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.

QUICKNAV
comms	\|	network • logs • memes • ooc
pages	\|	rules • faq • taken • mod contact • player contact • calendar • setting • exploration • item requests • full nav

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

_{[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--]}

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

_{[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.]}

[ 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?

_{[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...]}

[ He observes that - the thread of tension going taut through the set of the other boy's shoulders, caught being... less than tough. It kindles amusement. Not exactly predatory, though Riku's competitive nature makes it tempting to pull on that thread. Not close enough for fondness, either.

The smirk lurking at the corner of his mouth arrives at No, knowingly. ]

They do that.

[ His aquamarine eyes narrow. ]

Especially if you're a total sap.

[ But MK points out the soil clinging to his knees and his knuckles, caked into the undersides of his fingernails. He drags a hand through his silver hair, rolls a shoulder, a casual flick and a nonchalant half-shrug at once. Cocky. ]

Wouldn't you like to know.

You out here playing lone wolf again?

_{[Sappy. It feels so patently off base that he can't even muster much irritation. He's been pressed and kneaded into so many different shapes in a short amount of years that he can barely remember the boy before the Badlands, but he's sure he was never sappy. He turns on the tap to detachment, letting it soothe wounds before the salt from Riku's barbs can make them sting.]}

You'd be wrong to mistake it for weakness, and so would they. I've killed plenty of them and I'd do it again.

_{[Understanding their shame is one thing, showing them mercy is another.]}

And I don't play. _{[What do you think he is, Riku, a kid?]} Fine, don't tell me. It's none of my busin--

_{[A tug on his sleeve cuts him off. Looking down, he sees the spirit now pulling at his arm for attention, smiling with outlandishly crooked teeth. Proudly, it holds up the lantern paper, showing them its take on M.K.'s design.

A blue butterfly. He instantly regrets indulging the whim, having not actually expected the spirit reproduce it so faithfully. For a creature that can't even talk, it's better at drawing than him. That is a handful of salt, and for more than one reason.]}

[ It's not quite the push and pull Riku had become used to, growing up, Riku's the one doing most of the pushing and pulling, but M.K. doesn't cave easily and that makes it better. To be fair, he didn't have it here either, the only challenge left to Riku was to watch his best friend fade until Sora decided what he needed to do.

There's an intractable edge to the other guy that takes himself far too seriously. Of course he'd call even the slightest kindness shown the spirits sappy. It invites defensiveness, though he speaks of killing them again and he puts up his palm. ]

Easy--

[ They're both interrupted by the return of the forest spirit, proudly showing their lantern, it's damningly obvious copy of the blue butterfly on M.K.'s own, and he can probably feel Riku's smirking gaze on him as he folds his arms. ]

Man, you are hopeless.

[ To the spirit, Riku bends to take a look. ]

If anything, this one should be giving the art lessons. Nice job.

_{[Now that does get him to sour, and he shoots the other boy a look from over top of the spirit, eyebrows pulled flat in the exact kind of indignation inherent in someone reading the serious into the casual. Who is he to tell him to ease off and heckle him in the next breath?

The difference is all in the growing up--the kind of boyhood joshing Riku looks back on with nostalgic warmth is as foreign to him as Riku himself, all starlight silvers and bright eyes. There'd been Bale, who would've said anything to anyone if it put him ahead. And Tate, the pair of them bonded by confinement. Castor would've killed him as soon as look at him, and Eli? He'd been the most friendly with Eli out of all the loyal dark ones, but he'd also been Eli's superior. He wouldn't say he'd had the sort of relationship with any of them that had allowed for this.

Except for maybe Tilda, and that's a startling comparison with her so close to the surface of his thoughts.]}

Nobody asked you. _{[Oh so very petulant!]} What do you even want?

_{[Taking aim at Riku is as good an excuse as any to ignore the spirit as long as he can--a failed effort, as it tugs at him again, wanting acknowledgement from the one who taught him the new drawing in the first place. He presses his lips together, still fixing the top of Riku's head with a dark look, but when he relents, it's with a noticeable milder tone.]}

Yeah, that's right. It's... _{[Nostalgic in its own way.]} ... good. It's good.

[ Some of these spirits can understand their speech, but some respond more to the tone, the intent than the words themselves. Riku thinks this might be the case, as he watches M.K. gentle his tone and offer reluctant praise and witnesses the forest spirit nearly shiver happily under the approval.

That's...

Cute, he thinks, well past the age when he used to wonder if it was acceptable for a guy to call something cute, or sweet, without immediately tacking on some derisive criticism, like sappy, though he's still guilty of that, too.

So this guy hasn't hardened so much he's forgotten to be kind.

