ph_logs | Supression Request: These Feelings [November Open]

Who: "Slasher Face" Jean and YOU + 1 Closed
What: Jean fuckin' died y'all
When: Early November (before Voyage of the Hollow Men)
Where: Oak & Iron, the Community Board, Around Town, the Temple
Warnings: Discussion of death, Bad Feelings, likely shit from Jean's dark-ass canon, traumatic flashbacks, burning/scarring
Notes: Just getting on this early while I have spoons

Containment Breach [Oak & Iron | Closed to Zelda | CW Traumatic Flashbacks, Burning/Scarring]

Jean wakes with a start, and the phantom feeling of cold. Their clothes are ill-fitting butcher's slops, smelling incongruously of wet dog, and the uncomfortable sensation is almost enough for them to center themself.

Almost.

The sensation of burning starts immediately, and the contrast between their mind's insistence that they are freezing to death and the reality of the crawling heat against their left cheek draws a gritted sound of pain from their throat. Over the course of nearly a minute, a skull and crossbones is scorched into their face, and they have to take awhile to just breathe.

It's in vain. The tally mark comes next.

Jean has no idea that it's been exactly 24 hours, which means they're trapped in the inn; after all, it's well after dark. A familiar face might be needed to coax them out from under the table. Goddesses know the staff don't want anything to do with this.

Org Chart [Community Board]

Signup sheets go up on the community board, asking for volunteers for three emergency teams, just beneath a note explaining the idea.

To better effect emergency responses to the ongoing siege of Marrow Island, Comrade Jean (Pumpkin Hollow Recovery Task Force) is seeking volunteers to staff and lead response teams which will coordinate on own initiative during notable crises. The teams are as follows: COMBAT TEAM: Directly combat curse incursions with a focus on harm reduction and pro-active containment; protect citizens and infrastructure through violent force. MEDICAL TEAM: First aid and triage, preventative care, bodymen. The grim work of aid during a disaster or surprise attack. COMMUNICATIONS TEAM: Detect and report emergencies, coordinate activities between all teams and citizens, swiftly and effectively transmit information on the disaster in a concise manner. Volunteers are encouraged to leave their names and phone numbers on the forms provided below, or to contact JEAN or MADAM PRINCESS ZELDA directly at their homes or anywhere in town. These teams are not sanctioned or sponsored by any existing organization on MARROW ISLAND and are strictly voluntary; however, JEAN is offering combat training to any citizen or Task Force member that desires it, regardless of volunteer status, during their shore leave between the hours of 6 AM and 1 PM.

[OOC Note: Feel free to leave a drive-by to just handwave volunteering, to seek Jean out in person for a thread, or even to attend training!]

This Meeting Could Have Been An Email [Around Town]

With the events of the festival heavy on their mind, Jean is making an effort to check in on friends, peers, and potential assets, not that those divisions are particularly clear in their mind right now. Did you make plans with Jean before the catastrophe? Here they are to follow up. Consider this the catch-all for That Thing That Was Plotted, but it's also the chance to catch Jean at the Oak & Iron getting their coffee, haunting the tailoring shops again with a distinct thought towards actually spending money on clothes, interrupt them grocery shopping, or otherwise gently find (and possibly hold) the nugget.

Fuck You, Pay Me [The Temple]

At some point when Jean feels like they've got ducks in a row, they come into the Temple of a morning to provide a strong contender for least reverent prayer in recent history. Curiously, they've washed up extra hard first, combed their messy hair and even shined their shoes, but...

Well. Jean doesn't kneel before the altar, and while their tone is quiet respect, the words...

"Your enemy seems to think you exist, Manager Kora, and that you have some manner of power, some stake in me. I fought too hard and too long to choose for myself only to end up here for reasons I couldn't control, and as amazing as that is...I don't work for free. Not ever again, not after the Library. I am not your plaything. If you want me as your employee...then we need to talk. And if you won't, kindly stop by the City, make an appointment with R-Corp to rent their cloning vats, and use them to go fuck yourself."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jean stiffens when the clap sounds, and they never quite un-stiffen; they listen to the Shade talk, without interrupting, silent and still. The hand on their shoulder, though, that gets a cold flinch away, instant and unmistakably hostile.

"...I am not for sale, Comrade Shade," Jean says in the low and even tones of someone who is on the verge of an eruption. "For rent, sure. But I am. No one's. To own. Not now, not then, not ever. I would be delighted to negotiate terms with Ms. Kora. Maybe even with you, provided neither of you would put me in breach of my original contract with the white-haired lady."

"But say you want to claim me again and I'll paint this temple with your blood."

The Shade's hand lifts the moment he feels Jean flinch, and the venom in them...

For their size and their strangeness, for all the ways in which they are other--for one horrible moment the Shade feels like he's looking in a mirror.

He sees himself, pieced slowly back together by blood and magic. Tearing at his own skin, into the mark of Death itself, tearing his own name into his belly with that tainted blood beneath his nails...growing angrier and angrier as he finds the strength to pull his essence back into his own soul, to remain himself. More confused as he remembers things like identity and free will and feeling.

"I said I would ask, Jean." he replies very softly, shifting to his knees so he can sit back on his heels. "No possession taken without permission. Your choices...they're more precious 'n gold, son."

He hesitates, then takes a deep breath.

