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thecrossinglogs2025-01-18 12:15 pm
thecrossingmods) wrote in thecrossinglogs2025-01-18 12:15 pm
THE CROSSING #1
THE CROSSING #1
It's time.
For more detail on the particulars of the event, be sure to refer to our info and planning post!
For more detail on the particulars of the event, be sure to refer to our info and planning post!
time to choose
— CALM BEFORE THE STORM
It likely isn’t a surprise, when The Ferryman speaks into your mind again. You’ve known The Crossing was coming, and for the past hours, days, or weeks (however you prefer to section your time in this place), you’ve been feeling it drawing closer.
You’ve felt the pull on your soul, guiding you to follow The River; you’ve felt the changes in the Cavern, and in yourself, a shift in atmosphere that seems to start in the humidity of the air and sinks deep down into your bones. You feel solid. More importantly, you feel vulnerable.
Those who want to pay the toll are invited to gather at The Ferryman’s point of vigil; those who don’t will at least have the draw of The Crossing to guide them.
If you have anything to say before the split, now is the time to do it.
— LIGHTS OUT
Because when the moment comes, it waits for no one.
The Lantern doesn't extinguish immediately. Those gathered with The Ferryman (and, perhaps, those gathered near The Ferryman) will see it: a precarious flickering of flame behind glass. The light shrinks, and with it comes a feeling of something else retreating, too — something that you may have understood was there without realizing it, or that you may have assumed was simply another aspect of the light itself.
The bubble of safety, you realize, is receding. And when The Lantern's Light finally goes out, so too does the shield keeping you separated from the wraiths prowling the tunnels.
The darkness closes in. The Cavern's glowing plants are now the only steady source of light in the entire chamber, which allows your eyes to adjust, but only so much; it becomes difficult to make out the faces of even those standing right beside you.
It's time, so says The Ferryman. Make your decision.
follow the leader
— PAYMENT COMES DUE
There is no pomp or ceremony associated with The Ferryman's toll collection. You need only to be willing, and ready.
The darkness seems to shroud The Ferryman more than it does the rest of you, somehow. You can't make out the features of their face, only hear their voice bidding you to step forward when you're ready. For any of you who might need a moment, The Ferryman will wait.
A mote of light appears in The Ferryman's palms as the toll is paid, growing in proportion to the number of memories it receives. It's small, but you can feel the influence of it: that protective bubble you felt recede when The Lantern extinguished grows again around the light, just enough to envelop the group gathered here.
Time to go, says The Ferryman. And even though you can't track their movements in the darkness, the light tracks it for you: over the lip of the land bridge, and down to the black River below.
Nowhere to go but forward. When you step off yourself (even if it takes a bit of psyching up to get there), you'll find that the drop is gentle, and that your steps suspend safely over the water.
Just don't get left behind.
— HEAR A VOICE THAT CAUSES YOU PAIN
And so, you journey.
You walk on the surface of The River as if it were a wide, black road. Ahead of you, that same mote of light follows in the steps of The Ferryman, illuminating the ripples they leave in the water as breadcrumbs for you to follow. The air above The River is cold, certainly, and sometimes the icy water might splash up onto your shoes or ankles — but The River is wide, and there's room enough to walk together, even if you can't see each other well. It's as comfortable as a journey like this might ever be.
But The Crossing is a trial. You didn't forget, did you?
It starts slow: sounds from the darkness that could be voices, unless it's been dark for so long that your ears are playing tricks on you? Shouts of anger, high-pitched laughter, cries of fury and despair.
Then there are words. They beckon to you from the darkness: some plaintive, some punitive. They want you to stop. They want you to stay. They want you gone. Most of the voices are unfamiliar to you, but at least one, you know very well.
You need to keep moving. If you lose sight of The Ferryman's steps, you run the risk of being lost in the Cavern forever. Or perhaps it's someone beside you who's on the edge of losing their focus, someone who needs you to help keep them on the path?
trust your gut
— FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE
The rest of you, left behind on the banks of The River, have only your wits, the contents of your pockets, and the pull of something beyond the darkness to help you on the journey. The darkness is smothering, but not completely impenetrable: you have the glow of the Cavern plants, the faint gleam of the toll group’s steps on the surface of The River, and anything you may have picked up before you got here.