Riku straightens up, smiling down at the forest spirit, and continues his conversation - if he can even call it that - with M.K., considering it's mainly been almost a game of tit for tat between them, with the other boy as prickly as ever. He can't say the value here is as a distraction. He-

Kind of-

Senses a kindred spirit in there, closely guarded the way Riku guards his own heart. Someone whose darkness feels familiar. ]

I don't know... company? Why does anybody show up to these things? Huh-?

[ Another forest spirit presses paper into his hands, with a melodic chirp as it mimes gnawing on it. Assuming the spirit means to encourage him to get working on his own floating lantern, Riku looks over at M.K., shrugging. ]

Guess it's my turn. You see any scissors?

_{[He's half-tempted to push the spirit away, anything to get it to stop waving that butterfly around, anything not to have to talk about it--

In lieu of taking his discomfort out on the spirit that has really done nothing wrong except entertain itself, he takes it out on the one moving target he can.]}

If that's the case, maybe you'd have more company if you didn't mouth off so much.

_{[Never has a more laughably hypocritical thing been uttered on this planet and he's utterly unrepentant about it, lifting his chin and crossing his arms, as if daring Riku to explain why he's once again inserting himself into the flow of M.K.'s heavy thoughts to hassle him. He's scarcely finished delivering his retort when the antics of his puffball companion seem to draw in more spirits--thankfully, to bounce around the legs of the other guy. Tit for tat indeed.]}

I thought this was for saps?

_{[The fact that M.K. has failed to claim any of the lantern paper he and the spirit had drawn on as his own exempts him from sap status, or so he'd say. He isn't actually here to send a lantern off. He hadn't even meant to memorialize a symbol of the dead--it'd been a whim, nothing more. If he should be honoring anyone, it should be with a symbol of Azra, of his people.]}

[ If he didn't mouth off so much?

The look Riku gives M.K. - narrowed eyes, a chin tipped just so - says two words with so much less:

Make me.

Unfortunately for the both of them, any intimidating effect of their face-off is thoroughly diluted by the cluster of hopping, chirping forest spirits gathering around their legs. It's hard to keep it going in the face of such a ceaseless onslaught of these guys being weirdly cute while also probably capable of tearing them all into small pieces when gathered in such numbers.

Riku is the one who relents first. ]

Maybe. Ask my friends yourself.

[ Riku stoops, his eyes sweeping over the smaller spirits. One of them offers a gnawed piece of paper, causing his expression to gentle into something that's a little grossed out and pretty amused about it. ]

I'm visiting after we're done here. [ He peers up through the pale veil of his long bangs. ] You should come.

_{[That is the look of a man who's finished digging a grave and about to bury you in it. Knowing as little as he does about how true that really is, he's glad to see the other can get as good as he gives. He'd have to think less of Riku if he bowed too easily under pressure.

To M.K.'s rather biased perspective, everyone here seems on the soft side until proven otherwise.

But that's... not the kind of retort he'd expect, though. He's not sure it's a retort at all. He cocks his head in a show of uncertainty. His friends? The band of young people he's seen him with from time to time? Close to his own age, if he's not mistaken, and some so close in appearance they could be twins. If he's also not mistaken some are gone now (maybe explaining why Riku's here at the water's edge).]}

Why?

_{[Why is he inviting him places, and also, why would M.K. want to do that?

And in case Riku was wondering, he's absolutely asking that while standing back and being zero help with Riku's spirit fan club. Bother your mom, kids.]}

[ Riku didn't have an easy time of it, but eventually learned the lesson that you pick your battles; he goes along with what the spirits try to hand him, grants them this sheet of paper of his own to rip up and gnaw on or whatever else the little spirits choose to do with it.

Maybe he'll even keep the product of their work, float it in honor of the spirits who were so gripped with the fight part of fight, flight or flee that night that they couldn't help but die.

Like a lot of people here, they deserved better, he thinks. ]

Because you can handle yourself.

[ He doesn't really answer. ]

But, hey- if you're afraid, stay here. Doesn't make a difference to me.

Unless the one with the shadow puppets plans on challenging me to a proper fight, I don't see what that has to do with visiting your friends.

_{[He's not so curious as to what Riku wants with an armed and dangerous dark one to bite at cryptic bait like that.

Half his attention is on the spirit who'd recreated the blue butterfly, back at the table now scrawling on the other sides of its paper. He can't identify the feeling that rises up at thinking it could be part of a lantern that joins the others on the water, part of a memorial for people who'd died for the girl in the lighthouse who, by and large, doesn't seem worth a fraction of the lives she'd cost. Another spirit sticks a distended tongue out to lick at the paints; M.K. absently pushes its head away.]}

Edited 2019-09-23 03:03 (UTC)

[ Maybe Robin will be worth the sacrifice. Maybe all they did was add to their own problems. Time will tell.

Riku isn't trying to say goodbye to the friends he's lost with the contributions he's getting from the spirits clustered around them, he's not sure what he's doing.

