logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: FOR EVERYTHING A REASON

Entry tags:

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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Even if she were stealthy, the Soldier hasn't been property its whole (remembered) life for nothing: it knows how to read people's intentions pretty damn well. It just has certain extremely large blind spots and a boatload of paranoia coloring its observations.

By the time she speaks again, the little square boat is almost complete, the work of careful folds and precise creases, mostly done with the right, flesh hand rather than the metal one. The Soldier answers, almost automatically, "I will perform whatever task you need. Will you need that task soon?"

_{[He freezes like he's been caught at something before he can stop himself. Acting caught just makes it seem as though there's something to catch him at, and he doesn't owe anyone here an explanation for what he gets up to. But there's something adjacent to self-consciousness at being seen interacting with the spirits in some manner of friendliness...

There are images to maintain.]}

No.

_{[As if the very concept of it is stupid when he's the one--yes--caught blue-handed.]}

These things just won't leave me alone. _{[A firm never you mind if there ever was one. He finishes with the rag and reaches for his lantern, raising it to bring the stains on Riku's skin and clothes into focus.]} What happened to you?

_{[Apparently he'll ask for explanations without giving them...]}

Now it's her turn to be a little afraid, for caution to color the way she holds herself and very carefully doesn't look at him. Because yes, she made the choice to share her secret with everyone here, but she can't help but worry that it will turn out to be a very bad decision.

"Yes, if that's okay," she answers hesitantly. "I've had others offer to help too, but I'm trying not to rely on one person too often. I don't want to hurt anyone."

That explains her approaching and striking up the conversation. Best finish the first task, and then help with the next one. The Soldier nods once to her, then climbs to its feet, taking the little boat and the little glowing rock to the shore to set them out on the water. It watches the paper start to drift out for a moment, and while it's still facing the water, asks simply, "What do you need?"

It's pretty sure she won't hurt it. Well, not for long, not the way she means. The Soldier fully expects this to hurt, but the Soldier heals quickly.

Oh! I wasn't. Making fun of the sheet? I was--

[Making fun of his own really crappy skills at making clothes from scratch? The maybe-feral life style everyone would have to adopt if basic necessities started to fail? He shrugs.] nevermind.

Yeah. I mean, they seem to be trying to say something? And it doesn't sound threatening? Or, you know, like something you'd say right before ripping someone throat out? But...

[Yeah, he's just going to let that line of thought go, trailing off in to the unsaid.]

She watches him move, her hands wrapped around each other in an almost twisting motion in her lap while she worried over her decision. History has proven that she doesn't always make the best choices, and there's no one here to save her now. (If she even deserves saving anymore, let alone if she truly wants it.)

"That's—" She stands quickly and shakes her head, despite his being turned away from her. "That's not why I— I can wait another day, it's fine."

That's not why she'd stopped to talk to him. Is it?

Remember those extremely large blind spots? Expecting anyone to want to be a friend with no ulterior motive is kinda one of them. It's not your fault, Elena. Your buddy's just a little fucked up.

The Soldier turns back to her, task complete and registering her sudden change of tone. It looks... a little confused. "If you're hungry now, I can help. I said that I would."

Some part of her is doubting now whether that wasn't part of why she'd approached him after all. It would be a very Katherine thing to do, and as much as she hates admitting it, there are some traits she does share with the other woman beyond their identical appearance. It's not something she thinks to much on, but it's always there, clawing at the back of her mind.

"I know. And I am. I guess I'm just..." She crosses her arms and suddenly looks very much like the nineteen year old girl she is, despite the whole supernatural predator thing. "Scared."

Oh. That's. Unexpected. The Soldier blinks once then considers in baffled silence for a moment, trying to think of something that will help someone being afraid.

(What helps it when it's afraid? Sass.)

It says, with ultra-blandness in its tone and the most bland non-assassin-y expression it can muster, "I know, I am a little scary." It's trying to lighten the mood. Trying. It might not succeed but dammit it's trying.

