Jonathan Sims (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
itknowsyou) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deerington2020-04-10 11:47 pm
itknowsyou) wrote in deerington2020-04-10 11:47 pm
april (open) catch-all
Who: Jonathan Sims itknowsyou & various
What: A catch-all for April threads with nowhere else to go.
When: Throughout April.
Where: Throughout Deerington.
Content Warnings: One prompt contains injuries (lacerations, cracked ribs). Individual closed threads include additional warnings: violence (stabbing), nudity, ABO dynamics, & explicit sexual content.
Permissions: Reminder to view Jon's powers and opt in here!
(1) sᴘɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇᴇʟs, ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ
[ Overflow prompt from the TDM, or fair game for something new!
After his... first few encounters, Jon knows to be wary of the spinning wheels. They put him badly on-edge: he eyes the things with revulsion that borders on open fear. As though they are personally out to get him, set there by someone terrible and mocking.
This, of course, does not stop him from nearly tripping over one that's been placed on a bloody streetcorner. By the time Jon regains his senses and scrambles away, he is nursing a newly-sliced finger and the gentle, invisible tug of compulsion. ]
Damn it!
(2) ɴᴇᴡ sᴜʀʀᴏᴜɴᴅɪɴɢs
[ It's... a bit fascinating. Some of the flora is completely unfamiliar, though Jon hardly considers himself an expert in this area. He spends a good deal of time crouched along the greenery-choked streets, frowning at flowers. He doesn't know what could account for an effect like this; it strikes him as nothing like the phenomena of home.
Which, of course, means he has to go looking for more quirks of Deerington. As points of comparison.
You may find him cautiously stalking a Delivery Dog, cautiously eyeing one of The Authority, or peeking around a corner at one of the Wastes. It's only the latter that makes him look acutely fascinated and deeply, deeply unsettled. ]
(3) ᴀʙᴏ
[ It doesn't make sense, is the thing. The way scents suddenly smell more pungent, the way he feels... gangly, clumsy, like his body is moving faster than his mind is instructing it to.
So. It's been building since his arrival, perhaps, but he hadn't noticed it because it didn't make sense. The full effect hits while Jon is picking his way through the lush streets, intending to poke around town in his usual hunt for information. He doesn't have the first idea what it means, what it implies.
He smells like warm paper, like books with the spine still crisp: he smells like an unmated Beta.
And, if you've been affected by the Pack Shift, he is absolutely baffled by the way he stops to ... smell your scent on the air, as you approach. It is completely nonsensical, vaguely disgusting, and horribly rude, yet it seems to be happening. ]
(4) Cʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Mᴀʀᴛɪɴ
[ Jon comes home with a fresh slash across his face: thin and diagonal, from temple to jaw, and still bleeding freely. Very freely. Inconveniently so. The blood keeps getting in his eyes and half-blinding him, which is, in a dark way, almost funny.
Less funny are the still-sore ribs he's nursing, obvious in the hunched way he walks.
Jon does his best to slip in very quietly so that Martin won't take notice. Maybe Martin's not even home yet. Maybe he's still out for the day—
But that would require the Archivist to have luck. ]
(5) ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ
[ Got something else? Throw it at me! ]
itknowsyou & variousWhat: A catch-all for April threads with nowhere else to go.
When: Throughout April.
Where: Throughout Deerington.
Content Warnings: One prompt contains injuries (lacerations, cracked ribs). Individual closed threads include additional warnings: violence (stabbing), nudity, ABO dynamics, & explicit sexual content.
Permissions: Reminder to view Jon's powers and opt in here!
(1) sᴘɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇᴇʟs, ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ
[ Overflow prompt from the TDM, or fair game for something new!
After his... first few encounters, Jon knows to be wary of the spinning wheels. They put him badly on-edge: he eyes the things with revulsion that borders on open fear. As though they are personally out to get him, set there by someone terrible and mocking.
