logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: AULD LANG SYNE

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: AULD LANG SYNE

characters: everyone.
location: Everywhere
date/time: December 31-January 1
content: Another year gone by, and a sunny future ahead
warnings: n/a

Most of a year has passed since the World Eater was defeated and light began to trickle its way back in to the world. Spring brought new green growth, summer brought the first few pale flowers, and fall saw ever-longer days even as the crispness of frost returned to the air. Now, the longest nights of winter have passed (which still were shorter than those in that first spring), and as the sun rises on the new year, it does so with reassuring warmth that cuts through the ice and snow.

we've wandered far beneath the stars

Many left in those early days, lured by the chances to take the portal home, or to new worlds - and hopefully they made it successfully. The few who stayed behind in Beacon have worked hard on making the place into a home, or at least a solid base of operations for future work, whatever that might entail. Exploring has become easier thanks to the longer, brighter days, revealing a seemingly endless expanse of forest pockmarked by ruined, overgrown cities. Beacon stands at the center of it all, somehow harbors the brightest light, and so out at the edges of the explored areas, forest spirits still linger. They're generally friendly and curious, encouraged by stories spread by the spirits who fled Beacon and its sunlight in order to carry news of the lantern-folk and their success at bringing the aurora to the ground.

All right, so the story may not always be accurate, but it has been told.

And given the spirits still understand the emotional meaning to the start of a new year, counted not on a calendar they follow but on one they barely remember, they begin a strange sort of pilgrimage in those long winter nights. On the night of December 31 they swarm the darkened town of Beacon with whoops and hollers and gifts of ancient decayed (but possibly still viable) seed packets looted from broken cities, crude jewelry made of bones and shards of pottery, and something that looks a bit like it was probably modeled after bread, but are actually buns of baked clay. Before the sun rises, they depart again, leaving Beacon quiet in the snow except for the strange, eerie noises of ice breaking around the edges of the lake.

Should anyone, intentionally or by mistake, break one of these clay buns, they'll find there was something inside. Is your luck good or bad, or will their token object be too obscure to decipher?

and we ran into the night

You probably have your own way of celebrating, too. The portal works, and experimenting with it and the old lighthouse keeper's notes have provided a means to bring in gifts, food and drinks, and even sometimes living creatures, plants, or fungi, though things don't always go intended (an order for goats one day instead brought in a pair of these).

Those who live in Beacon have generally agreed not to bring in new people, but accidents sometimes happen. If you're new on the new year, this must all be awfully confusing, but if you've been here a month or so, maybe you've had time to settle in. It's certainly been made easier by those studying lantern repair over the last many months, as small dents and cracks can often be patched back up, usually with good success (but sometimes with temporary side effects).

Enjoy the new year from the shore of the lake, the warmth of The Invincible, or wherever you like - you've chosen to stay, at least for now, and Beacon isn't a bad place to call home.

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"Not a problem for me," he teases, as if that's all that matters. These days, it sort of feels like that is, though. Not too many left to complain about it.

"Anyway, yeah. There's always drinking games, if nothing else. Stuff like two truths and a lie. Wouldn't have to play to get drunk, though, we could make up whatever rules we wanted. Best out of ten, loser makes us both lunch," he says as an option. "Or we use something other than alcohol. Your pick, you're the one who's going to lose."

"Oh, is that so?" And now it's inevitable, because Rosinante has turned it into a competition. And if there's one thing Will can't resist, it's a challenge. "Fine. Best of ten, loser has to do everything the winner wants for the rest of the day."

Is that such a bad punishment? Perhaps not. Perhaps he's setting up a win-win situation. But this is a lying competition, might as well start it off by cheating.

"Right, you're on. This should be educational." Sounds like win-win to him, for sure. Especially because if Will does lose, Rosinante is about the least punishing sort of person for a debt like that one.

Figuring he'll start things off, he thinks a moment, staring at his cigarette as he does so. When he gives his list of options, he delivers them all perfectly casually, without any obvious tells. But for a first round, he hopes the statements themselves won't be too hard to guess at.

"When I was twelve, I thought I wanted to be a veterinarian. I learned to shoot starting at fourteen, and when I was sixteen, I started smoking."

The veterinarian thing throws Will for a second. Do they have those in Rosinante's world? They have animals, so surely they have animal doctors. It just never occurred to him, probably because animals don't usually occur to him. A symptom of living in space, and then in a world where everything used to be forest spirits.

But aside from that, there's another detail that jumps out. He has to rely on the details, Rosinante didn't give him much else to work with. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

"Sixteen? Surely you started smoking before that." Even Will was smoking before that. Not long before, but still.

"No, sixteen it is," he says with a shrug. "Right in that weird transition period in my life where I decided blending in with everyone else might be worth trying instead of keeping away from them all the time. Except I still did plenty of that too. Never really wanted to work with animals as a job, though, especially not that young. At twelve I wasn't really... up for thinking that long-term, yet."

If his teenage years were weird, preteen years were even weirder. In any case, he doesn't fault Will at all for answering the way he did, it was a good guess.