I don't think so. Everyone is currently in the 'checking out' stage.

[She picks up a few very bendy vines and starts making a braid out of them.] I was aiming more for us against the forest spirits. She has influence over them.

[The spirit underneath her coat lets out a sad hoot, and Xayah sighs- yeah, she doesn't want to fight them either. At least not the friendly ones.]

They told you what happened last month, right?

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."

[ 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. ]

[ they're words of wisdom kol didn't know he needed to hear. he doesn't jump when eliot approaches; he could hear his footsteps, even if he wasn't focusing on them. in truth, he was too focused on his little boat and its stupid meaning. still, despite eliot's words, he keeps the boat out of the water and looks at his newfound beaconite.. ]

Does the leaping need to have any meaning?

[ of course it does. people don't jump off rocks into lakes without some sort of intent. usually it's to show that they could do it, that they were brave enough. although, kol doubts letting boats drift into the water and off to wherever they're going to go is meant to represent such a feat.

with a glance down, he notices eliot's hands are bare. ] Did you already leap?

[ all kol wants is to get the spirits off his back. while they appear nice and quite crafty, the latter a trait one he holds in high esteem, he knows that this is only a temporary kindness. if he knows spirits (and he likes to think he does), they'll remember him refusing to partake in their arts and crafts. they'll also remember her.

kol wants to be on their good side, which is why he keeps holding the boat out for the young woman to take. noticing how her eyes widen slightly, his narrow just a little. it's the kind of look he's used to being on the receiving end of when someone recognises him.

despite his desire to pry as to why she doesn't want the boat, he says gently, ] Just take the boat.

[ privacy while dead. never heard of her. ]

A bit pushy? [ he almost laughs, looking directly at the three spirits tailing jason.

kol can see he's a pretty boy, but he thought the spirits were immune to that type of charm! it's the funniest thing he's seen all day (no offence, jason). after his time spent in the surprisingly progressive town meeting, he's deduced a few things about the people in beacon. about jason, he suspects there's more underneath the blonde hair, and the three spirits tailing him prove as much. he must be one of the nicest people here, having won them over so quickly.

lowering the proffered boat, he glances out at the water littered with paper before looking back at jason. ] They seem very keen to let a lot of things go… except you, it seems. This is the most spirits I've seen follow anyone. Did you help them fold a boat?

[ is jason also fantastic at origami? he has the shoulders for it. ]

Definitely a familiar face. The Soldier stops by Handler Misty's house about once every twenty-four hours to check for jobs she might have for it to do (once or twice it's done so more often, out of a low-level desperation for something to do). Even if those jobs are often small and well beneath the level its training, it doesn't care. It's something to do.

The past day or so hasn't been one of those times, because between other tasks, it's had the little boats.

At her voice it changes the angle of its path to intercept without missing a step. "Handler Misty." There's not a smile, the Soldier still doesn't smile. But there's a slight relaxing of expression and shoulders, and the metal arm makes a brief rippling of plates as if saying hi, too. She's a good handler, hasn't even tried to hurt anyone yet, not even the Soldier itself. It's nice. Helps that the whole little boats thing makes it feel more calm, too.

[ he turns back to watch a little as quentin describes it. it's haunting, a bit. like something out of one of kitschy japanese horror film before some curse sets in (though admittedly, he only feels this because it's fucking dark as hell forever out here, and it is starting to mess with him a little). but there's a beauty to it too, and importance that would be remiss to ignore. ]

It's not about only the people who died recently. It's symbolic. Did you never see Tangled? [ floating lanterns, lit boats. same shit, different world. ]

You wouldn't mess anything up. Things like this are meant for everyone to find peace, not just whoever lost someone last month. What would the point be of mourning only the few when there were always more before?