You can travel together or alone, but you must move. The metaphysical pull on you is growing stronger and more insistent the longer you stay in one place, and the Cavern, before preternaturally silent and still, is beginning to stir.
The wraiths, once silent, shapeless, harmless shadows following you about the Cavern, have changed. Where before they were merely unsettling to look at, now they have become larger and more monstrous: sharp eyes and claws, wide eyes and mouths. Where before they were silent, seemingly both unable and unwilling to make any sound, now they wail: wordless cries of pain and anger giving away their positions in the darkness.
Some of them may even be familiar to you, once they get close enough; the wraiths that before had seemingly taken a liking to you, seeking you out and following you wherever you went, now seem dedicated to hunting you specifically.
What the wraiths want from you, it's hard to say. If they catch you, they will tear at you without strategy or direction, like a ravenous animal — or perhaps a terrified one.
Any injuries you sustain during this time, whether from the wraiths or otherwise, are just as real to you as they would have been when you were alive: you bleed, you break, and you feel every inch of the pain inflicted on you.
Nowhere to go but forward. If you follow the pull in your gut, you'll get to where you're going. One way or another.
on the other side
— A MOMENT OF RESPITE
Whichever trial you've chosen, there is, eventually, the end.
You feel it first in the atmosphere: a resettling of the off-kilterness that's been surrounding you. The air slowly becomes drier, and the darkness less punishing. The plants that line the walls of the Cavern become more and more rare, their light replaced by ambient light leaking in from somewhere above you.
For the group traveling with The Ferryman, the wide expanse of The River gradually becomes shallower and narrower, until it's hardly a trickle beneath your feet, winding through the cave system. For the group traveling on their own, there comes a point where the wraiths seem unwilling or unable to follow, their shrieks in the darkness growing further and further away.
You feel it next in yourself: a smoothing of your rough edges, aches and muscle pain and physical exhaustion melting away. For any injured on the journey, your wounds resolve themselves as if natural healing on fast-forward. Natural healing is not always the cleanest or the most comfortable, though; you might be left with scars, crooked fingers or noses, or some other lasting memory of what you risked to be here.
Lastly, once The River has narrowed enough and two groups have reunited again: The Lantern relights. The Ferryman, for all that they were nearly invisible to you in the darkness, seems just the same as they were before. You made it through, they tell you, with no small amount of warmth and pride. Let's take a load off.
You should rest. If you took anything from the Cavern to help you on your journey, you'll find that it's gone from your pockets — when did that happen? Did you set it down? It's been such a long journey, it could have been a lapse of memory.
A memory? Ah, there's something else gone too, isn't there? Willingly or otherwise. If you try to reach for it now, it's like dust in the breeze, or a dream upon waking. You know it was there once, but the harder you try to recall it back, the thinner the details get. Eventually, you might not remember even that there was something to forget.
Congratulations. The Crossing is complete.
Image credits: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 + stock imagery unless otherwise noted
It likely isn’t a surprise, when The Ferryman speaks into your mind again. You’ve known The Crossing was coming, and for the past hours, days, or weeks (however you prefer to section your time in this place), you’ve been feeling it drawing closer.
You’ve felt the pull on your soul, guiding you to follow The River; you’ve felt the changes in the Cavern, and in yourself, a shift in atmosphere that seems to start in the humidity of the air and sinks deep down into your bones. You feel solid. More importantly, you feel vulnerable.
Those who want to pay the toll are invited to gather at The Ferryman’s point of vigil; those who don’t will at least have the draw of The Crossing to guide them.
If you have anything to say before the split, now is the time to do it.
— LIGHTS OUT
Because when the moment comes, it waits for no one.
The Lantern doesn't extinguish immediately. Those gathered with The Ferryman (and, perhaps, those gathered near The Ferryman) will see it: a precarious flickering of flame behind glass. The light shrinks, and with it comes a feeling of something else retreating, too — something that you may have understood was there without realizing it, or that you may have assumed was simply another aspect of the light itself.
The bubble of safety, you realize, is receding. And when The Lantern's Light finally goes out, so too does the shield keeping you separated from the wraiths prowling the tunnels.
The darkness closes in. The Cavern's glowing plants are now the only steady source of light in the entire chamber, which allows your eyes to adjust, but only so much; it becomes difficult to make out the faces of even those standing right beside you.