This, of course, does not stop him from nearly tripping over one that's been placed on a bloody streetcorner. By the time Jon regains his senses and scrambles away, he is nursing a newly-sliced finger and the gentle, invisible tug of compulsion. ]
Damn it!
(2) ɴᴇᴡ sᴜʀʀᴏᴜɴᴅɪɴɢs
[ It's... a bit fascinating. Some of the flora is completely unfamiliar, though Jon hardly considers himself an expert in this area. He spends a good deal of time crouched along the greenery-choked streets, frowning at flowers. He doesn't know what could account for an effect like this; it strikes him as nothing like the phenomena of home.
Which, of course, means he has to go looking for more quirks of Deerington. As points of comparison.
You may find him cautiously stalking a Delivery Dog, cautiously eyeing one of The Authority, or peeking around a corner at one of the Wastes. It's only the latter that makes him look acutely fascinated and deeply, deeply unsettled. ]
(3) ᴀʙᴏ
[ It doesn't make sense, is the thing. The way scents suddenly smell more pungent, the way he feels... gangly, clumsy, like his body is moving faster than his mind is instructing it to.
So. It's been building since his arrival, perhaps, but he hadn't noticed it because it didn't make sense. The full effect hits while Jon is picking his way through the lush streets, intending to poke around town in his usual hunt for information. He doesn't have the first idea what it means, what it implies.
He smells like warm paper, like books with the spine still crisp: he smells like an unmated Beta.
And, if you've been affected by the Pack Shift, he is absolutely baffled by the way he stops to ... smell your scent on the air, as you approach. It is completely nonsensical, vaguely disgusting, and horribly rude, yet it seems to be happening. ]
(4) Cʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Mᴀʀᴛɪɴ
[ Jon comes home with a fresh slash across his face: thin and diagonal, from temple to jaw, and still bleeding freely. Very freely. Inconveniently so. The blood keeps getting in his eyes and half-blinding him, which is, in a dark way, almost funny.
Less funny are the still-sore ribs he's nursing, obvious in the hunched way he walks.
Jon does his best to slip in very quietly so that Martin won't take notice. Maybe Martin's not even home yet. Maybe he's still out for the day—
But that would require the Archivist to have luck. ]
(5) ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ
[ Got something else? Throw it at me! ]
new surroundings
So what is he?
Gee lurks through the stacks, ostensibly putting books back but mostly trying to figure out what he's looking at and why he feels like it's looking back even if the man's attention is elsewhere. It's been a while since he felt so... watched.]
no subject
But when he reaches the same aisle as the owner, even for a moment, he turns unerringly to stare at the man. Jon's eyes are dark and inhumanly focused, intent on— whatever he's seeing here. It's not quite clear, yet. There are just glimpses of wrongness, of something Other, like cracks in a mask. He knows only that the fear here is something rich and varied, there is a lot of it, and it calls to him like blood to a shark.
Jon attempts to arrange his expression into something less piercing and does not remotely succeed. ]
... hello. [ He. forgets to find an excuse as to why he's staring. he just stares. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
new surroundings, for fern
"You looking for someone specific, or just exploring?" ]
Exploring. [ He is still staring at the... green boy. Staring too intently, eyes dark and strange and piercing. ] Is, is this, uh... your roof?
[ Did he live here, before whatever happened to make him look like that? Is he wandering the city? Are there more of his kind? ]
no subject
Maybe it's the roof? It can't be that great having to crane your neck up and have a whole conversation like this, even though he's perfectly comfortable looking down.]
Nah, a nerd lives here. I'm just hanging out.
[He scoots on over to the edge of the roof and then just... jumps. Flips on his way down, even, because it's a leftover Finn reflex. He lands lightly on his feet like it's no big deal.]
He's out right now.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
► WILDCARD
she'd taken her basket out with her, the one that she'd found on her doorstep, using it to carry her goods that she'd brought back from the store and it's as she's on her way back that an idea comes to her. she's been trying to find out about this town but hasn't really asked that many people. it leads her, basket on her arm, to knocking on her neighbours' door rather than just heading straight home )
I'm sorry to bother you, my name's Mrs Sheringham, I just wanted to quickly ask you something.
no subject
Once he's had a chance to look her up and down, though, and see that nothing immediately threatening is looming behind, he clears his throat awkwardly and straightens up some. Opens the door properly.