Apologizing, maybe. Consoling them in a language more mutual than the one that he uses with M.K. and at least that seems to be appeasing enough. He eventually has to sit - right there on the ground - and one of the spirits occupies his right thigh like he's little more than some log overgrown with moss. ]

Shadow puppets?

[ He snorts softly. ]

Which one are you talking about?

_{[Which one? Implying there are more like Vanitas to choose from? He makes a faintly disbelieving sound. Wow.]}

Dark hair. Gold eyes. He controlled the darkness in a way I haven't seen before.

_{[Calling the Unversed "shadow puppets" is a bit on the factitious side; in truth, after his surprise crash course in Vanitas' abilities, he'd be the first to admit the creatures are extraordinary. Not unlike the creatures that now crowd around Riku like children seeking attention from a favored school teacher.

And Riku--Riku sits. Everyone from Vanitas' end of the pond seems a cut above the norm in some way, don't they. He's seen firsthand what some of the spirits can do with their teeth, and as much as he understands their contrition, not even M.K., with his readiness to fight and his scimitars ready to be drawn, is sure he'd trust his reaction time enough to put himself in the vulnerable position of squatting at their level. It strikes him as both humbling and a tad stupidly brave.]}

That doesn't answer my question.

Edited 2019-09-28 03:54 (UTC)

Vanitas. [ Riku peers up at M.K. through the silver veil of his hair and says flatly: ] We're not friends.

[ Even if he looks like something a little more than a bizarre palette swap of his best friend - bulkier, harder, as if he spent his years in battle against everyone and everything for the sake of it instead of in the warmth and light of childhood friendships and footraces on the beach.

They're not friends. Not enemies, either.

He hasn't tried to define what it is, that makes him want to butt heads with Vanitas and yet concerns himself with the fact that he seems to be actively grieving in his own way. Riku doesn't try to. Not everything needs a name, not everything has a slot suited perfectly for every piece.

Riku sits because if these guys were going to rip him to pieces they would have, and he takes calculated risks trusting anyone already. ]

They're not shadows and they're not puppets either. I've met both.

[ He controlled the darkness in a way I haven't seen before. ]

You have a lot of experience seeing people control the darkness?

Edited 2019-09-28 12:48 (UTC)

_{[Again, Riku manages to dodge, throwing crumbs of information as he answers only the parts he cares to. He could ask--about how he and Vanitas are acquainted, about the shadows and the puppets and everything in between--but that would be jumping at more bait and leaving Riku open to tug the string out of reach again. Annoying.]}

I'd be surprised if you were.

_{[Friends, that is. If Riku nettles and dances around conversations with Vanitas to the same degree he does with M.K., he can only imagine the golden-eyed boy's exasperation.

Well, two can play at that game.]}

Someone once said to me... _{[A thoughtful hum.]} How did he put it? "Wouldn't you like to know"?

_{[He's speaking to Riku--or trying to. The spirit perched on his thigh like some oversized cat is distracting to talk over.]}

[ Riku might just be having the same problem, given how he sways to look around it, catching after a few attempts that the spirit is playing some kind of game it made up by itself, leaning in his path each time.

He relents after a moment, shoulders giving a little shrug, eyebrows arched like M.K.'s brush-off had interested him, but there's nothing he can do about it with this little guy in the way.

Riku does lift a hand to point past M.K.'s shoulder, as a spirit with a fairly impressive rack of antlers - looking more like gnarled branches, really - starts to plod towards the shore. ]

Hey, you should duck.

_{[You know what tends to ruin the Serious Business™ aesthetic you're trying to embody via grim face, tight jaw, and forbiddingly crossed arms? This. As if the spirit rocking like a pendulum and interrupting his Likewise Serious™ move to one-up Riku in this conversation wasn't bad enough, then some... moose... thing has to come barging on through.

He's never seen a moose before, but he imagines this is what one would look like, a slow-moving train that has zero respect for any dark ones that may or may not be standing in the way. He has to unfold his arms and a quick step back to avoid getting an antler tip to the face.

Others aren't so lucky. His fluffy Picasso-in-training squeaks when the spirit bumps the table, turning a stroke of paint into a smear job. Farther along an antler snags a half-finished lantern and turns it into a misshapen head ornament to the dismay of a group of spirits that go chasing after.]}

Unbelievable.

_{[Slightly awed that these are the same creatures that guard the Lighthouse and recently mowed some of their number down.]}

Yeah.

[ That sound comes from closer now; in the chaos, a number of spirits went off after the larger one, meaning Riku could finally get back to his feet. He's standing at his side and a little behind, staring at the antlered one in fascination. ]

To think that there are even bigger ones out there.

[ Like what they'd seen during the Lighthouse mission, like what he was told about, when Sora and he stood at the entrance to the Invincible, run ragged and injured. Ones that reach the treetops, who seem to command others smaller than them. Who seem to read their hearts and intentions, regardless of the words you say.