It's time, so says The Ferryman. Make your decision.
follow the leader
There is no pomp or ceremony associated with The Ferryman's toll collection. You need only to be willing, and ready.
The darkness seems to shroud The Ferryman more than it does the rest of you, somehow. You can't make out the features of their face, only hear their voice bidding you to step forward when you're ready. For any of you who might need a moment, The Ferryman will wait.
A mote of light appears in The Ferryman's palms as the toll is paid, growing in proportion to the number of memories it receives. It's small, but you can feel the influence of it: that protective bubble you felt recede when The Lantern extinguished grows again around the light, just enough to envelop the group gathered here.
Time to go, says The Ferryman. And even though you can't track their movements in the darkness, the light tracks it for you: over the lip of the land bridge, and down to the black River below.
Nowhere to go but forward. When you step off yourself (even if it takes a bit of psyching up to get there), you'll find that the drop is gentle, and that your steps suspend safely over the water.
Just don't get left behind.
— HEAR A VOICE THAT CAUSES YOU PAIN
And so, you journey.
You walk on the surface of The River as if it were a wide, black road. Ahead of you, that same mote of light follows in the steps of The Ferryman, illuminating the ripples they leave in the water as breadcrumbs for you to follow. The air above The River is cold, certainly, and sometimes the icy water might splash up onto your shoes or ankles — but The River is wide, and there's room enough to walk together, even if you can't see each other well. It's as comfortable as a journey like this might ever be.
But The Crossing is a trial. You didn't forget, did you?
It starts slow: sounds from the darkness that could be voices, unless it's been dark for so long that your ears are playing tricks on you? Shouts of anger, high-pitched laughter, cries of fury and despair.
Then there are words. They beckon to you from the darkness: some plaintive, some punitive. They want you to stop. They want you to stay. They want you gone. Most of the voices are unfamiliar to you, but at least one, you know very well.
You need to keep moving. If you lose sight of The Ferryman's steps, you run the risk of being lost in the Cavern forever. Or perhaps it's someone beside you who's on the edge of losing their focus, someone who needs you to help keep them on the path?
trust your gut
The rest of you, left behind on the banks of The River, have only your wits, the contents of your pockets, and the pull of something beyond the darkness to help you on the journey. The darkness is smothering, but not completely impenetrable: you have the glow of the Cavern plants, the faint gleam of the toll group’s steps on the surface of The River, and anything you may have picked up before you got here.
You can travel together or alone, but you must move. The metaphysical pull on you is growing stronger and more insistent the longer you stay in one place, and the Cavern, before preternaturally silent and still, is beginning to stir.
The wraiths, once silent, shapeless, harmless shadows following you about the Cavern, have changed. Where before they were merely unsettling to look at, now they have become larger and more monstrous: sharp eyes and claws, wide eyes and mouths. Where before they were silent, seemingly both unable and unwilling to make any sound, now they wail: wordless cries of pain and anger giving away their positions in the darkness.
Some of them may even be familiar to you, once they get close enough; the wraiths that before had seemingly taken a liking to you, seeking you out and following you wherever you went, now seem dedicated to hunting you specifically.
What the wraiths want from you, it's hard to say. If they catch you, they will tear at you without strategy or direction, like a ravenous animal — or perhaps a terrified one.
Any injuries you sustain during this time, whether from the wraiths or otherwise, are just as real to you as they would have been when you were alive: you bleed, you break, and you feel every inch of the pain inflicted on you.
Nowhere to go but forward. If you follow the pull in your gut, you'll get to where you're going. One way or another.
on the other side
Whichever trial you've chosen, there is, eventually, the end.
You feel it first in the atmosphere: a resettling of the off-kilterness that's been surrounding you. The air slowly becomes drier, and the darkness less punishing. The plants that line the walls of the Cavern become more and more rare, their light replaced by ambient light leaking in from somewhere above you.
For the group traveling with The Ferryman, the wide expanse of The River gradually becomes shallower and narrower, until it's hardly a trickle beneath your feet, winding through the cave system. For the group traveling on their own, there comes a point where the wraiths seem unwilling or unable to follow, their shrieks in the darkness growing further and further away.