"Besides, I remember my brother found cigarettes back when we were younger and I thought they smelled really gross. Put me off 'em for a few years extra," he says, shaking his head. It's sort of a funny memory to be honest, Doflamingo strutting around like an idiot with cigarettes at ten. Those years were awful, but there were still parts that make him laugh if only because they were so ridiculous.

"Well, damn." Will's idea of the exact timeline of Rosinante's young life isn't perfect. He knows some major events, but the details are hazy. This isn't off to a great start for him, but at least it's only the first round. Maybe hazy details can work for him as well as against him.

"I suppose that makes it my turn." He thinks for a moment, then folds his hands on the table. "We'll keep to the same theme: I lost two fingers when I was nine. I received my first degree at fifteen. I was seventeen the first time I hit someone in the face."

If confidence is the secret to being a good liar, he's got that down. It remains to be seen if he's any good at coming up with lies, however.

"Right," he says, mulling it over. He knows about the fingers, and wouldn't be even a little surprised if Will had gotten one of his very impressive degrees that early. The last is a different sort of detail that hasn't come up before, and immediately he distrusts it.

But it's not like he knows the exact ages for these things. Any one of them could be off by a single year and it would technically be a lie. So it probably depends on how bent Will is on making him lose this.

Best go with his gut.

"The last one's false. Maybe you hit someone earlier than that, or maybe you're just not enough of a fighter to want to throw a punch unless it's with your words." Time to see how far off he is.

"As much as I appreciate the confidence, even I can't earn a first degree in a year." And fifteen would've been only a year after the incident that let him start learning in the first place. "I put in the bit about the punch to throw you off. And for the record, I injured my hand far more than anyone's face."

The first— and last&mdash time he resorted to violence of that particular sort. Afterward, any questions about his legitimacy were handled with the more verbal kind.

"So it appears we're even." He frowns. "Though I suppose that was less a test of lying and more a test of how well you've memorized my history. Perhaps I should avoid things based on date. You know, to give you a chance."

"Could've been a very basic degree," he points out, as if that changes anything. "And you're selling yourself short. People have tells when they know they're lying. They hesitate, they smile, maybe they talk too fast. You threw me off, just like you wanted."

Lying, after all, is a lot more than just saying words that aren't true. Will probably isn't as bad at it as he thinks, when he sets his mind to it. He just doesn't bother most of the time, instead.

"No dates, then. I agree. So," he begins, pausing to have a draw from the cigarette, "I've never gone skinny dipping, back home I have an authorization that lets me requisition grenade launchers any time I like, and I've only won..." he pauses, thinking and nodding a few times as if counting in his head, "Damn, guess it's four games of poker. Funny how many infiltration jobs wind up putting me in front of a deck of cards at some point."

"Selling myself short? I'd never dream of it." But his confidence is not as all-encompassing as usual. He's uncertain on this one.

The level of detail Rosinante puts into the poker 'fact' makes Will wonder if it isn't fake. It's awfully specific, which makes him distrust it. Or is that just his paranoia getting in the way? Is Rosinante trying to throw him off, like he did? But then, to have never gone skinny dipping in a world full of water? Strangely enough, he doesn't question the part about grenade launchers. That seems to track.

Well, he's got to pick something.

"It's the first one, and if not, then I feel very sad for you."

"Can't swim, remember? Of course I've never gone skinny dipping."

Not that he blames Will for picking that answer. It's one of those rites of passage for most kids, isn't it?

"I'm actually not sure I've ever won a game of poker. If I have, it was by accident. Winning doesn't look good, draws too much attention. People don't like losing their money to the new guy."

Can't swim, right. They were just talking about that. Will's not sure if he's paying too close attention to this part of the conversation, or if he's just not paying enough attention in general. Perhaps both.

"So the details were an obfuscation. Well played." He wasn't entirely unwise to that, but still, he ultimately got it wrong. "Moving on, I suppose. I'm farsighted, Beacon was not the first time I held a gun, and believe it or not, I only have two doctorates."

Some people fall for details like that, some don't. If Will was a target he'd be keeping notes. Instead he just shrugs, but he's pleased that it sounds like Will had picked up on the tactic.

Will is farsighted, he's pretty sure of that after seeing him fumble for his glasses more than once. The number of doctorates, well, who knows. That could be true. It's the gun part that makes him pause. He'd obviously never really used a gun before here - their time in the Helix Station indicated that clearly. Had he really never held one? Would he ever have had a reason to?

"Gonna say you'd never held a gun before you came here," he says with a slow nod as if he's reassured while he says it. "If you had, sure seems like nobody actually showed you how you were supposed to do it."

Will grins. "Nearsighted, actually. Probably a result of all those close quarters when I was younger." Or he was just born that way, but it's impossible to tell at this point. "But you were on the right track, I'd only held one before. And not the correct way. Spent a night with our security officer." He's nice enough to leave out the details. "It wasn't loaded. I don't think." And then the gun went missing and he died and it didn't matter anymore.

"We continue to be tied." Which means he isn't winning, but it also means he isn't losing. Yet.

"Huh. Well, so we are, fair's fair." And he certainly appreciates that particular anecdote about the gun being left sparse on details. "Guess you've never been long enough without your glasses here for me to really work that one out right. Thought I had it."

