EVENT LOG: FOR EVERYTHING A REASON

[inthenightmods]

EVENT LOG:
FOR EVERYTHING A REASON

characters: everyone.
location: the harbor.
date/time: september 6-7.
content: characters and forest spirits send off paper lantern boats in honor of those who have died..
warnings: character death

a somber kind of serenity.

When you arrive at the harbor, there are already boats in the water, and the lighthouse's red beam flares in slow pulses over the lake. The moon's a bright first quarter and the stars are out in force today, all reflected on the glassy surface of the water. It's uncharacteristically calm, this weather, so take advantage.

Rastus is down at the water's edge, tending to a large mound of pebbles that looks not unlike a miniature bonfire from a distance. The stones are all ordinary, having been collected from the beach, except Rastus has enchanted them to glow with a soft, yellow light. The enchantment will only last a week, but that's ample time for this little ceremony to send off those lost over the past two months. Or to send off something less literal, perhaps.

Next to the pile of stones is an array of craft materials—just the basic supplies like paper, markers, glue, and scissors, but more than enough to accommodate everyone in attendance. A handful of forest spirits (some you may recognize from the party!) are standing nearby to assist in paper-folding or boat-crafting if you're out of your depth there. They, along with Rastus, urge you to join in. This memorial is as much about you as it is anyone we've lost, after all. The boats can look like or represent anything you like.

Releasing boats lit with pebbles out onto the water will fill you will a sense of peace. It's a somber kind of serenity, but it's a relief nonetheless, whether you're mourning the loss of a friend or letting go of some other part of yourself. You're welcome to release as many boats as you like, too. It's not like there's a shortage of rocks around here, and even if the craft materials run low, there's plenty of other stuff around town that could be used in a pinch.

The forest spirits are in attendance, as well. Some are helping with the crafting, yes, but most are taking part themselves, building their own little boats to send out over the water. Their crafting involves more of a hands-on approach: Chomping and tearing and crinkling into unique shapes and textures. They stand out from the townsfolks' designs on the beach, but once the boats drift far enough into the surf, it's impossible to tell which vessels belong to which group. Feel free to NPC your own forest spirits for this event and refer to the OOC info post if you have questions about how they might behave.

On the final night of the event, a sound starts up along the treeline, one you haven't heard in some time, perhaps. Crickets. Cicadas. Katydids and beetles and the shrill hum of a mosquito in your ear. It seems insects have returned to Beacon from... wherever they were hiding, and the night air is now vibrant with their music. No more eerie silence back in town, where the sounds of the lake are snuffed out by the trees. It sounds almost like a real forest now.

And it will stay that way after this event ends, too. Maybe you were enjoying the time away from bugs or maybe you were longing for some sign that, yes, this world was alive once, but either way, the insects are here to stay. Well, until winter, at least.

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RASTUS

[cawdad]

[If you would like to talk to Rastus during the event, he can be found near the pile of stones, enchanting fresh rocks and shooing away the Postmaster General, who doesn't seem to understand that these are not rocks for keeping. Sorry, PG. Skedaddle!]

[worthallthis]

[Nearing the end of the second day of all this, when the spirits are starting to disperse and the pile of glowing stones has dwindled, the Soldier approaches Rastus. Slowly. It has build up enough calm, hopefully, because it's going to ask for something.

It stands well out of reach, both for its own security and that of Rastus, and holds up one of the remaining glowing stones in one hand-- not the metal one. It stands at attention and looks at the ground, not at Rastus. The request doesn't sound like a question, but it obviously is one.]

Can I keep one.

[pure_havoc]

[if he's going to be approaching the master for some trinkets, he'd better make nice first. Right? Right. Diplomacy and all that.]

Was this your idea, or the spirits themselves?

Re: RASTUS

[knifecollecting]

[Jo watches for a moment before approaching. Poor Postmaster, she tries to distract him with a smooth rock she has in her pocket. It's not glowing, but it might be enough?

She turns her attention to Rastus after that, smiling softly.]

Thank you.

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier | OTA

[worthallthis]

I.

For lack of anything better to do, between occasional tasks for its handlers or other people that wind up temporarily in its orbit, the Soldier makes regular patrols around the cleared areas of Beacon, two or three times a day-- or a night, or indeterminate amount of time until it gets hungry enough for a meal or tired enough for a nap. That brings it down to the harbor early, pausing to stare for a long moment at the spirits.