And hopes his stare isn't too piercing, because there is something about her that isn't fitting together properly. Nothing massive or horribly unnerving, simply something... off. ]
I, uh... yes?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Hopping in!
yesss
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
Jon!
[He's up like a shot, dropping his book and hurrying over.]
I just got a first aid kit. It's in the bathroom. Come on. Where does it hurt? What happened?
no subject
Martin! I, uh— it's really nothing— I, I'm fine, I promise.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
tdm continuation, for wesley
There are several things Jon should know better than to do. These include entering the home, unarmed, of someone who will likely want to kill him; peppering that person with questions; and taking a live Statement while Martin is... concerned about him. The first two points keep him... acutely aware of the thin slice of scar tissue on his throat, and memory makes his burned hand itch. The last keeps him vaguely, apprehensively guilty.
... but Sunny Holiday had been genuinely lovely, under nearly the same circumstances. And the man claims to be a Hunter; he is not a civilian, not an unprotected innocent, as it were.
That is how Jon finds himself in the home of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, keenly aware of the exits, but with absolutely no immediate intention of bolting for them. Anyway, the man really doesn't give the impression of a proper, deadly Hunter. Whatever this 'working for a vampire' business is about, Jon suspects...
Well, he suspects this man might be in over his head. But the information is too good to deny. ]
So, ah. We were discussing your... boss, I believe.
no subject
[Wesley nods while setting down a tray between them. Tea, of course, freshly brewed even though the selection in the city is quite lacking, he finds.]
Angel. He hired me two years ago to work for his private investigation agency. We are situated in Los Angeles.
[He goes through his pockets, didn't he have – ah, yes. He pulls out a business card and offers it to Jon. Angel Investigations, it reads. We help the helpless. Next to it is a... logo? Drawing? Symbol? of some sorts that might resemble an angel. If you squint. And tilt your head. And have lots of imagination.]
Does your Institute fight the good fight?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
tdm continuation, for buffy
"I accidentally burned down my old high school."
This startles him enough that Jon just kind of... blinks at her, briefly taken aback. ]
I— the entire school? Accidentally?
[ But then he looks away from her again quickly— casts his eyes nervously back to the spindle, then to the ground— because he's starting to See that there's more to her than there should be. She has stories. So many stories, he's sure, of blood and dust and dead things, and Knowing it makes him ache with a deep and prying hunger/curiosity. He doesn't want to engage with it. He doesn't. He's already taken a victim since arriving here, already sated that hunger; he can control himself, now. Really.
As further distraction, he takes a step back to test their continued bond. It tugs her right along with him, of course. On reflex, Jon quirks a frown: ] Sorry.
[ Perhaps he's been through worse, but compulsions like that still make his skin crawl. The idea of spider silk between them, making puppets of them— he could do without it. ]
no subject
No, sorry, not the whole school- just the gym. And yeah, it was- It was kind of an accident.
[ Except she looks a little bit guilty about it, because even though it was years ago, she didn't mean to do it. ]
So if that didn't work, does that mean I'm going to be stuck following you around forever?
[ She wrinkles her nose, really not liking the sound of that. And, well, he seems nice enough, but that Slayer sense of hers is tingling a little, like maybe he's not the nice guy he appears to be. She hopes that's wrong, though, because she's had enough baddies in her life without adding one more.
Of course, she just assumes she won't be so lucky. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
new surroundings
most of the people are fairly uninteresting. but, when she catches another person examining one of the cats, she nods approvingly. the cats are odd, after all, and warrant a second look. legs swinging, she calls out: ]
Those creatures have secrets. They’re not going to tell you what they are, though. They didn’t tell me.
no subject
And then he... stares. Because he Knows, with a plunging and terrible certainty, that this girl has seen things. Experienced things. That she has stories to tell.