"I wanna apologize for upsettin' you, little imp--but to do that I gotta tell you a story. Would you allow me to tell it to you?"

"I'm listening."

No further movement. Not even a twitch. Jean stays completely.

Totally.

Still.

The Shade took a deep breath, then shifted to sit cross-legged on the floor. It felt a little less natural like this than it did in his divine form, but he could manage for a while to make himself smaller, less frightening--someone Jean would listen to.

"'Bout a century and a half ago, Death had this here idea." he begins slowly. "See, he knew of a man with incredible magic--an undertaker, lonely and gullible. The thing with Death, he...he don't collect his own souls. He has Reapers: souls he's enslaved by draining 'em dry of everything that made 'em people. They're shells, wraiths who obey without question. They collect his souls, souls give Death power...but Death weren't happy. He wanted more, and if he could find his Reapers a general? Why, he'd rule all the Hereafter--Heaven, Hell, and the lands in between."

The Shade lowers his gaze, unaware of reaching up to rub the back of his neck--the tattoo on his nape of a skeleton posed for combat.

"So one night, during a storm, Death came to call on this here undertaker. Promised him control of his magic, even promised to teach him how to raise his family from the dead. Followed through, too--only he yanked innocent souls straight outta Heaven without realizing what he'd done. The sin he'd committed that had him bound for Hell the moment he died. See, Death wanted him there...left him for a few years 'till he was well broken down before he plucked him outta Hell and branded him to make him a Reaper. Put his mark on this man so everything would drain outta his soul but the magic and make him...nothing. Nothing but a slave, ready to serve. A general no army could stand against. Death wanted that man, wanted him bad, so he just made a plan to take him without resistance and he executed it...he never gave that man a choice."

...this...may not be a story about some random man.

"I know how it goes, between the pen and the sword."

The Shade can't bring himself to look up again, not yet. Those quiet words, though...

The memories of his own mortality are nearly overwhelming. The agony of his death, Hell's wrath...and how it all got worse when he slipped Death's leash and ran into Limbo to die for good.

"Yeah, well, for this man...for me, the pen 'n the sword become one." the Shade admits ruefully. "Cause I still remember the mark just...draining me away. Me, every thought 'n feeling, every word 'n deed. That little part of you what knows you're you--I had days I wanted to let it take me so I wouldn't feel the pain no more. Or end myself somehow while I was still...self-aware, I s'pose. But I didn't--I couldn't. And now I'm here."

And he thinks of Jean, bargaining himself away--only then can the Shade make himself look the little imp in the eye.

"And that's why, if I claim a soul, it's me asking. Souls give me power, and in exchange I give them protection 'n safety, life after death that's peaceful 'n fulfilling--but every soul I have ever taken I asked 'n they said yes, or they came to me and asked me to have 'em. Whatever happens to you, whatever you do with yourself--it'll be your choice, or I'll have something to say about it, y'hear? Nothin' matters more to me than that when it comes to my people."

A beat, then a small smile.

"And to be clear, that means you."

There's a soft and shuddering sound from Jean, the telltale noise of tears kept in. Their voice is still so low, so very low, but the edge to it is...

Blunted.

"Do you intend to return to that life, Comrade Shade?"

It’s a question the Shade never wanted to hear—because it’s a question he has to answer, and answer honestly.

He cares too much to lie.

“I do.” He admits. “My souls need me, not just to lead and care for ‘em, but to exist. Without me, the piece of the afterlife I made mine will cease to be…but I tell you what, Jean, all you ever gotta do is say ‘yes,’ and the day I go back there I will rip a hole in the sky itself to bring you with me. All you gotta do is say ‘no,’ and I’ll give you every blessing I know before I leave you be and move on—and if you never come up with an answer, I got eternity to wait for you. There’s no version of Creation where you, my dearest little imp, will be anything less ‘n precious to me, or where I would make a conscious fucking choice to cause you pain, y’hear?”

Silence. Long, and contemplative. There's a strange air when Jean does initially speak again, like maybe they don't know they're talking: "What does it mean to have an ill soul?"

Their head turns to face the Shade. "There are people here I need to stay for. If I go, it's at their behest, and no one else's. Zelda...Zelda seems to know more about gods you love instead of slaying. I'll talk to her, eventually, about this. I'm not sure I can be kind right now, comrade. But..."

"...I do recognize that you're trying to be kind yourself. And. I appreciate it."

The Shade just nods, feeling something...new settle into him. It's still and warm and very quiet, but it's too intense to be the bliss that touches the dead. It makes every breath easier and heavier at the same time, makes him want to...toss off his promise to Mortanne and ask Jean to be his, right here and now. Not out of anger or avarice, but just to hold onto that stillness more closely.

Instead, he pats Jean on the shoulder and shifts to get to his feet.

"Good. Glad you do--you g'head with your prayin', I'm gonna leave you to it."

He gets to his feet and starts to walk away, then pauses.

"And Jean? An ill soul is one that don't care what's kind or cruel. You do. Might not always feel it, but that's a soul worth its weight in gold."

"Mmm. Ask me about that again later, Comrade Shade. There's a story to tell you. It's not mine, but it also...is."

Supression Request: These Feelings [November Open]

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CW: mentions of self harm, semi-graphic

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CW: death (parental, child) by fire, enslavement, loss of identity

In their softest voice

CW: referencing previous suicidal ideation

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Wrap?