The spirits aren't human. They aren't handlers or techs or targets. They just are. So when one comes up to pat at the Soldier's boot and scamper down to the water and back, obviously trying to lead it down to the pile of glowing stones and paper, it follows, bemused rather than alarmed. Three little spirits-- one dog-sized but mousy-looking, one a creature that looks like a miniature horse with paws instead of hooves, and one almost human-like but too small and spindly to be considered a threat-- show the Soldier how the boat is made and what they want done with it.

Defined tasks with a pleasant outcome that seem to make the spirits happier, with no actual conversation required. This is surprisingly soothing. So while it continues its patrol around the village, every time it swings back around to the harbor, the Soldier stops to send another little glowing rock out onto the water. It almost smiles. Almost. At the very least, it looks more at ease each time it kneels by the water and carefully folds paper, and doesn't twitch too badly when actual people approach.

Each little boat is marked simply with a red star, like the one on his metal shoulder.


II.

The Soldier hadn't even realized the unnatural nature of the silence until the insects come back. When it first hears a sound, it stops, looking around warily... but finally places the sound as "cricket". Interesting. More data required.

So it lingers by the edge of the forest between patrols just to listen, once or twice with one of the spirits from the lake-shore sitting at its feet. During one of its pauses, it can even be found with its tablet out, attempting to find an app that will record the sounds.

1

[paletteswap]

Kuai is simply standing by the lake watching the small lighted boats as they sail away to eventually become waterlogged and sink. It's oddly serene, though his mood is morose rather than uplifted. Idly he wonders if the rocks will continue to glow when they're at the bottom of the lake.

"What does the star signify?" He doesn't turn to look at the Soldier, but he's close enough that it's probably who he's talking to.

i

[otrazhenie]

Hours have passed before Elena moves from her place by the water, a feeling of peace settling with her as she watched her little boat disappear among the others that spread out across the dark water. The sadness is still there, grief still clinging to her like a second skin, but the weight on her chest has eased, that pressure no longer taking her breath away with each resurfaced memory.

She has no idea what time it is, though it doesn't seem to matter much with so many people still about, including one whom she recognizes from her first days here. After a moment of debate, she approaches quietly, kneeling down again when she's close but not too close.

"Hi."

insert wildcard

[shadowsran]

Misty's feelings on this event are...mixed. Ideally she'd have sat it out, but it presents too great a risk of being misconstrued as cold. It's a good sentiment. An important one, even, but she's been on the reverse end of this - she's had her vigils - and it's all an uncomfortable reminder that it does nothing. These strangers won't know or feel it. She finds the notion of loosing boats for strangers a touch insulting. Nothing she would want in their position. So respects come more in the form of being present at all, and reflective staring at the lake.

Which turns, after a half-hour, into origami. It's slow going, something she hasn't done since she was a kid, but...pleasant. Poor lighting, nothing even to fold on, but she thinks of it as a challenge.

A familiar face on the periphery, she would guess retreating from a released boat, catches attention. He seems to err on the side of quiet. Rather than call out, she drums up a smile and waves a fox-red square of paper in his direction.

"Hey, you."

kol mikaelson | ota

[unpredict]

SEPTEMBER 6

[ kol doesn't know anyone who has gone — disappeared, died, whatever it is here. the weekly bulletin with the massive list of names rings no bells, but he still comes down to the harbour to see the water's edge. the display is simply beautiful.

with a few magically lit stones in his pockets, he has no intentions to set the glowing rocks in a paper boat and send it on its merry way. why would he? who would it be for? none of his family would've set a paper boat off for him in the wake of his two deaths… and there's no one for him to mourn.

it doesn't matter what kol thinks, the forest spirits believe him to be eligible for a boat. despite his refusals, they manage to force a blue paper boat in his hands, neatly folded with sharp corners. one slips a marker into the pocket of his jeans. ] I don't need a boat. [ they refuse to listen, heads bowed as they get back to work in their expert folding.

with a sigh, kol leaves them and spots someone who is without a paper boat. ] Hey. The spirits wanted me to give you this.

[ they didn't.

kol will continue to hand off the paper boats (blue, pink, neatly folded, slightly crinkled) the spirits force in his hands for the duration of his stay. he won't be letting a boat go until tomorrow. ]

SEPTEMBER 7

A. [ they find him. forcing a boat kindly into his hands, the forest spirits look at him and then peer out at the water. did they know he kept passing their boats off all of yesterday? surely not! they were too busy with their heads down and fingers folding…

one grips kol's hand and begins to gently lead him toward the water's edge. ] You can let go. [ it doesn't. it takes him to the water and points toward the surface.

or kol nods toward someone near him and says to the spirit: ] Look at them, they're not putting their boat in the water, are they?

