they don't even quite know what they're saying, only that it's not necessarily bad tears.

"It's not your fault, you're up against a lot. I can't imagine how frustrating it must be, but-- well, we'll enjoy this while it's here, right? And when we can't I still understand." She's never felt any less cared for, really. He's working through narrow avenues. No holding it against him. Wrist hugs aren't nothing.

Gingerly one arm reaches across his chest to pat his opposite side.

"Just don't want you sad. Anything else is fine, still love you."

Soldat is tempted to whine that it's not fair, but hell, maybe it is. It's not like they're not a murder machine, with lots of murders behind them. Being unable to accept comfort and give affection through touch is probably pretty fair. But that doesn't mean they have to like it.

They drop their cheek against her hair and try to slow the shaking, ignoring the tears for now. She's happy. She's content. They're going to just absorb that, try to balance it against the fear. "I love you, too. I just wish. I could do this more."

"Give yourself time. You've done a lot and by comparison it's been pretty quick compared to what you're trying to get past." Have a nuzzle while she talks. "You've got good reasons to be nervous about it. Probably just gonna take awhile."

"They're shitty reasons," Soldat says, a bit thick with the continued tears. "I know you won't hurt me. None of you will. Why am I still afraid."

"Other people did. Some part of you's just trying to keep safe, and it's not wrong to do that. Just doesn't know you are safe yet. Fear doesn't always make sense anyway."

It's some doing, but she manages to slide an arm between his back and the couch, gently rubbing between his shoulder blades.

"It'll be okay. We've got this now at least."

They sway a little with the movement, despite being so much heavier than she is that she probably couldn't move them at all unless they wanted her to, and make a hiccuping little sob. Then they shift all at once, turning to face her more on the couch, and duck to bury their face in her shoulder, both arms coming to cling around her. Apparently they're going all out, if they've got this for now. They're going to have a good memory of being held, goddammit, for as long as they can manage it.

It's surprising, but nothing she isn't poised to readily accept. Another arm curls around his waist while her hand shifts from shoulders to hair.

"Cry while you need it, and when you're done I want big, slow breaths." He knows already, but verbal guidelines might take one of many invisible stressors off. "I've got you, long as you want.

Their feet wind up on the couch, which means she's got an entire supersoldier practically in her lap, face buried in her collarbone, shoulders hitching and hands dug into the back of her shirt. It only lasts about five minutes before Soldat's abruptly letting go and scooting back into the arm of the couch, but it's still five minutes.

They hug their legs with the metal arm, a little barrier between them, and wipe at their cheeks with the flesh one. "Sorry. I. That wasn't bad. Until it was."

"It's okay, Soldat." Really. Of all people, she doesn't need justification. It was terrific, and she's happier for it. There's no forcing advance. It was progress, and that's something. "It was nice, you're nice. Perfect, for here and now. She smiles, as reassuring as she can manage. "No sorries."

They drop their face onto their knees with a shuddery little sigh. "Wonder how long this. This thing between us all. Is gonna last." (What, planning a repeat performance, buddy? Shut up, Sarge. Why? I've got an audience now.)

"No clue," she admits with a sigh. And then a smile, because - well, there's no disliking Sarge. "Is it uncomfortable for you?"

Everyone sharing fear as they are, it wouldn't be a shock. But it'd be unpleasant. She'd feel bad.

Soldat considers that. "Not. Really. I'm used to not understanding what goes on in my head. And some of you are. Restful." Not all of them. Misty mostly is, Merwen is. Javert sometimes. Reiju just feels like themselves. Pudding is not, Pudding is stressful, but Pudding isn't in there all the time, and really given what she feels, they'd rather know what goes on in that pretty little head than not. Also, after Pudding's warnings, they're never, ever going to actually say that out loud.

"Worst is sharing the Bottomless Pit with people, I think," they add. "Once everyone knew about them. Sarge isn't so bad. Asset doesn't say much. But the Pit is awful."

"Can't say I love knowing it's been in there the whole time," she agrees, eyes dropping to the chewing pendants. "Guess you've got better defenses off the bat, but I'd go nuts with this 24/7." So many napkins wasted. So many oddly chompable rocks. Not a relaxing way to live.

"Sarge is nice though." He himself is nice, but that seems a given. His influence isn't on the whole comfortable, but connection to him is comforting.

"I. Did kind of eat a lot of paper. And leaves. And gun oil one time, that was gross." They look a little sheepish about it. "Mostly I try to have real food on me all the time now. The pendants really help, too, promise."

(Hey, I'm not nice, I'm an asshole. I think you can be both. Yes. Even the Asset agrees. Ugh.)

"Sarge is a sweetheart," she replies, only biting back some of her grin. Such a charmer, an easy, toothless tease. "Pit's the only part worth hating, really. Long as I work through that I'll manage fine."

(No. What? No. Hell if I know, pal.)

"It won't last forever, anyway," Soldat promises, giving their face a final swipe with a sleeve, the tears finally done with. "Nothing like this ever does. You can keep the pendants until then. If you want." The others haven't seemed to have as much trouble with the eating thing, or at least not that anyone's admitted to.

"Long as you're serious about not minding." No leaving him at risk, not if she can help it. Especially after crying, just feels cruel. "We might need to figure out a system, do something fun nightly. The constant jitters'll drive me nuts if there aren't breaks."

"Well. Almost everyone in this house is in my head." They sound maybe a little wryly amused at that. "Might as well drag us all together to do something. Might make bluffing harder if we play poker." Soldat is normally fairly good at bluffing. When one has lots of practice at showing no emotion whatsoever on one's face, it tends to be pretty useful.

(They just don't tend to do it much, because most of the time it doesn't occur to them.)

"Somehow I don't much picture Javert a gambling type," she drawls, though she's clearly on the verge of a laugh. "But I wouldn't be opposed to trying, that's as good an idea as any."

Failing that, possibly some kind of group cooking session. Some mindless team activity, something comforting.

"Normally we play chess, but I think I could convince him, maybe," Soldat says with a lop-sided little smile. Then, though he's not sure if Misty will approve exactly, since they know she does tend to get jealous sometimes, they say, "I. I told him I loved him, too. He said he was proud of me, and so I. Just said it. We were both weepy messes."

"I'm glad. Proud of uou."

Not much else to be said of it, really; she can only glean an inkling of its significance to Javert, and Soldat is far enough along leaning too into praise would feel condescending. But she smiles, and the warmth is genuine.

"Keep that up, the openness."

She's not upset. They don't think she's upset. Soldat unfolds a little to reach over for her wrist. "I'm trying. I haven't forgotten what I promised. I've got to get better." They might be equating "getting better" with being less afraid, which is at least part of it, so they're... sort of on the right track.

"And you're doing amazing. Always." She barely manages to turn her arm in time to clasp his in return, one gentle, uniform application of pressure. "They're big steps, I hope you're giving yourself a little break after. Take time to breathe, let me gush a little, maybe."

Because they're anything but insignificant steps. He's done so shockingly, fantastically well, he deserves to bask.

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