[ wow. okay. real vampire hunter. that wasn't really expected. they aren't really as common where he's from, or at least if they are, they tend to keep more quiet than vampires themselves who are already quiet enough, but it's a strange sort of aggression to suddenly be exposed to, at least given his experience and knowledge of vampires.

beheading? seriously? ]

Well. Given that anyone would probably find it a bit much to be murdered by sudden javelin. And also beheading if they had the time to react to it.

Are vampires not. Mm. Remotely amenable where you're from?

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. ]

Common? You mean- [ them being dead?, is something he can't bring himself to say. daylight knows it's all but a fact for his life, an unfortunate turn of events that he couldn't control and had no part of but- still-

so he ducks his helm instead, buying some time to think of how he should answer that. ] ... No. Not really. Dad's passing was an accident. He- He chose to save others over himself when something happened.

And Mom didn't have the best health. It kind of caught up with her in the end because she worked so hard to help others. [ he feels like that's the politest and the least depressing way to summarise his parents'- his parents' absence. yeah, he decides as he looks back up at rosinante and tries to smile. ] I still got to know them, at least! Stories from my aunties and uncles and archive footage and things they wrote. I got a good idea of them from that despite everything.

There likely isn't any point in protesting the 'handler', so she opts not to. Later.

"Paying respects, or just passing by?" She asks, dividing focus between him and the paper she's working between her hands. He's solemn enough and active enough she could imagine a case for either; and it's her best bet for small talk. A stone's throw from 'how are you'.

I have not seen Tangled, no.

[As if that had been the point Eliot was trying to make, and Quentin wants it to be, just a little bit. He doesn't want to think about everything he's lost. Everything they've lost. But it's as if this whole night is pushing it at him, the ritualistic feeling to the scene playing out by the shore of the lake. The many beings making small tokens of grief to push in to the water, letting them sail away.

It tugs at him.

The want.

To be able to put his feelings about all of them in to little paper boats, light them up with magical rocks and send them off. To be a part of this, to mourn his dad all over again without the Monster breathing down his neck. Maybe make one for Arielle, too. He mourned her in Fillory. And again when they get the memories or the memories of memories back after the Throne Room and Margo's wedding.

Still resting against the solid trunk of the tree behind him, Quentin can almost see what the boats should look like. What he'd write on them, before folding them up.]

I've read a story about something like this once. About putting your last words to your dead loved ones in letters and sending them off? There's a place down there without a lot of people. Maybe-- [wistful sigh, and really, there's nothing stopping him but himself, but it just seems like a goodbye. Making a boat, and Quentin's not all that sure he wants to. Say goodbye.] we could make one? For the rest of them?

Hey, if she told it not to call her that, it wouldn't. That's an order, after all. (Wouldn't stop it from calling her that in its head, though.)

"Just making little boats," the Soldier answers. "I don't have any respects to pay." Thankfully Elena already gave it permission to keep going when it learned the real reason for all this, so Misty doesn't have to deal with its confusion and dismay at the discovery.

I heard enough about it, I think.

[Enough to know he'd really like to avoid something like that happening while he's here, anyway, which is what counts. He's sick of fighting— for once, can he just not sit and rest for more than a week, please. He's so tired.

Anyway, since there is a little friend in there making noises, he has to ask--]

Are you-- Can you communicate with them better than those 'stock phrases' we were given with the ocarina? If you've met Quentin, he's doing his best, but it's... slow going.

Then you know how hard it is to trust again when someone puts a knife at your throat.

[And they had to. No one wanted to- but they had to. Just remembering the sound of foghorn makes Xayah's ears twitch- the unpleasant, unsettling sound.

She looks up at him then glances at the bundle under her cloak-]

I never used the ocarina to communicate with them. I was just- [she gives Kakyoin the braid she made out of vines and nods at the shuffling spirit- 'offer it to them'] -nice. It won't hurt to try.

[She lifts the cloak and the spirit is instantly on alert, looking up at both of them. Mostly focused on him, since they don't know him.]

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EVENT LOG: FOR EVERYTHING A REASON

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