[ s.o.s. someone save him! ]

B. [ his forest spirit friend watches him from afar as it puts his hands back to crafting another set of beautifully folded boats. kol peers over his shoulder at it, finding that it peers at him with its antennae up and unmoving.

alright, he'll play along.

with his yellow square boat in his hand and a pen in the other, kol peers down at the golden lit water. it'd be easy to not take this seriously. couldn't he simply place it in the water and let it drift off? does the boat need to have any meaning to it? he could do it. imagining himself simply discarding the boat in the water and walking away is easy, but making himself do it is an entirely different story.

despite thinking he can simply pop it on the water's surface and let it drift, he doesn't. staring at it for a moment, kol takes his pen and begins to write.

kol mikaelson.

it isn't for the man who stands before the water's edge in beacon, but the boy he once was. the witch, the magic, the human long, long lost — the kol mikaelson who didn't have blood cravings humming beneath his skin in this very moment. ]

[ ooc: september 7 prompt b is open to one person to be there when he finally sets his own boat free. please rope kol into sending boats with your character! the spirits are going to be watching him and he'll be trolling them in return, because what is emotional vulnerability? any qs, feel free to hmu @ bogans! ]

sept 7 - a

[notthatjason]

[On Sept 6 it had unnerved Jason a bit how close the spirits seemed to watch him and as the day had progressed they'd even started to...not really swarm him, but definitely pay closer attention to him than they were some of the others. He had a feeling he knew what it was, but he hadn't quite expected THAT aspect of being a demigod to follow him here.

On Sept 7, he's a little more used to it and does his best to ignore it. Well, not ignore it, but maybe try to figure out if this was the kind of attraction that was going to get him murdered or just that they found his scent appealing. He wasn't sure which he would prefer right now because both were kind of uncomfortable. Probably not being murdered was good.

It's because of this internal debate and being watched by spirits that he hadn't exactly been paying attention to what the non-spirits were doing. Two or three spirits trail behind him as he approaches the water's edge. They stay close and Jason looks over to see if he can convince them to back up a bit which is about the time Kol calls him out for not launching a boat.]

I was getting there.

[He turns to see Kol, remembering him from the meeting earlier, and notices Kol seems to have his own spirit-y companion.]

Are you trying to get some privacy? They seem a bit pushy about this whole thing.

sept 7. b.

[itselbitch]

[ he watches the exchange off to the side as well as the awkward pause that follows. when most others seem to take their moment only after they've sent a craft off into the water, it does stand out as interesting. ambling over, he pretends to hold some interest in the other boats out on the water for a little bit before eventually speaking. ]

It's not going to walk onto the water by itself, you know. [ if he had a cigarette, this would normally be when he takes a puff and pretends to be distracted by it before speaking again. but he doesn't, so eliot just rolls his shoulders and tilts his head to the side, still watching the boats drifting further out. ] Sometimes you just have to take the leap instead of thinking about what leaping actually means.

september 6

[tribridfreakshow]

[She hasn't quite figured out what this little get-together is, which is the only reason she's here at all. A gathering of people sometimes means trouble, after all, so when she figured out it's some sort of...funeral thing, she wants to get away immediately.

Unfortunately, the crowd makes it a little harder than she'd like to escape. So when a boat is suddenly forced towards her, she pushes it away, shaking her head.]

I don't want one---

[And then she realizes who's trying to give it to her, her eyes widening slightly.

Maybe she should really leave her room more often...]

Rosinante | OTA

[callada]

1.

[It really is beautiful out here, isn't it? And the sendoff, like little paper lanterns down a river, is one that resonates strongly with him. Sure, he does as he often chooses to do and hangs back for a while, watching the others. Seeing who participates and who doesn't.

But it doesn't take long before he's drawn to the pile of craft supplies. He selects a few in colors he lies and sits himself down by the water with the lantern at his side.

There's a problem, though - as you might find when you hear the hiss of air through his teeth. He was trying to cut paper but now there's blood splattered across the sail and his thumb is in his mouth. Ow. Clumsy idiot.]

Do you happen to have a bandage?

2.

[Rosinante settles for two boats. Simple, maybe a little misfolded, for he never cared much for art or origami except those made by other people. In each he places a glowing stone, sets them in the water, shoos off a curious spirit who sniffs too close. Pauses, seemingly unsure if he wants to let go of them or not.]

3.

[But that's done. He's sent his wishes out into the darkness and now sits on the shore, knees tucked to his chest and arms around them. Nothing to do but watch and mourn -

Until one of the spirits, a chunky little thing with stubby legs and useless, stubby wings, piles onto his shoulders from behind and grabs his hat in its teeth. Before he can grab back, it bolts, panting, toward the pile of crafts, and Rosinante quickly staggers to his feet, slips, and falls belly-down on the sand and pebbles.]

