EVENT LOG: A GIRL, A BOY, AND A GRAVEYARD

[nextnightmods]

EVENT LOG:
A GIRL, A BOY, AND A GRAVEYARD

characters: everyone.
location: Helix Station; Solis Labs; Bonfire Square
date/time: February 14-22
content: Preparations are underway for what may be Beacon's final battle, while remaining forest spirits do their best to spread love and cheer. See details here.
warnings: n/a, mark threads as needed

Much remains to be done, and time is of the essence. Somewhere in the darkness to the east, Beacon's greatest threat to its remaining life moves. Will you be ready when the time comes? Will you have made time to let those around you know how much this second shot at life has meant?

helix station

Weaver bounces from group to group, checking in on people. "Anything you need help with? Let me know," she offers - whether that's a hand to hold some part you're trying to weld, or assistance operating the portal to pull in some specialty materials.

You have all the station's resources at your disposal, and backup and escape plans to make. Which is the priority, though? Is it something you even all agree on?

And what is that low, barely-audible buzzing drone? It pulses in and out of detection, settling into your skull. The station's machinery keeping the heat on and the air moving have their own constant drone, but this is different.

Feel free to address Weaver in your replies if you like. Note that any remaining spirits in the station (such as the large one wearing corpses, or any that might have turned up later) have become less-predictable and prone to lashing out in aggression when they're not trying to hide from you.

solis labs

Clara busily retrieves documents and samples as any are requested. While she doesn't know how to work a computer, she does generally understand the file system and is eager to point you to where you might read up on previous portal and lantern tests, find coordinates for worlds that might host key materials, or just enjoy some vintage poetry in the library upstairs.

A pair of badger-like spirits snuffles through the labs, eyeing you and your friends nervously. They don't seem much interested in conversation, but they will stick their noses in anything - your drinks, your sleeve, your ear if you're not careful, and their noses are cold.

If two or more people head outside together for a few minutes, they'll hear a stilted growl and a flash of green eyes in the trees - and then an attempt at a word.

h̶͈͝ẻ̴̢̛͖l̷̛̜̝̉p̴̓͝ͅ

Note that as stated on the ooc post, engaging with the green-eyed spirit carries the risk of violence and death, as always. Do so at your own risk.

stick by me and i will stick by you

There may be defenses to be built, weapons handling to teach to those few remaining who want to learn to defend themselves better, and general plans to make. When the World Eater arrives, who will be on the front lines to try and delay it while the bomb is made ready? Who will defend the rest from any spirits bent on following its instructions to slaughter every one of you? If things go south, how will you make your way to a portal to escape, and who will operate it?

Meanwhile, spirits hand out their cookies with chirps of encouragement. It's not all doom and gloom, they insist - they believe in you! And they want you all to believe in each other, to feel a little lighter and happier, if only just for a short time. The messages on their heart-shaped cookies (the whole candy heart concept didn't quite land right, it seems) are all a little odd and who knows what they do, but it all seems to be in good fun.

Feel free to decide for yourselves what the heart effects are, how long they last, if you can have more than one at a time - so long as they generally follow the ideas on the details post.

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Comments

II dat sarge

[callada]

"What's awful?"

Rosinante has to ask, of course, when he overhears. He's just walked in from outside, and takes a second to strip off his hat and shake snow off of it outside before closing the door. In the other hand he has a few cookies all gathered together - because they're mostly harmless, some are crispy enough to not be much like bread at all, and he's pretty sure Law hasn't tried one yet and won't without serious teasing and convincing.

He walks over to where Soldat is sitting, apparently up for hanging out a bit rather than heading straight up the stairs.

[worthallthis]

"This!" He waves a hand at the papers in front of him, at the dim too-quiet common room, the World Eater across the lake. "Fuckin' exhausting, being out here. Soldat's better at this shit than I am." (You're a sniper, too, Sarge, you ought to know patience.) "Shut up, Soldat, I can hate paperwork if I want to."