It makes his gaze go hungry.
Then he recalls that she is sitting on the elementary school sign, because she is a child, and he jolts his attention back to the cats. That gives him entirely enough to focus on, honestly: the things are fascinating. ]
You— um— do you mean they speak?
(no subject)
(no subject)
cw: suicide mention, references to child abuse, voyeurism
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
(2) ɴᴇᴡ sᴜʀʀᴏᴜɴᴅɪɴɢs
[Well. He's assuming he will. It's not like any of them have any other choice, otherwise? He catches sight of the other man stalking one of the Delivery dogs and pauses in his own path, amused.
Lindsey shrugs his guitar over his shoulder, he's been going around looking for places to play--in hopes of not only gaining an audience, but to advertise his abilities and, well, find something constructive to do with his time here.
A far cry from the salary he'd make as a lawyer, but singing and playing guitar was always his first love, secretly.]
New in town?
no subject
[ Said soft and weary, and a little wry: Jon can hardly remember what it's like to live without weirdness, these days. It's not the eldritch dogs that bother him, honestly, but the perplexing way they don't seem hostile.
He looks up properly, and— blinks at Lindsey. Frowns, for a moment. The man has an odd sort of... something tingeing him, power of a sort Jon can't quite parse. Looking at him too carefully puts a sort of... numb spot in his head. Mild, but if he pokes at it, he's quite sure it's there.
He tries not to stare too transparently. He largely fails. ]
And— yes, very new.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
[closed]
Which is how he and Martin have ended split up among the stalls, Jon zeroing in on something apparently three rows away and ducking off with a distracted "No, you stay here and carry on, I'll just— let me take a look— five minutes, Martin."
He is, at this point, still studiously ignoring the way scents have turned... intense. Solidly not acknowledging the way Martin smells of morning mist, because it makes his heart twist into complicated little knots.
Sorry, Martin, you're now ditched on the street at the edge of an otherworldly market. Jon is entirely lost from view. Your boyfriend makes safe and sensible decisions. ]
no subject
He's never really had the money to spend on frivolous trinkets, not to mention he's not exactly much to look at in his own mind. Anything that might draw more attention would just give people a reason to stare and laugh at him. But these are... different. He finds himself picking up a few sets of earrings, a bracelet, even a necklace. The vendors very encouraging, even calling to a woman when Martin lays a bracelet across his wrist.]
Here now, miss, doesn't this look perfect for him?
[Martin blanches slightly, then goes pink. Trying to withdraw. He doesn't make eye-contact with the woman.]
S-sorry, I was just looking. You don't need to- I-I was just going.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
woops wrong account
Teach him your combat ways, Mr. Dumbledore!
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
2
He's also got part of a monster from another dimension inside of him, so have fun with that. ]
You expecting a letter or something? They won't bring it any faster if you follow 'em.
no subject
There is a tense, silent moment in which the fear is written clear across his face. Then he manages to steel himself and push through it. He's had conversations with similar things, he's certain. (Not unscathed, though.) ]
N-no, I... I'm trying to understand.
[ Tone cautious and distracted, now, because he's still just. looking at Billy. trying to comprehend the shape of the thing under the boy's skin. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
2!
Not sleeping in a year definitely has its drawbacks.]
Why do you think they wear the masks?
eyyy excellent
Even at a glance, he likely wins second-place for appearance of exhaustion: he has a haggard, hungry sort of air to him, with dark circles beneath too-intense eyes. It's rather amplified by the dotting of round little scars across his cheeks and neck, the slice of scar tissue on his throat, the mess of a burn scar that is his right hand.
He does, after an inconveniently long pause, focus on the question. ]
I— I've no idea. What I'd like to know is what's underneath. [ He's of half a mind to stride up to one and demand an answer, at this point. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Wildcard
So, it seems all right. He pops the chocolate into his mouth and finds Jon looking at another stall.]