Shit - help me chase that thing down!

[Whoever you are. It looks to be headed for the pile of crafts and probably either wants to use his hat to make something of its own, or maybe is just trying to lead him back to build more boats but damnit, his hat!]

3

[worthallthis]

[The Soldier had waited until Rosinante has set his boat in the water, leaving the crafting supplies free again, before it came down to the water to start one itself. The spirits like when it makes boats and sends them out with their little lights. So does the Soldier, to be honest. So every time its patrol takes it close to the harbor, here it is, making another one.

Lucky for Rosinante, that means the Soldier is already crouching by the paper when the spirit comes running. There's a command to follow: help that person get the spirit. The metal hand lashes out, catches the spirit by one of its stubby little legs, and hoists it into the air.

Without a word, but with a stern expression that says "I am disappointed in you," it holds out its flesh hand to the up-side-down creature for the stolen hat.]

Cao Pi | open

[pure_havoc]

[surprise! Mr. Big Shot Emperor isn't too good for this. On the contrary, his country has whole festivals dedicated to lanterns, this is right up his alley. Except that, it isn't exactly clear to him that this is a memorial thing, but if the spirits are all up in this, so will he be.]

A Do You Know What Time It Is?

[At first, Cao Pi just watches what other people are doing, what the spirits themselves are doing. It's all extremely familiar and yet the purpose doesn't quite match up. The New Year is months away on the other side of winter, so it can't be the Spring Lantern festival. It is, however, around the time of year for another festival that is most certainly not about the dead.]

It's about a week early for the Moon Festival. [he says idly to whoever is standing nearest to him.] What I wouldn't give for a moon cake right now, though.

[now that he said that out loud, god does he want moon cakes]

B Classics of Poetry

[eventually Cao Pi gives in and comes up with an idea for his lantern-boat. They're not supposed to be square you heathens, they should be round, so his becomes a cylinder of paper on its floating base. The markers are close enough to ink brushes than he can deign to be seen using one to write a phrase on the outside: may we be brought together as Chang'e and her lover in Chinese, before plopping a stone inside and setting it adrift. The Moon Festival is for lovers, after all, and right now he misses his Zhenji more than anything.

Huh. What a strange sense of relief to send that lantern away...

Whether others witness him with his boat, before or after, it may be somewhat obvious that he's present when he begins quietly singing a poem of his homeland, in his native tongue. Not one of his own, but an old classic. He's not trying to draw attention but it is, perhaps, one of few sounds around the beach at the moment.]

C The Party's Over

[Cao Pi is actually standing just inside the trees at the end of the path, observing what's left of the lanterns and whatever the spirits are still up to, when the sound begins all around him. In spite of himself he lets out an amazed gasp.]

...do you hear that?

[he might just tear up a little in joy at the sound. Crickets!! Oh blessed crickets!! Mostly though he's shocked and wants to be sure he's not going crazy.]

A

[paletteswap]

I have not been as homesick as I am right now.

[how dare you bring up moon cakes.]

Quentin Coldwater | The Magicians

[moderatelymaladjusted]

1

[Quentin shuffles a little ways away from everyone else. He didn't lose anyone here a short while ago and he doesn't feel like he has the right to intrude on other people's grief. In the near-silent somberness of it all, but the boats are pretty and even the slightest hint of light is a welcomed sight.

He keeps to the outskirts of the event, just looking on and quietly marveling at the sight of boats being set carefully in to the water, even by the forest spirits, and the whole wonder of them crowding out the darkness for a little bit as they sail across the lake.

Sitting down, back against a tree, he watches them all and thinks about his own dead.]

2

[But the forest spirits are curious spirits and a few manage to make their way over to the tree Quentin has placed himself under and he stares at them, a little open-mouthed and wondering and also, just that hint of fear because didn't one the ones who's been here a while, mention that the spirits attacked everyone.

The bravest of the spirits comes closer, though, close enough to make a musical sound at him and sniff the air around him. Fumbling his ocarina out of his pocket, Quentin tries to say 'hi' back and the result is... well, it is, because now there's two of them and they thrill softly back, moving as if they're aware of how scared Quentin might be. Moving slowly and carefully as they get close enough to touch, but when Quentin holds a hand out - like you would to a squirrel or a duck, they move away. Just out of arms reach, but they stay close.