Sarge has clearly given up on even pretending he's not Soldat, or even talking to them. There's so few of them left, and most of them know already, and it's just not worth it.

[callada]

Wow. Well. Hm.

Soldat has more than once alluded to the other voices in their head, but Rosinante isn't sure if he's ever been so blatantly addressed by one. He glances at their lantern, just in case it looks off somehow, but if there's anything at fault with it he can't tell from here.

"You're not wrong," he says with deliberate calm while he tries to work out what's going on. "It's tough here. I gotta ask - if you're not Soldat, who are you?"

[worthallthis]

Aw, geez. "Sorry, I'm Sarge. Uh, the Sergeant, I think is what they called me when they explained the whole... not alone in here thing?" Sarge's memory is not quite as prodigious as Soldat's, and they'd only been kind of listening in on that conversation, anyway. "Ate one of those cookies, and now I'm stuck on the outside. Whatever you want to call it when I've got the body."

[callada]

"Sarge," he repeats, then nods. Yeah, one of the ones Soldat mentioned, one he's heard tiny glimpses of here and there.

Does he introduce himself? Is that ridiculous? It's still Soldat, really, right? Just an aspect of them that has some sort of life of their own? Well, since Sarge seems aware that Soldat has explained before, then Sarge probably knows who he is, too. For neither the first nor probably the last time, Rosinante finds himself wishing they had a doctor here who knew more about the workings of the mind, rather than just a book on PTSD.

"Nice to meet you," he settles on, and gathers up the cookies in his left hand so he can offer a shake with his right. This still feels sort of ridiculous but he's so far out of his element that he just doesn't know how else to react. "I'm Rosinante, but it sounds like you already know that."

[worthallthis]

"Yeah, I'm around most of the time, I see what they see," Sarge shrugs, slumping back in the chair and looking kind of tired. He's really not used to being the one up front for so long. (I'm sorry, Sarge. Ain't your fault, buddy.) "I know who everybody is. And most of what's going on. So I know this shit is important, I just. Hate paperwork, that's all."

He stops himself before he edges straight into whining about all the other things he can't really do, either. "Maybe I should take a damn break until this wears off," he mutters.

[callada]

That funny little commonality breaks through his confusion, and he laughs suddenly, then takes a seat there at the table on the floor.

"Paperwork, the one real fear of all field operatives. I do not miss it," he says as his chuckling subsides, then pockets two of the cookies so he can bite into one (WOOF HOOFHOOF, he notices briefly). Why not, they've all been harmless enough so far. "Dying probably got me out of a mountain of the stuff, all piled up on my desk for years just waiting for my return."

[worthallthis]

Sarge watches with a knowing little smirk. "Better tell me what those do, when you eat 'em," he prods amiably. "Or tell Soldat, hopefully I'll be done with this shit by then. I did way too much of this in the war. It's not like Steve was ever gonna handle it, and I was 2IC of the unit, basically, so." He waves the flesh hand expansively at all the papers on the table.

[callada]

He gives a sympathetic nod as he swallows the bite of the cookie. "Can't tell if it's worse when you've got people working under you or when you're working solo. Keeping track of rookies is a mess, but at least the higher-ups don't expect those kids to do everything right."

Abruptly, he notices a tingling in his fingers that soon races up his arms and across his skin. When he looks at the hand holding the cookie, he startles enough to bang his knee up into the underside of the table. If he didn't know better, he'd say his hand is made of water - he can see the waves and ripples forming the shape of his fingers and palm. He can't see past his sleeve, but if he had to guess, he's pretty sure his face will look like that too shortly - a sea with eyes and a nose and mouth.

[worthallthis]

Sarge stares a little. "Okay, that is fucked up, what the hell man," he says after a moment. "You're fucking. Water. Or something."

