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logsinthenight2019-09-06 04:19 pm
inthenightmods) wrote in logsinthenight2019-09-06 04:19 pm
Entry tags:
EVENT LOG: FOR EVERYTHING A REASON
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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no subject
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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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
Wiping his hands clear, their combined lantern light hollows out his eyes and does what all the soft light at the shore couldn't - marks all the way exhaustion is carving into him, while he remains steady. ]
Her name was Kairi. We grew up together.
[ Lifting his chin to look at the other, newer grave: ]
His was Dawn. He picked that name for himself, right here.
no subject
This isn't what he'd been expecting... but neither is it all that surprising. Not to him. Not given where he comes from. He's looked on more fresh graves than he can remember--sometimes he thinks there are more dead in his world than in this one.
But that doesn't stop a dreadful heaviness settling over him, because these aren't just any graves. They belong, he's beginning to realize, to people who were here. And they're certainly not just any graves to the person who had invited him to "meet" them. Replaying their conversation in his head adds a dismal new context to everything.]
From your group.
[Not entirely a question. More a revelation said out loud.]