Quentin keeps his playing soft and very quiet, so he doesn't disturb the ceremony, but he keeps trying to talk to the spirits, or at the very least, not piss them off.]

1.

[itselbitch]

[ he's always nosey as hell, but seeing q with his lantern hanging back at the edge is a special sort of reminder that something needs to be done. even that first month quentin had been a brakebills, this had been the norm for a reason. some people just shouldn't be left on their own sometimes, and this moment especially is not one when quentin should be sitting out. ]

Don't you want to make one?

[ it's hard to appear out of nowhere like he used to when the fact everyone has to carry a damn lantern everywhere to see anything at all makes it impossible to, but he still tries, even if quentin probably saw his light coming out of the corner of his eye. ]

Scarlett Harker | OTA

[kungfuey]

[ Despite the fact that Scarlett was one of the many who could no doubt benefit from some magically induced peace? If anyone actually expected her to embrace arts and crafts, let alone be seen publically grieving? They clearly hadn't met the woman.

That won't stop her from being seen near the lake as people send their boats off. She might not be on board with getting involved in all this, but she could see that other people might need this sort of thing. While some might be content to believe that everything was going to be okay? Scarlett was of the belief that optimism was for soon to be dead people.

She doesn't creep around the shore, leaving everyone to do whatever they need without somebody gawking at them. Instead she finds a spot where the trees meet the shore, settling in with a knife an a bundle of medium-sized branches as she works on making what appears to be spears. ]

[itselbitch]

[ she's so far off away from the group that when eliot catches the light, he can't help but wander over to see what the hell is going on. not that people aren't allowed to do their own thing, but it is curious to be so close to a gathering like this and yet staunchly keeping away from it.

especially to make what appear to be a bunch of spears. ]

Going vampire hunting?

[ he doesn't realize how apt this joke is. ]

daylight vis lornlit. | original. | ota.

[sunborne]

i;; a little night music.

[ daylight can be found at the edge of the water for most of the event, his expression both thoughtful and sorrowful as he released boat after boat after boat into the waters. as he watches them drift off into the eternal night, he begins to, of all things, sing: ]

There are loved ones in your glory. / Whose dear forms you'll soon miss. / When you leave us and end your story. / Will you leave us sorrow or bliss...?

[ daylight has a surprisingly good voice for the song he sings the whole song as he continues to release boats out into the harbor's waters, watching them eventually vanish from view with a sad yet wistful expression. ]

ii;;; takes a certain clever touch.

[ daylight, at some point, ends up helping some spirits make their boats. while initially scared because of is height and size, the spirits are quick to warm up towards day when they see he's more than happy to help them out in making their own customised boats to release into the harbour.

when daylight notices someone who isn't a spirit is nearby, he perks up and raises his servo, gesturing for them to come closer if they want.

if one does opt to get close to daylight, they might see he has a pile of boats nestled next to him besides the gaggle of spirits hovering around him. his share, apparently, and, interestingly enough, they already have names written on them: auntie laura costol. uncle leeds. mr. winters. mom and dad. erin's loved ones... ]

Need help with making some boats? It looks like it's my duty right now for these fellas so I can squeeze you in if you want.

iii;;; something to remember them by.

[ it's the near end of the festival when daylight realises something terrible.

well- it must be something terrible with how he suddenly appears by someone's side, looking panicked and nervous. especially if they're about to release a boat out in the harbour or are making a boat. ]

Hey- Sorry to ask but- Can I check the paper you're using? Is it a sketch of a woman with silver hair? Black hair? Is it? Is it?

[ daylight seems almost frantic now the more he speaks, his optics wide and blanched with fear as he tried to get a good look of the paper/the boat the person happens to be holding in their hands. ]

iv;;; wildcard!!

[ want to do something else? feel free to do it here! also, you’re welcome to hit me up/plot with me via my plurk prognostic if there’s something specific you want. ]

i.

[callada]

[A singer, too! Every time he comes across Daylight, Rosinante learns something surprising and new. He pauses with a half-made boat in his hand and turns in his seat to listen, then resumes working on folding paper while the tune continues on. It's a fitting backdrop for his own slow construction project, for the sendoff of the two people he truly mourns.

When finally it seems to have come to an end, Rosinante turns to face him again and lets the finished boat with its accompanying glowing rock settle in the sand beside his crossed legs.]

That was beautiful. I didn't know you could sing.

➤ closed to Riku | 6th

[darkeyed]

<sub>[It speaks to how monotonous a place like Beacon can be that he keeps showing up to these gatherings irregardless of whether he sees benefit in them or not. He wears his swords over armor, a precaution he's taken since the Lighthouse Keeper's return when he knows spirits are going to be amassing, but he's a little surprised by the numbers that actually trickle in from the forest.