[callada]

While Rosinante isn't exactly over the shock of it yet, he's also quickly fascinated, and stares in awe as he turns his hand and as the waves ripple and swirl. And then he laughs.

"Cool! I'm not water, if I was water I'd probably be unconscious on the floor right now," he says with a grin. "Maybe this is what being a logia user is like."

It's not, and he knows that too, but he's apparently getting a kick out of the effect, knowing that so far all the cookies have been temporary and harmless.

[worthallthis]

"You know I don't got any idea what a logia us, right?" Sarge points out. But if Rosinante isn't disturbed, if it's not hurting him, he's going to try not to be disturbed, too.

Even if that is extremely weird.

He holds out the flesh hand, kind of tentatively, in Rosinante's direction. "What's it feel like?"

[callada]

That's a good question. He first pokes at his own hand with the other, and watches the waves crash and collide, but all he feels is his own very normal human skin. But maybe it's different if it's someone else? So he rests his hand on the table in easy distance of Soldat (Sarge, he supposes, actually).

"Doesn't feel any different to me," he comments, and Sarge will find the same. The water effect is purely visual, and contained within the normal shape of his own limbs. "A logia is a type of devil fruit where I'm from. You know how I can silence things? Logia fruit users have powers that make them into other things. A water logia would be able to actually be made of water if they wanted," he explains, then frowns. "Except maybe not water. Dunno if that's possible. But I know a guy made of light, for example."

And how exactly would the Vice Admiral fare here? Beacon isn't a place for a person made of light, it occurs to him.

[worthallthis]

He does poke gently at the offered forearm, himself, metal finger first, then flesh one. "Yeah, does seem to be you, still. I guess it's some kinda illusion?" He can't even imagine being made of water, or light, or anything like that. "Sounds like your silence thing is a lot more useful, though. I mean unless that light would actually work here."

[callada]

"It's a hell of a set of powers where I'm from. I've never seen him in action though, just heard stories. But here? Might be worthless. At least I can make stuff quiet."

Which he says with a chuckle. Oh, no, it's never been the most amazing ability, it doesn't have the offensive power of Baby's weaponry and can't let him swing from cloud to cloud as if flying like his brother can with his strings. But here, he's used it to block out the sounds of the Parade, to hide from other aggressive spirits, or just to get a solid night of sleep when he needs it most. A far cry from infiltration and theft of high-level secrets, but it's really nice not to have to do that here. He has enough stress to deal with.

"Law's got the best one. I know you've seen the stuff he can do." But rather than sound jealous of that, even jokingly so, he just smiles and watches the waves in his hand.

[worthallthis]

Offensive power can be dealt in other ways. Making things silent is much more valuable. Says the guy with a goddamn noisy metal arm and combat boots. (Who manages to move quietly anyway, thank you very much. Yeah, yeah. Still!) "We don't even know the extent of what that guy can do. Seems like every time we go out explorin' he can do somethin' new," Sarge agrees with a wry expression.

[callada]

"Like I said, the best one." It's fondness in his voice for sure, but also just a hint of pride. Law didn't find that fruit on his own, after all.

"It's worth billions, where we're from. It's really a surgeon's set of tools, all things probably best used in life-saving operations, but when you're as creative as he is, you find new ways to repurpose all of it. Makes me wonder what I could do with mine if I had half the brain he has."

somehow missed this one when replying to the other one yeesh :|

[worthallthis]

That's something to think about. "Maybe move the bubble around to silence other people," Sarge suggests after a moment, considering. "Like what if it don't gotta be stuck round you, specifically?" He sits back again, scratches at his hair-- Soldat's hair, ugh (Wish you'd let me cut that shit. No way.)-- and adds. "So wait, how is that teleporting thing he does related to being a surgeon? The cutting I get, but not that."

rip

[callada]

He shrugs rather than doing something like correcting or explaining. He can do more than the bubble, for sure, it's just awfully convenient. And sidestepping the explanation is no longer about secrecy here, really - more that he just still doesn't like to talk about himself and what he can do as if that's somehow important. He showed off a bit for Law for fun when Law was still a kid, but with adults it strikes him as bragging.