They're incredible.

Riku glances aside at M.K., turning away as he clears his throat. ]

I'm gonna finish this and head back. It's up to you if you decide to come along.

_{[Although they're watching the same ridiculous carnage, their thoughts unspool with slightly different emphasis. The bigger ones--yes, the bigger ones worry him, too, those powerful and mysterious spirits hiding in the deep forest. The green-eyed ones. The ones the Lighthouse Keeper either controls, or knows more about but refuses to say.

Inwardly, he shivers, unease spoiling the innocent tableau of spirits releasing lanterns onto the water and playfully chittering after their larger brethren. Overlayed is the reality he fears: potential enemies, all around, and this town so small and exposed. Literally and figuratively in the dark on all counts.

With those concerns still lingering in his periphery, Riku's repeated--and vague--invitation sparks irritation, coated in mystery so much like this entire enterprise has been from the beginning. He looks over with his lips pressed tight.]}

What is it with people in this place and straight answers?

_{[Note that it's not a no, but the world at large needs to hear this. Are you listening, world? He hates guessing games.]}

[ It's probably about what he expects, that Riku leaves without giving him a straight answer.

He constructs a single lantern, he sets it out to float among the others, he even speaks with a few others who have gathered here.

And then Riku leaves, long after his dirt-stained pants have dried and the floating lanterns glow in the distance. He takes a less scenic route - just beelines straight for a small hill where the sandy dirt eventually gives way to a steepening slope clotted with withered vegetation.

The hill commands a decent view of the gathering down at the shore and of the humble boathouse. ]

_{[Just like that, the other swans off, leaving M.K. to grit his teeth at a surge of distemper. Riku might feel the scowl beamed at his back--he really can't stand tight-lipped types like this.

He almost doesn't go. Anyone who knows M.K. knows he can dine out on a grudge longer than most have a right to, and his sufficient annoyance, such as it is, tempts him into a show of pettiness. To hell with the insufferable silver-haired oddball and his oddball friends. He doesn't need the headache.

That doesn't, of course, doesn't change how much time he has on his hands with little to fill it. If he eventually tires of the spirits and the sadness in the air and follows Riku's departure to stand in the shadows some distance down the hill, it's because he's swapping one distraction for another. Some part of him does want to know what all the cryptic comments had been about. So he watches, wondering who Riku had talked about meeting when he's standing all by himself.]}

[ M.K. isn't so different. People have to work to get into the confidence of people like them. Maybe M.K. has a looser tongue than Riku has, they put up walls around their most vulnerable places and are reluctant to let them down. They do so conditionally.

Actions have always been easier for Riku, who for so long lacked a vocabulary for the things he feels that didn't come framed as a challenge, a dare, a tease, something cocky and sometimes cutting. Riku is illuminated in two places - by the starlight in his pale hair and by the warm glow of the lantern hanging from his hip; these throw his face into shadow when he tips it, looking down. ]

I'm back. Had to see Dawn off.

[ No one answers and, unperturbed, Riku unhooks his lantern from his belt loop, carrying it with him as he moves to sit on the ground. When he speaks again, he's set it down, picking up twigs, stray leaves that have blown in over the two graves. The soil heaped over one of them is much fresher than the other, the soil is still dark and damp. ]

Not you, though. Sora thinks he can find a way to bring you back. And- maybe I'm not that into goodbyes.

_{[It's this damn darkness. Impossible to see clearly long distances, even for the sharpest eyes. He can hear just fine, and Riku cuts an unmistakable silhouette, but--

The one-sided conversation perturbs him for the sole sake of not seeming to add up, busy as he is looking for a conversation partner. Riku speaks as if in the quiet company of a friend, only the aforementioned friends he'd promised are nowhere to be found, not that M.K. can tell. It isn't until Riku sits that he begins to see.

Standing at a lower elevation, the angle's all wrong for him to make out exactly what the other is talking to, but he doesn't have to. Riku gives it away--his tone, his words, detritus crunching under his hands as he brushes it off slightly darker patches on the dark ground. It's a tableau most people in the Badlands know well. The clues are all there.

M.K.'s footfalls add to the soft noises of the night as he gives up his distant vigil to come closer. The moment a nebulous kind of dread gives way to understanding is clear, as he pauses for that moment somewhere over Riku's shoulders. Then carries on again, coming closer so that his lantern's light pools with Riku's.]}

Who?

_{[Who's filling these graves? Because that's what they are: graves, one so new Riku's still wearing it.]}

(no subject)

equinoctials - 2019-11-20 21:22 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

darkeyed - 2019-12-13 06:33 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

EVENT LOG: FOR EVERYTHING A REASON

➤ closed to Riku | 6th

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)