Hadn't they spent a grim day butchering each other not along ago? And yet they come, cautious and contrite, like chastised children who know they've done wrong and are afraid of more punishment.

Their nervousness strikes an achingly familiar nerve. They'd lost control. Killed without meaning to. Raged in a state not unlike losing oneself to darkness. How he could not recognize that brand of uncertainty that comes with not knowing how you fit back into the flow of things? Or even if people will have you back, after what you'd done.

A thorny mix of guilt and empathy has him turning to the lone spirit that tentatively chirps at him where it busies itself with paper and a paint tray with some dried up old color chips. It gestures at the paper. An offer to join in? He shakes his head in a no, but watches a while as it rubs clawed fingers over colors and transfer them to the paper in a random configuration of dots. They are strange creatures, aren't they.

Before he can second guess--]</sub>

Here. You can do more with it, you know.

<sub>[What does M.K. know about art? Nothing. But he can take scrap paper and draw a curved line, using the pad of his index finger in a bit of paint like the spirit. Another curved line connects the two halves of a misshapen crescent moon.

Whether it's the recognizable shape or the advanced painting technique, the spirit trills in delight and applauds, scrabbling for more color to copy his movements. Then it looks at him with the clear, hopeful expectation for another demonstration. Oh, damn... What's simple that hits the sweet spot between his lack of drawing skill and the spirits' language barrier? After a moment's thought, switches to the color blue and begins a different shape.

By the time he's done, the spirit is back to enthusiastically drawing on its lantern paper. Reaching for a rag, he moves to wipe the evidence from his fingers before someone can see him and turns-- And stops, realizing he's too late on that count.]</sub>

[equinoctials]

[ One might think Riku's just sauntering over, fashionably late. He's certainly standoffish enough to give the impression, dressed in a pair of jeans with the knees stained by damp earth and a t-shirt that's smudged with dirt, clods of soil in the soles of his boots. He doesn't even head initially for the gathering, where spirits and more human-like people are working on the crafts that will bear their thoughts and farewells to the water.

Riku stoops by the lake to wash the dirt off his hands and arms, only enough to slough off the worst of it. The rest, crowding into his knuckles and under his nails, will come out in a more thorough scrubbing later. He just wipes them dry on his t-shirt - this does nothing to improve the cleanliness of his shirt - and joins the others.

Good timing, because as M.K. turns, it's to find Riku standing there, starting to cross his arms over his chest with a knowing sort of look. ]

Giving art lessons now?

Xayah - League of Legends - ota

[featherknives]

A. September 7th

[She had silently followed the group down to the docks and the lake. The mood was somber so Xayah kept silent most of the time. Her feather cloak covered her left side and front, hiding the lantern hanging to one of many belts at her waist, and she watched with rapt attention as Rastus enchanted many stones. Gratefully, she accepted several from him and then found a spot to sit down and fold the boats. She had a company of one of the spirits she met at the party, a shy and bashful one, that keeps wearing bag over the head. The spirit is currently hiding underneath her cloak, peeking out to grab paper from time to time, and then disappearing again.

When she spots a person standing nearby, eyeing a free place to sit, Xayah gives them a short look, then focuses back on folding the paper boat, her fingers twisting and spinning the paper skillfully, entwining it with some of the vines she picked in the forest.]

You can sit down, it's free. [She finally speaks up, her feather ears twitching.] She won't hurt you, [Xayah nods at the blob underneath her cape.] She's too shy to even chat.

B. September 7th

[Xayah wasn't especially close to anyone that had disappeared during the incident, but that doesn't mean she didn't feel bad. Well- she mostly felt bad for the spirits, really. They were being manipulated by the Keeper, and as someone who had witnessed a lot of manipulation and strings of shadows in her life, it hit her. She was so happy that her little friend wasn't hurt in the battle.

Together, they step close to the water and let a few boats go. The spirit is doing it ever so carefully, stopping to think for a moment, before sending another. Xayah sends three boats- one for the people, one for the forest spirits and one for... someone who isn't even here. Her prayer goes that he never appears here. This place doesn't deserve his light.

When she stands she feels someone standing behind her. Right, there are more people waiting to let boats go.]

All yours, [she says quietly, turning around and stepping aside.]

C. September 8th

[Xayah continues spending time by the docks. One can easily catch her walking around and just watching the scene of floating, small lights on the lake. Her eyes would drift to the Lighthouse from time to time and an unreadable expression would cover her face.

