Supression Request: These Feelings [November Open]

[restingslasherface]

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."

Comments

[restingslasherface]

Jean turns around immediately, entirely abandoning the potatoes they are inspecting with great solemnity and no expertise. An expression of pure wonder, normally associated with three-year-olds who are attempting to touch a kitten for the first time.

The words out of their mouth have not been provided by their conscious mind, and are in fact a reverent whisper: "The chicken..."

[batteryacid]

That wonder on Jean's face brings a small smile to Eddie's own. When Jean speaks, Eddie replies, "Thread is Angel's favorite. I want her to be there when I find him." He still can't bring himself to say why, but... does he have to?

Eddie runs a hand down Thread's back, petting her for both her comfort and his. Then, a little hesitantly, Eddie asks,

"Would you... like to pet her, too? She was sad that Angel... didn't come home."

[restingslasherface]

"I...had specifically asked Comrade Angel if it was safe to pet the chickens," Jean admits in a small voice. They are Sidling Closer. Sidling. Sidling. Under no circumstance must they spook the Chicken. The Chicken must be comfortable.

Perhaps interestingly, they don't look directly at Thread, instead looking a bit to Eddie's left and watching her out of peripheral vision.

A hand reeeeaaaaaaaaaaches, gent0l.

[batteryacid]

"Thread for sure. Bobbin can be a bit feisty, even with someone who isn't a revenant like Angel."

Thread makes a curious noise and watches Jean come closer. But she stays calm, by no means spooked. Eddie is relaxed so this person must be safe. (The fact that Jean looks at her from the side, as chickens have to, is comforting.)

"Awk." Thread says, and she bobs her head to nudge at Jean's gentle hand.

Eddie explains, after a second, "Thread does that to ask for head-pats."

[restingslasherface]

Head pats are provided with the barest of touches, like Jean is unsure of their own strength. "It's so strange to meet chickens when they're not food. She's...very soft..."

[batteryacid]

"I wasn't planning on treating them as food, at least while they're still laying. So Thread and Bobbin are a bit more like pets." Eddie nods, "Yes, Thread is pretty soft all over."

Thread makes a pleased noise when Jean pats her head, and then she stretches her neck out. Eddie adjusts, holding her higher so she can reach Jean's hair easier, and Thread starts to run her beak through Jean's hair, preening them.

"Chicken thank you," Eddie explains. He can't help his grin.

[restingslasherface]

"It's strange to contemplate though. One day this cuddly chicken will be food..." Jean moves to petting Thread's back, though there's a brief pause. "I suppose technically she is now since she's providing eggs, but, hahaha, ha..." their face flickers into a fond expression as they passively let Thread preen their hair, "you know what I mean. How do you even arrange that in your feelings?"

[batteryacid]

"There was a time that I was considered as food for something more powerful than myself," Eddie says. "And I mean that quite literally. Not my thoughts or my energy or anything else, but that I was being hunted with the express purpose of something eating my flesh."

Eddie looks at Thread, held in his arms, and how she's gently -- in her own simple animal way -- showing affection to Jean.

"I was always at risk of being terrorized and hurt just for the amusement of the thing that wanted to eat me. And I suppose... being in the other position now, so to speak? With the idea that maybe someday I'll have to eat my chickens, or at least offer them up as food for other people to survive?" Eddie's smile is sadder now, "At least I am kind to them. At least I gave them a good life for as long as I could. The thing that wanted to eat me... It was cruel. And I haven't been to my girls. That's all I've really got."

[restingslasherface]

"Yes...I imagine the bonds make it different." Jean pauses. Then: "May I hold her?"

[batteryacid]

"Of course. Nothing special to it, just give her a place to perch." Eddie gives a brief chuckle. "It's kind of like cradling a grocery bag. And she'll get comfortable."

Eddie passes Thread into Jean's arms. The chicken does squirm just a little, and fluffs her feathers while settling.

And then she nuzzles against Jean with a contented little "...bok-aaw.."

[restingslasherface]

For a long moment, Jean just holds Thread gently, with an expression of soft awe on their face. They stroke the chicken's feathers with one finger. You can almost see their soul healing mildly at the experience.

At least until they start talking, in a low voice: "I've been prey too. But it might be...haa...it might be a lot to hear. The Night on the Backstreets..."

[batteryacid]

"You can talk about it. If you want to. I try not to judge, and Thread sure won't." Eddie takes a moment to pat Thread on the back, and she makes another soft noise almost like a coo.

[restingslasherface]

It's.

A while. Of just holding Thread and giving her affection before Jean speaks up again. Their voice is low, robbed of their usual manic energy.

"Six billion people. Twenty six Districts. At the center of each is a Nest, the safe place governed by one of the Wings, and around each Nest are its Backstreets. In the Backstreets, no one rules. Taboos are founded and enforced through violence alone, save for those that apply to the City as a whole, and one of those is the Night in the Backstreets."