Anything interesting?
[He'll offer the other man a little white sampling cup with the piece of chocolate in it.]
S'rose-flavored chocolate. Not sure how I feel about it. What d'you think?
no subject
[ He casts a look around, as though searching the crowd for any signs of chocolate-related danger, and inspects Martin for a moment with a worried little frown. When nothing is immediately amiss, Jon swallows his paranoia long enough to accept the sample cup.
He still looks at the thing in mild distrust, but— bites into it. Chews. ]
Hm. I... it's not bad. [ This is Jonathan Sims for 'I like this very much,' and he pops the rest of the piece into his mouth immediately. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
2
Currently, he has several cans of tuna open on his porch, and is surrounded by three very large members of the Authority. The biggest and fattest one is sitting on his lap, purring contently. They do suddenly seem to snap to attention and fixate when they see someone new walking on by. Their glowing eyes narrow as they watch Jonathan.]
What are you going to do? [Maul asks.] Arrest him?
no subject
But apparently, something like this is on the table.
There is nothing for it: he stares. At the— man? surely not a human one— and at his collection of evil cats.
Though he's been told, by now, that the cats are a police force. Christ but this place is bizarre. ]
... do they do that? [ He can't help it; he's too curious about this whole scene. ] How does a cat arrest a person?
(no subject)
Tea with Alex and Richard
So, he fusses in the kitchen and preps the tea. When there's a knock on the door, he calls for Jon, wherever he might have got off to, and heads to open it.]
Good afternoon! Please come in! The kettle's about to boil, if you'd like to sit down.
[There's a hint of nervous energy about him as he smiles, but Martin's very good at schooling his emotions when he needs to be.]
no subject
Today however? Not so hilarious at all. Richard is himself but not and she knows that he’s going to get riled up. And she knows that the temper he has gets a thousand times worse right now. So, she’s there to try and keep the peace rather than be an audience and that is going to be a whole thing. So when Martin opens the door, Alex is already holding Richard’s hand tightly even if she does give Martin a broad grin that comes with a surprised familiarity, because she remembers meeting him on the beach of the lake.]
Oh hey! Thanks for having us.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
I can read tags! I swear!
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
[ FEAR with Huntress ]
Good lord. Is it all a bunker?
[ He's hovering around Helena, seemingly content to follow along at her side but entirely set on bitching about everything he sees. Time for the FEAR tour. And, more than likely, initiation. ]
no subject
Basically. It's a little more varied on the inside. But this is probably the most secure place in the whole town, as far as I can tell.
[She flicks open her knife before adding quickly:] I probably mention -- the only way to get in is with blood from someone who belongs to FEAR. Don't know if that's something you might be uncomfortable with.
[As she says it, though, she's already pressing the tip of the knife into the pad of her thumb, drawing a thick bead of blood onto her skin.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
[ Huntress and Martin ]
Whatever training is meant to consist of, I don't know what good it'll do me. I don't know that I can lift most weapons, to be honest with you.
[ He is hovering not-that-helpfully in the kitchen while Martin cooks. Sometimes he can be called upon to pass something, or chop something, in their continued and awkward attempt to rearrange their domestic routines around a second person. Mostly, though, he paces and complains. ]
no subject
You can lift a wooden pole, Jon. Something that you can whack someone with, then run away will probably be best. I'm sure Helena will have her own suggestions. Could you please set the table?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
EIGHT YEARS LATER if y'all still want it.......
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
[ Wes and Buffy ]
no subject
She'll stow the stake away on the bus ride over, but it never hurts to be prepared. ]
Hey, you guys ready for this party?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
[ Robin and Tina ]
This will definitely go well.