She'd then return to the tree and sit underneath it, listening to the cicadas and crickets. It actually does feel like a forest. It almost makes he tear up. (If there was light, maybe you even could see it). She's toying with few golden feathers that came here with her, belonging entirely to someone else. She can sense their magic within them. It's something that kept her sane around here.

When she hears footsteps, she hastily returns them under her cowl and cape, pretending she wasn't doing anything. Fiddling with the edges of her hair, her eyes glance back and forth between the lake and person that just arrived.]

Nice night. [...] There's song in the air. [Crickets. She means crickets. Wow. Way to make things awkward, Xayah.]

D. Wildcard

[Add me freely at WindsongWitch if you wanna run some other ideas at me!~ I am always open for plotting.]

A. once more with feeling

[trivialpursuit]

[Let the record show that Kakyoin is trying his very hardest to stop lingering in people's periphery until they notice him, but it just keeps happening like this. And let the record show that he does sit down— but at a polite distance, you know, after last time.

Which is actually why he's approached her at all. It takes him a moment to sort through his little pile of paper and markers, and he doesn't exactly... look up at her when he clears his throat and speaks.]

I— wanted to apologize.

[Now he glances up at her face, briefly; he's had no amazing revelations, but the recent postings and meetings and so on about their dire circumstances have convinced him to be... nicer... at least. More open-minded.]

We have different experiences, and I should have been... more reasonable.

elena gilbert | the vampire diaries | ota

[otrazhenie]

[ At first, Elena doesn't want to participate in the little ceremony happening at the harbor. She's only just arrived, it doesn't seem right to grieve things that hadn't even happened here... but the assurance that it's alright is enough to get under her skin, to remind her of another time she'd honored the dead.

So she takes her place beside the others, choosing a design and making an attempt at folding the paper into the correct shapes. After her second try, one of the spirits comes to her aid, the strange creature exuding kindness as it shows her each fold and carefully helps her secure the little boat so it will hold its form and float above the water. And then it offers her a marker, gesturing toward another spirit who is covering their own boat in little designs — she accepts it with a small, sad smile, but instead uses it to write a string of names around the edge of the boat in rounded print letters.

Grayson. Miranda. Jenna. John. Isobel. Vicki. Aaron. Bonnie. Damon.

The last name takes the longest to inscribe on the paper, and she's close to tears as she stands with her construction and makes her way to the water, the paper lantern glowing softly in the darkness next to her own. She walks a little way along the shore, just far enough to put a bit of distance between herself and the others, before kneeling down to carefully set the little boat atop the water and give it a tiny push to send it on its way to meet the others.

She stays there, kneeling beside the water, watching the soft lights of the boats, for a long time. Hours maybe. Because for a while, at least, this is all that matters: letting go of the grief that has consumed her for so long. ]

[equinoctials]

[ The graves that appeared as mysteriously as they vanished, back when the first ferry arrived, seemed to be meant to encourage newcomers to come to grips with their own deaths, their own losses. A whole host of other issues cropped up around it, something that was perhaps done with good intentions with poor execution.

This is the gentler gesture. They're permitted to share their private grief as explicitly or as implicitly as they want. There's the true distinction: choice.

Riku had been helping a forest spirit patch a hole in theirs so that their little craft would float instead of sink, conducting all of that business in almost total silence, except for the occasional trilled whistle. It doesn't mean that's taking all his attention. Riku's always looking around, at both newcomer and forest spirit and old hand alike, marking who is present, their interactions with the spirits, whether they're helping. Hindering.

It's a way of gauging the heartbeat of Beacon, he supposes. Some paint. Some write. Like that one over there, tears standing unshed in her eyes as she writes letters around the edge of her boat.

He drops his eyes, because there's observing and then there's intruding on another's private moment.

Riku approaches. But it's only later, when she kneels by the water, and only because when Riku thinks about it, leaving someone alone doesn't seem like something his friends would have done. Not Kairi, certainly not Sora. ]

...Don't think I've ever seen it this calm.

[ The silver haired stranger is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, there's heavy dirt stains on the knees like he's been doing some serious yard work before he came here. He stands there on the shore, staring out at the mirror of the lake. ]

Coraline Li | OTA

[primordialerebus]

I.

[ For the first time since the meeting, Coraline is fully out of her self-imposed exile near constant vigil at the church. Denial can only take someone so far, and after nearly 3 weeks of waiting. Well. This is how far it’s going to take her. They aren’t coming back. None of them are.