A shudder. Jean squeezes Thread softly. "From 3:13 AM to 4:34 AM, regardless of any other local taboos, there are only two rules: homes are sacrosanct, and reporting any other crime is punished by death. Anything else goes. Anything. Worse, the Sweepers come out, monsters...they storm the streets by the dozens, slaughtering and devouring anything they catch. Adults, children, animals...if you can't get into your home, you're prey. For anything that decides you are. Every. Single. Night."

[batteryacid]

Eddie makes very very sure that Jean can see his hand as he reaches to give Jean's shoulder a gentle, supportive squeeze.

"That sounds awful to live through. Over and over again... I'm sorry you had to, Jean." Eddie's voice is a little shaky, but he is serious and sincere. "Being prey is... not something I'd want anyone to go through. Especially not any of my friends."

In A Shaky Voice

[restingslasherface]

"As awful as everyone says L-Corp was, it was still better. Just like...this place is still better. We're not safe. But it's. It's so much better."

[batteryacid]

Eddie nods. "Some of them don't understand. When you start from something that terrifying, even the smallest of improvements is a blessing." Eddie gives Jean a wry smile, an invitation to share in his read on the situation:

"Part of me is glad that most people don't understand. But sometimes... part of me gets real fuckin' annoyed when they sound judgemental about the good I was able to scrape out of my shitpile life. Just because it isn't enough by their metric."

[restingslasherface]

"Exactly." There's real venom there in Jean's voice, a soul-deep hurt that they didn't know they had until they came to this island, but their fury disturbs Thread; the moment she makes an anxious sound Jean's expression collapses into guilt, and they turn their attention to reassuring the chicken.

[batteryacid]

Eddie also gives Thread a reassuring pat on the head, and murmurs, "It's okay, sweet girl. Nobody's mad at you. Nobody could be mad at you."

Eddie's life probably seems enviably normal to an outside observer. But there are all kinds of scars, some that an outside observer just can't see. And even if Eddie's deaths have added to his physical scars, it's the unseen ones that really messed up his life.

(Corruption, Gerry might say. That and the Web. Eddie never had names for it... and the children of Derry never named the monster that devoured them, not even those who banded together to fight it. To fight It. Sometimes, names aren't needed.)

"The good parts of what you had are worth missing. Even if you didn't have a lot. Don't let anyone else tell you different, Jean. They wanna judge? Fuck 'em. They can't say for certain if they'd survive what you did, or if they'd end up more meat for the grinder."

[restingslasherface]

"...I don't want them to have to understand. But I can't comprehend how they don't, when this place is...what it is."

[batteryacid]

Eddie can only shrug. He isn't sure why the other outsiders, and sometimes locals, are like that.

"I suppose we all have blind spots. And that's one of theirs."

[restingslasherface]

"...Don't I know it. It's...it's good to have people who cover mine, even if it feels strange that so many aren't warriors." Jean looks back down at Thread, without stopping the Stroking Of The Chicken. "...Comrade Eddie, I won't be upset at your answer, but...do you feel a divide between yourself and more violent contractors?"

Unspoken: like me. But that's the thing, right? Jean isn't the only deadly thing that stepped off that ferry.

[batteryacid]

"I don't... think so. And I hesitate because I don't know that I'd describe any of the newcomers as particularly violent. You, for example, have a lot of skill when it comes to fighting and killing. More than I have. But I hesitate to call you violent."

(Ask him why. Go on, Jean.)

"I know that Lord Osborne is a vampire and could kill me easily, but he volunteered to help with the crab cleanup, which is barely able to benefit him at all. That's not a violent character, in my mind. River could set me on fire with a thought, probably, but I know she wouldn't because I've gotten to know her. If there's a divide, it's just in our skill sets. I get along with all of you."

[restingslasherface]

"I didn't quite mean it like that..." The protest is half-hearted; Jean's not sure how to say what they did mean.

But.

Insert mental tire screeching noise here: "In what reality am I not violent???"

[batteryacid]

Eddie just gives them a look.

"The reality in which you are holding a chicken very gently and don't want to scare her at all."

Eddie presses his lips together, worrying both between his teeth as he considers his next words. Then... "You are good at using violence. But violence is your tool. You're not a weapon being used by violent and cruel impulses."

Henry Bowers, white haired and worn down, looking so, so much older than he ought to... Henry had come alive with hatred -- the hatred he harbored for all of them -- and attacked Mike, for no reason other than the violence. Eddie had struggled to pull Henry away during the attack, and it was luck or providence that had Henry falling on his own knife once Eddie finally yanked him off Mike.

Eddie says heavily, "I've seen the difference, in humans."

[restingslasherface]

Jean gives Thread a new look. Is this their redeemer? The Bawksiah?

"I...have little respect for cruel people. Cruel methods, I'll use those sometimes, when I have to, but...I guess I don't see being violent and being cruel as the same."

"A peaceful person doesn't think 'how do I kill it' as much as I do."