But, no big deal, and now he knows something new. Good to know, too, considering the times Will is around him without his glasses on are times when seeing has real benefits.

"My favorite food's grilled mackerel, I've gone, mm, at least two whole weeks without saying a word to anyone before, and this is the only relationship I've been in that lasted longer than a month."

Hmm, this one seems easy at first. Rosinante could easily go two weeks or even more without speaking, and Will's not even convinced he'd need his devil fruit powers. And this is his longest-lasting relationship, right? It's Will's, for certain, but then his record wasn't hard to break. But is this really that straightforward?

"The first one. Though come to think of it, I'm not sure I know what your favorite food is. Have you told me before?"

"There you go, one of us finally scored a point," he says with a smile. Even if that puts Will ahead, it feels better than both of them constantly getting things wrong about each other.

"I'm easy to please. Always loved cabbage and all its relatives. Weird favorite, I know, but you can use them in pretty much ever dish and it'll be better, raw or cooked. I remember Sengoku always had to make sure I ate all my rice, or chicken, or whatever so I wouldn't just fill up on leaves." Which is basically the opposite of every other kid ever, yes, he's aware. He grew to be almost ten feet tall anyway, so he can't be wrong.

"That and, uh, you ever had umeboshi?"

Will laughs. The point is nice, but the cabbage story is even better. It's somehow very fitting to imagine tiny Rosinante munching on leaves like some kind of lamb.

"I never would've guessed, but now it's all that makes sense." Naturally it would be something common to eat, but not common to prefer, and something that most children hate. It just... works somehow. "Fresh vegetables weren't that common when I was a child, but if they had been, I can say with certainty that they still wouldn't have been anywhere near a favorite." In other words, it's strange, but at least it's endearing.

"Umeboshi is... some kind of delicacy, right?" It sounds vaguely familiar.

He can't help it, he grins. "Depends on who you ask. They're pickled plums. Little ones, about an inch across. Really salty and sour at the same time. You're supposed to have them in little bites with rice, I guess, or that's how Sengoku always had them. I dunno, I just eat 'em out of the box."

They're probably also normally an acquired taste, but maybe his tastebuds are just broken compared to everyone else's. Who knows.

Will makes a face. "Sounds disgusting, but more for you I suppose." In all honesty he'd at least try it, but he has a feeling he wouldn't enjoy the experience. "Maybe we can try to get some through the portal."

Though if that goes wrong, he wouldn't want to be the one to eat the result.

"On that note, shall we continue?" He assumes a yes and decides to run with the food theme. "I don't actually have a favorite food, surprisingly coffee is not my favorite drink, and the first time I had alcohol I spent the entire next day throwing it back up."

That's basically the reaction he was expecting. Law refuses to touch them also. Polarizing little sour plums, and he can't help but fall on the side of people who love them.

The next set of supposed facts are tough, and Rosinante doesn't have much to go off of. Not having a favorite food is believable, though, plenty of people don't. The coffee one? Could be true, Will might just drink so much of it out of a constant desire for caffeine. The last one, then? Would he have had that much to drink the very first time he had any at all? Maybe, especially if he was young. But it's suspicious, and he has to pick something.

"These are hard," he admits, then decides to go with his gut. "But I think the last one might be the lie."

"And another point is scored." Will gives him a single congratulatory clap. "Which makes us even once again." There's still plenty of time to change that, though.

"For the record, I don't really have a favorite drink, either. I have preferences, of course, but my tastes change too often to pick favorites." When you try everything you come across, the order never stays the same for long. And, as Rosinante suspected: "The coffee is mostly for the caffeine, but there are plenty of things I like more." The taste isn't bad, but it's not the greatest, and he's unwilling to bother with sugar or cream. Takes too much time.

"That's what I was guessing. Coffee's practical, though I like the taste well enough. Mostly I just couldn't picture you getting that drunk the first time you ever touched alcohol, you're smarter than that."

Or at least not quite that eager to impress someone else. Besides, he remembers the first time he tasted alcohol, and he didn't like it one bit. Funny how that changes, though.

"All right, let's see. Dunno if I'll be able to come up with enough miscellaneous facts to make it to ten," he says with a laugh. "Feels like a long way away. We're on what, four? Want to go to seven instead?"

Is he smarter than that? The obvious answer is yes, but it's not like he's never overindulged in something he shouldn't have. Just not the first time.

"I'm not even sure I can make it to seven." Coming up with facts that Rosinante doesn't know is difficult. They may have shared too much for this game to be completely viable.

"Honestly, I'd be satisfied if we ended it with five."

"Best of five, then," he agrees with a nod, then leans back in his chair with his cigarette between his teeth as he thinks up more ideas. Gotta make the last ones count, right?

"I've never actually commanded my own ship, I'm trilingual, and this," he says, pointing both hands to the long scars over his shoulders that aren't actually visible through his winter clothes though Will is surely familiar by now, "Isn't actually from a sea king like I usually tell people, but just from a big fishman."

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EVENT LOG: AULD LANG SYNE

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