So she’s here. Methodically making boats for each and every one of the fallen, even those she had never met. From Rafe, the asshole, to Gene, who definitely deserved better. The designs are simple, and each has the name of the lost written on it in black marker. Once she finishes with those, she moves on to those left back home, hopefully still alive and happy: study partners, fellow heroes, teachers, mentors members of her dance troupes… even Bliss. God she never thought she’d miss that crazy person. She’s there for nearly a day straight, the pile of boats next to her growing as she works with a frenzied energy. She rarely stops except to gather more supplies or when purposely bothered, mostly by spirits seeking help.

It’s only when she reaches the last 2 that she slows. These are given a bit more care. While she isn’t good enough at origami to make a more intricate design, she does her best to decorate them, adding little doodles and flourishes that remind her best friend and mother.

Once she finishes with those, she just… stares at her finished creations for a long moment, face blank and body deathly still. Around her, the shadows churn lightly, a counterpoint to the overall calm. The seconds draw into minutes, and just as things seem to reach some sort of tumultuous climax, she sends out the first boat.

This time when she cries, it’s like a catharsis. And when the last boat is sent away for her mother, for the first time since… everything, she feels only peace. ]

II.

[ She’s sitting at the harbor edge when the insects return, captivated by the glittering stars reflected in the still water. She doesn’t even notice at first, her hearing being what it is. It’s only when a particularly determined cicada SCREAMS from a tree nearby, startling her out of her reverie that she realizes what’s happening. ]

Holy shit. Do you hear that?

[ She asks reverently, turning to the person nearby. ]

I

[knifecollecting]

[Jo comes along when the pile is large enough to be obvious and pauses to look between the mountain and Caroline. She doesn't recognize the girl, but she is curious.]

Are these all for you? [Surely not.]

Jo Harvelle | OTA

[knifecollecting]

At the shore & Crafting
[It's a thoughtful gesture. There's a small part of her that doesn't feel like it's enough, but she doesn't know what would feel like enough.

Her duo of boats are simple, but they float even once she's placed a rock in each. One boat is decorated with what might appear to be snowflakes and no name. The second boat has a name and two dates. "Ellen Harvelle" might be visible, but Jo writes the dates small enough that they aren't easily read. She knows her mom would not want people to know her exact age. The rock for that boat gets a stealthy kiss before she places it.

She wades just into the water to set her boats adrift, retreating to watch all of the boats float.]

Anywhere else
[It isn't until she's leaving the Harbor that Jo notices the sounds of the insects. For most of her life, it was a background noise to be ignored, and for a while after the return, her brain does the same here.

She stands in awe, lantern hanging at her side as she rests motionless to listen.]

Do you hear that? [It's a whisper, but if she hears someone approach, she asks them. Is it a good sign? She's not sure. But it's new.]

Anywhere else

[sauntered_downward]

[Crowley is walking some distance away from the blonde Nebraska woman. He stops when she speaks, and listens.]

Hear what?

Mary | OTA

[withsadness]

a. [Mary doesn't know how to make paper boats. She knows how to draw, of course, and spends a good deal of time personalizing a little picture for every one of her dearly departed friends. She loves them, she misses them, she's sorry that they died again, and that they haven't come back. She should cry, probably, or could cry, maybe, but that's not how she's feeling, exactly. Because it's more angry than sad.

They've left her.

But it isn't their fault, is it? They didn't do it on purpose. Mary sits with a quill-covered spirit roughly her own size, maybe a bit smaller, and watches it gnash at its paper with its pointed teeth. Without blinking, she mimics the action, and shoves one of her drawings into her mouth.]

b. [Either she gets tired of eating paper or has decided that her mashed-up paper creations don't suit her needs the way that she'd like them to, because eventually she leaves the company of her forest spirit friends and comes up to you, holding up one of her drawings of a lost member of their company.]

I need to make it a boat.

[This is her version of asking for help. Mary's just assuming that she's gonna get it. Look at her big sad eyes!]

c. [Standing quietly at the edge of the dark water, illuminated by the multitude of glowing pebbles, Mary says nothing for a long time. It's not until she notices someone's close by, and maybe not leaving, that she suddenly says what's on her mind.]

Where do you think they'll go?

a;

[silvercrusader]

[He sent out a few boats of his own, but they weren't for anyone here. The names on them are strange, foreign, and he hopes to god he got the spelling right. He hidden one carefully, sending it out swiftly, but that's neither here nor there. He only notices her on the way pack, climbing up the bank, dodging some of the larger spirits.

Mary's sitting with one. He doesn't like that, but he can't tell her what to do. He can, however, intervene when he sees her jamming paper into her mouth, jesus--]

Oye, oye-- don't put it in your mouth!