When he approaches, it's hard to say if he looks how they'd expect: short, laughably skinny, brown-skinned and going prematurely grey. The scars are probably a surprise— little round pockmarks up his neck and the side of his face, an old slice across his throat, and his right hand discolored by a mess of burn scarring. Jon manages to look both like a reclusive librarian and someone who's been through hell. Both are basically correct. ]
no subject
When she approaches the man she takes to be Jonathan, she must admit, he's much shorter than she expects. And also with more scars and grey hair than she would expect, either. Tina, at 5'11, is used to being one of the tallest women in the room, so to speak. Next to him, she feels adequately like a giant.]
Jonathan, yes? I'm Tina Goldstein. We spoke over the network?
[She offers him a hand to shake, if he likes.]
Has our other companion shown up?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
[ Martin ]
Still: when Jon comes through the door he's not injured, or oddly rumpled, or even looking terribly distraught. He's just... of the mood where he starts pacing. ]
no subject
Stay still. Stay safe. Be calm. Stop feeling things.
Martin is silent for a moment before he shoves down those thoughts in favor of something a little more useful.]
Tell me what happened. It felt like you were... really having a moment there.
[And Martin's trying to stay calm about it, much like he'd stayed calm in his conversation with Arid just a little while before. Jon might have got some of the frustration and sense of helplessness from that that Martin was feeling. Which is equally annoying. He doesn't need Jon feeling all of that off him.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
[ OPEN ]
[ The first time he follows the path, it is out of curiosity. Dreams of war, dreams of slaughter— he thinks he understands that. He thinks he can handle it.
The second time, and the third, and the fourth— those are a different story. He knows, by now, what lies in the woods. He tries to fight it. Jon spends stubborn, sleepless days and nights fighting the compulsion, recording increasingly shaky and paranoid notes, snapping at Martin over nothing at all.
Eventually, he gives in.
He follows the path through the woods and hates every step. When your character finally stumbles into view, he will stop on the path to size them up. He is a small man, short and skinny, with far too many scars: little round pockmarks up his neck and face, an old slice across his throat, the mess of a bad burn scar across his right hand.
With an irritable little sigh: ] I expect you're here for the orb?
[ CW: Tagging into this prompt does NOT mean your character needs to touch the orb and receive Jon’s memories; in fact, he will request that they do not. If they touch the orb anyway, they will be treated to a goddamn horror sampling platter: spiders, flesh worms, disorientation, violence, nonconsensual surgery, general mindfuckery, restraint & captivity, killer clowns, body horror, claustrophobia, choking, isolation, enjoyment of suffering. Let me know if you want some or all of these. Otherwise, Jon will be the only one to touch the orb, and only your character’s memories will be shared. ]
no subject
Jeff blinks, as if coming out of a trance. He'd been running (that much is obvious, with the way he's breathing, his lungs on fire and his muscles screaming like he's been at it for hours) but he can't remember where to or why now, at this hour?
No, wait. It takes a moment, but it comes to him. The anxiety, always close to the surface with him, gnawing at his insides, growing and growing and trying to tear its way out through his sternum. It's oppressive, but familiar, and Jeff's learned over the decades which solutions tend to put it to sleep, at least for a while. Weed and workouts-- and weed's off the table. That just leaves the one coping method.
See Jeff run. See Jeff try to outrun his own anxiety. Run, Jeff, run. Run until your head goes black and you lose time (just like the old days!) and find yourself in the woods, gasping, panting, far from home, coherent thoughts scrambled in static.
Which brings us back to the question. Is he here for the orb? ]
I, ah...
[ He looks at John, like he's only really seeing him now as he considers the orb in question. Whatever it is, some impulse, some voice in his head that might be his, but probably isn't, says he needs it. It's his medicine, better than any drug or workout. It'll quiet the noise in his head and gently soothe his twitchy nerves. Jeff grimaces, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes and nods. Jesus, he's tired. ]
Yeah? Yeah, I guess I am.
(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)
feel free to dump clowns on her next tag
CW: mention of buried alive; restraint, captivity; nonconsensual touch; disorientation; clowns
(no subject)
HELLO AGAIN FINALLY RIP
...
...
...
...
...
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
CW: murder, demons, violence, endangerment of a child, blood, bugs,
(no subject)