"Think of the space around him as his operating room. He can control how large an area that is depending on what he needs to do, but within that room he has full control, like a surgeon with all his tools and equipment. Imagine being a surgeon that, instead of having to ask for a scalpel, could just bring one to hand? That's what he's doing, it's just that he can do that with people, not just scalpels."

Re: rip

[worthallthis]

Ugh scalpels. Sarge's reaction to doctor terminology is better than Soldat's, but it's not totally gone. Surgeon is easier to say, but scalpels will always be the same. Ugh.

He shakes his head. "That really seems like overkill. But hey, it's good for us, so no complaining. Means we get all those benefits when we're looking for shit or fighting things."

[callada]

Hell, he's not going to complain on overkill. Law deserves to wield that fruit's power, and uses it wisely. That's far more than he can say about any of those who might have been its intended recipients - himself included, knowing his likely fate if it had been granted to him instead, as his brother had desired.

It could have been his, but he'd rather steal it for Law any day.

"Yeah. I'm glad he has it. And now I guess there must be a new one back home somewhere too. It altered his lineage factor and that carried over to here, but he... They regrow. Only one of each fruit exists at a time, normally."

Much easier to talk about himself being dead than Law. It's true, and the realist side of him has come to accept that, but it's hard to talk about out loud still.

[worthallthis]

"Maybe says somethin' interesting about your world that this singular, super-special magic power is for surgeons," Sarge notes. "Not for blowin' shit up or controlling people's minds, for helping people. Or are there other singular, super-special magic powers up for grabs, like that, which are worse?"

[callada]

"There are lots, yeah. His is one of the most impressive, but there are fruits that allow people to cause earthquakes, to control magma, to transform into creatures that only exist in mythology otherwise. And people can do a lot with something that sounds insignificant if they try hard enough."

He frowns, debating with himself a moment before continuing on that last point.

"My brother's powers are over string. Sounds useless, right? But he can use them like fine blades, he can turn people into his puppets and control their actions, and from what Law has told me, he's... awakened his power, is what we call it. He can turn anything into string, rather than just creating them. He can level entire cities that way. Took over a whole kingdom and slaughtered hundreds, maybe thousands of people," he explains solemnly.

With his own powers he could probably do something similar. The thought has occurred to him at times recently, in talking with Will about how to actually use his abilities. To calm something is to stop the vibration of the things that make it real, the particles and waves he's learned about since. What he plays off as a lack of creativity, while once true, is now in some part a fear of pushing his powers into something monstrous.

[worthallthis]

Even Sarge can shudder at that. Turn people into puppets. He can imagine that. He's got Soldat's-- the Asset's-- memories. They all know what that feels like. "That's terrifying. Jesus Christ."

And he knows, too, that HYDRA was on its way to slaughtering thousands, maybe millions of people. "Anybody standing up to that asshole?"

[callada]

"Law did."

The undercurrent of anger (and the dark rolling sea that accompanied it) that had simmered under his explanation disappears almost instantly, replaced by something warm and proud (calm, steady blue-gray waves), even if he's still not going to smile about it. Law suffered a lot to free that kingdom and its people, to finish the task Rosinante started over a decade previous and failed to see through.

Rosinante isn't exactly aware that the weird water thing going on on his skin is apparently also something of a mood ring.

"Not by himself. He assembled allies. Took my brother and his entire operation down, and handed him and all of his followers to the Marines. Doflamingo will spend the rest of his life confined, restrained, in one of the lowest levels of the government prison. Alone, with nobody to feed his narcissism."

Thirteen years late, and he will forever kick himself for failing to follow up on Vergo's mission, for leaving Law too soon and leaving the kid with no outlet for his love but desperate, bitter revenge.