You feel it next in yourself: a smoothing of your rough edges, aches and muscle pain and physical exhaustion melting away. For any injured on the journey, your wounds resolve themselves as if natural healing on fast-forward. Natural healing is not always the cleanest or the most comfortable, though; you might be left with scars, crooked fingers or noses, or some other lasting memory of what you risked to be here.
Lastly, once The River has narrowed enough and two groups have reunited again: The Lantern relights. The Ferryman, for all that they were nearly invisible to you in the darkness, seems just the same as they were before. You made it through, they tell you, with no small amount of warmth and pride. Let's take a load off.
You should rest. If you took anything from the Cavern to help you on your journey, you'll find that it's gone from your pockets — when did that happen? Did you set it down? It's been such a long journey, it could have been a lapse of memory.
A memory? Ah, there's something else gone too, isn't there? Willingly or otherwise. If you try to reach for it now, it's like dust in the breeze, or a dream upon waking. You know it was there once, but the harder you try to recall it back, the thinner the details get. Eventually, you might not remember even that there was something to forget.
Congratulations. The Crossing is complete.
Image credits: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 + stock imagery unless otherwise noted
Exactly XD Sadly there is no evidence, as it was all left back in his room /jk
But… this wasn’t about him. To the teen, it felt really important that his words reach the other. Sunny didn’t know why - that was just the feeling he had.
So, where he would normally have just left the conversation stagnate, he moved to stand in front of Nagito, staring. Yes, it put a pause in their automatic pacing, but… this was important. Somehow.
Sunny’s gaze fixed on the other teen with wavering.] You do… make sense… to me… [Pacing himself, mostly so he wouldn’t be out of breath from just trying to speak his mind. He wracked his brain for examples - that’s what gave words concrete evidence, right?] Hope’s Peak… That metaphor… [When they had met. And the meeting after… and even now…] It… makes sense… Hope… and fear…
[Where was he going with this?? Sunny was trying really, really hard to reach Nagito. He hadn’t given something akin to a speech in a really long time. Not for the first time, Sunny wished Kel was here, if only to put it better than he could.]
no subject
Then explain to me what you understand about hope, Sunny-kun.
Going to apologize to Nagito in advance XD
Nothing.
[At least, that’s what he says at first. He’s still cataloguing his thoughts, so while he might have given Nagito a mild heart attack… he finally continues after a few beats of silence.]
Before… that is… hope… wasn’t what I felt.
[Some might have called it other names: obligation, duty, holding on, self-preservation… for Sunny, it wasn’t something like that. It was simply the fact that Sunny couldn’t atone.]
But… you show… hope is light. Light when… it’s dark… [Sunny hated the dark. He also wished he could believe in it: Hope. Wished that he could give Nagito a better answer… but maybe it didn’t have to be complicated.] It isn’t… for someone like me… I don’t… [Deserve it his father’s voice echoed that sentiment. Sunny had already hit despair four years ago. He couldn’t say he was holding onto hope… not when all he had done till now was indulge in his own comfortable fantasies. But…] We’re… here… does that… mean something?
[It had to, at least for people like Nagito and Frieda and Kel… even maybe his sister. Even if her being here was a form of his own personal hell…]
this is a terrible worldview to expose to sunny, oops
[And when he's tried to create hope, it's always--gone wrong.]
If we're here now, and suffering now, it means someone can use us to create hope. Naegi-sama, of course, but maybe there are others here who can do it too.
Whoops~ I am now cracking up XD
’Hope is absolute good.’ Well, it made even more sense now why it wasn’t meant for him. Sunny was as far from good as the North Pole was from the South.
But to be called ‘normal’… to potentially be of use to someone…]
Even… me? [Sunny didn’t deserve the kindness shown here but… Nagito’s words were like a small glimmer of light. Could Sunny have a purpose here… to be used by someone in order for them to have a better outcome? Was that better than wiling his hours away, attempting to reach for his distant daydreams?
He wasn’t sure.]
You’re… good at finding… stuff… [And speeches. Clearly, Nagito had that talent.]
surely the world needs more people with nagito's pov of hope
Some of the people I've mentioned before... Souda-kun is the former Super High School Level Mechanic. Tsumiki-san is the former Super High School Level Nurse. They're the very best at what they do. That's what talent means.
