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

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

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

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.

"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?"

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.

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."

"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.

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.

"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."

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."

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."

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."

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.

"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?"

"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.

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?"

"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.

It's hard to miss the way the water changes with the clear emotional change, this time. Sarge doesn't quite stare, but he does kind of look Rosi up and down, sidelong, a time or tow during that explanation. Weird.

(Wonder what we'd look like with that effect. Probably all different colors, waves smashing against each other. Mission. Pretty sure nothing else is gonna affect us until this one wears off, pal.)

"Good." He grabs his coffee-- cold now, but still not bad-- to give Rosinante a cheers to that. "Sounds like exactly what he deserves. The hell did he want with a whole kingdom, anyway?"

"Money, power, political influence. Resources to multiply those things a thousandfold. He had this whole... plan," Rosinante says with a sigh and a vague wave of his hand. "Black market trading, drug production, control of everything he could get his hands on."

Because he felt he was owed it. Because he had been robbed of his status as a god and wanted to earn it all back while making others suffer in return for what had been done to them. That kingdom was their ancestors' home and was therefore rightfully his by divine right, in Doflamingo's eyes. Since it wouldn't be given, he would take it back, and all its riches would be his, and all its people would be his playthings.

The waves churn and boil again. The whole concept is abhorrent. He looks away in order to light a cigarette on his lantern.

"I couldn't stop him, but Law did. I'm forever grateful."

"What an asshole." Who cares if this guy is Rosinante's brother; Sarge is not really one to mince words, not unless there's a lady present. And not always even then.

Also, the whole water-mood-ring is getting to be a bit much. "You, uh. Know your whole water thing is changing whenever you get mad, right?" Sarge finally feels the need to point out.

Rosinante certainly isn't bothered. He's called his brother worse things and meant it. The small part of him that will always love Doflamingo regardless of his actions is drowned out more often than not.

At Soldat's - or, well, Sarge's, he reminds himself - comment, Rosinante stuffs the cigarette in his mouth and looks at his hands, covered in those dark, angry waves cresting with foam. But it makes him chuckle to see it.

"Could be worse. Like at the carnival when I just said whatever came to mind first. At least this leaves some ambiguity. Kinda reminds me of an octopus, actually."

Mm, octopus. Something to remember to order for later. Their supplies of fresh seafood are never quite as bountiful as he'd like unless he makes requests.

"Sorry to go on about my brother," he then says with a shrug. "He's not worth the wasted air."

"Hey, now, the carnival thing was great. Soldat learned all sorts of useful things." Sarge might be teasing a little. Or a lot.

He'll stick with that, rather than wasting any more air, as Rosinante says, on the guy's brother. It's not like they can do a damn thing about him here.

"Soldat and several other people," he says. Thankfully mood-waves can't blush, but they can turn turquoise and full of little riffles.

"It turned out all right. I just went with it, even though I felt like I was bracing for disaster every second," he admits, though with a smile. Yes, all right, sometimes he can own up to being more paranoid than necessary, especially here after so long with people who have repeatedly proven themselves to be good and understanding. Also, it helps that he can mute himself at a moment's notice.

Sarge can see where he's coming from, and gives the man a little toast with his coffee mug. "If the people here accept and move past the shit I've done-- that we've done--" Including Soldat and the Asset, in there. They're all responsible. "--I figure they're going to accept a whole lot of really bad stuff, so long as we're trying to be better. You're probably good, Rosinante."

"Yeah. I've told that same thing to others here, too. It's what we do here that counts. Everyone gets their second chance here."

And he's well aware that by now, a handful of people have learned more about him than he would have ever liked them to. No matter the degree of their knowledge, everyone continues to treat him the same - or if not the same, then with more understanding. But of course, that's not exactly the sort of thing he was worried about just saying openly at the carnival unless someone started digging for answers to all their unanswered questions, and everyone is too respectful to even try.

He shrugs, a half-smile on his face as he takes another draw from the cigarette, then belatedly offers the pack to Sarge before they can get put too far away (or dropped). "For me, I meant I might just say something completely stupid, not some damning earth-shaking revelation. Instead, I got Law to almost think about trying the bumper cars, and Will won a stuffed bird for me. Small victories."

That was a long time ago, but it's still fun to think back on what ended up being one of the highlights in this very dark little town, so he'll let himself indulge and watches the tropical waves sparkle across his hand in the dim light.

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

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

rip

Re: rip

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