Regular people can try and try, but it's not the same thing. Or it's usually not. I've been lucky enough to see two exceptions! [Two and a half, technically.] But they're so, so rare.
Oh, they’re High School Prodigies XD dang, wrong journal I can’t make that joke
So… Nagito’s friends were really Talented. And Nagito had been counted among them by going to this school back home, but he felt… inadequate. He blinked, taking that in, even though… Nagito seemed quite exceptional himself. Especially in comparison to Sunny.
The teen’s hand tugged on Nagito’s sleeve gently again, avoiding actual skin contact but… wanting to get his point across. His dark eye almost glittered.]
See… you… make sense… [Sunny could even explain this all back to Nagito now, if that was what the other wanted.]
nagito's world is also pretty messed up tbh
no subject
He nodded. Another step forward. Just like Nagito’s insinuation in the difficulties of recalling what ‘normal people’ were capable of, Sunny’s own misremembrances were tied to what ‘reality’ was… he had spent so long in his own mind that it was hard to remember sometimes.]
no subject
Who knew death could be so troublesome?
CW: thoughts on the expectations of death
The teen was relieved, in a way, that Nagito seemed… calmer, almost. Not entirely back to ‘normal’ - that really wasn’t a possibility. Sometimes one just needed alone time, time to redirect and destress and… lay in bed. Not that they would be doing that anytime soon.
The words floated in the surrounding air. Ironic, maybe. Sunny had thought (and hoped, maybe, at one time) that death would be silent, peaceful, an end to the whirling loudness of his mind and memories. Not… this.
Though, if anything, he supposed silent would be right, if not for the cacophony of voices they had just been barraged with.Sunny shook his head.] …did you… expect?
[Maybe a deep question, but… they had time. And speculation. Maybe the thoughts would just reveal that… somehow… they were in a better spot than they had expected. That would line up with Nagito’s viewpoint, right? - that the suffering they were going through would lead to Hope.]
no subject
Instead we're here! Isn't that lucky?
no subject
Funny though, that Nagito thought they were lucky for being here. Of course he would but… Sunny thought that it was ‘lucky’ for someone else. Maybe Makoto? That would line up with the other’s way of thinking.
Then teen shivered, attempting to not look down. To not remember that they were still somehow walking on the River itself. At least the voices were in their mild break.]
no subject
Nagito digs his fingers into his arm. The metal arm doesn't have nails, but its press is more unforgiving to make up for the lack of bite. The other one, still captured by Sunny, digs its nails into the flesh of his own palm instead.]
I'll have to ask Naegi-sama later. [Surely the Super High School Level Hope will have something he can do.]
CW: seppuku mentions in the strikethrough
It wasn’t a good feeling
It reminded him of a knife, poised to strike inward. A heartbeat much too loud in his ears, his own hands shaking against the handle in a moment of hesitance, while - in his mind - a pair of steady hands guides the knife inward-Nope. Not going there.
Another tug, this one more insistent.]
What… could we do…? [Potentially trying to get the gears in the other’s head turning enough to distract again. Sure, they would have to ask Makoto for actual direction, but hypotheticals might not be so bad.
It would keep Sunny’s mind off of the voices, too. The teen’s ears flushed when he realized he had included himself in the question. Too forward, too bold, something that he should apologize for but couldn’t find the words to do so-]
no subject
Do you want to help Naegi-sama, too? [He can't see any problems with that. Everyone should want to help the Super High School Level Hope.] It will depend on where exactly we end up next, of course. [Thinking about hypotheticals does make him think more concretely about where they are and why they're traveling.] There may be more to explore. I brought all the papers from that room with me, of course.
[His hoodie is custom-made, and its features include a hood that functions as a basic hard hat and a lot of pockets.]
Now forming the Makoto Naegi fan club, even in Death XD poor Makoto
…!
[At the mention of the papers, Sunny reaches into his own short pockets… producing a few, if crumpled. He had tried to bring as much as possible. Like Nagito had said, maybe it was important.]
hope cult
Hope Cult XD
Plus, if they were reading, that meant sitting. Hopefully somewhere quiet and safe. And, another upside, sitting meant no physical activity.
It was as close to ideal as Sunny was going to get.
He nodded, somewhat enthusiastically, several quick movements of his head.]