ph_logs | Supression Request: These Feelings [November Open]

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

Kavinsky would start to think he was cursed--in a different way than this place was apparently already cursed--if he ended up responsible for someone choking to death. Good thing that crisis was averted.

He put his glass down first so he could pull the chair out and just sort of...flop into it. He was just quiet for a moment, observing, thinking--and being oddly charmed. He was rarely charmed so quickly--not counting Ronan (and Ronan had been a different sort of charmed, anyway)--but, well. It was what it was. It seemed legitimately everything he'd been told was true. He hadn't been told much, but compared to the shitty gossip and rumors he was used to...it was refreshing.

"Morning. And it's alright- I didn't exactly announce it." He tipped his head to the side. Did people track the arrival of the ferry? "I'm in a better mood now than then, anyway." Not that he'd treated anyone poorly before, but he'd been grumpy. Propping his chin on his hand, he asked, "Do you keep track of everyone who shows up here? Like, a record?"

"Also it's good to meet you, too." He didn't usually remember his manners--he'd never been taught to have them, after all--but occasionally, he could be polite. "Oh- also my name's Kavinsky. I'm still figuring my way around and meeting people and all of that shit, but I've heard stuff about you. Good stuff. Like, from two separate people, which made me figure you must make an impression. And you do." He smiled, to make sure it was clear he meant a good impression.

Rapid, confused blinking. There was a bit of information in there Jean was not expecting to hear. "People talk about me?"

They'll catch up to the rest in a minute here, they weren't ready for that.

Oops. "Y...es? They didn't make it sound like you didn't know." But no one had said, explicitly, that Jean did know, either. "It's like when you're friends with someone and you wanna be like 'hey, lemme tell you about this person'. As opposed to like, the trashy gossip I had to deal with back home."

"I'm getting positive performance reviews...wow..." They somehow manage to take a sip of their coffee without breaking their thousand-mile stare. The cup goes back down, and they shake it off, like a small dog. "But! Your questions, Comrade Kavinsky! I do take voluntary interviews from new arrivals and collect information on their qualifications, skills, and experience! We're woefully under-organized! But! Strictly voluntary, and information shared with me will only be shared with Madam Princess Zelda," because she's who Jean wants in charge. "My own information is in this notebook as well! Would you like a look?"

Positive performance reviews- that was, honestly, a delightful way to look at it.

"Oh." An interview. He guessed that made sense. "Okay. Sure." He was generally more inclined to do something if it was voluntary. ...Well, most of the time. He never would've worn a tie for school if it hadn't been required. "Is Zelda actually a princess?" Because of course he was going to ask.

That curiosity led right into his next reply. "Sure- I mean, if you don't mind."

"Correct! Of a kingdom called Hyrule, where human and nonhuman people live as equals! It's strangely appealing..."

Jean.exe is reminiscing, please wait.

Eventually, though, they remember themself. They flip back to the very first entry (the self-portrait at the top is done in sharp pencil lines, heavy on detail like all the others), then push the book slowly to Kavinksy. This entry is the most detailed, almost like a resume; the writing is clipped and corporate, framing nearly everything in terms of job performance or the acquisition of results and resources.

It spells out a staggering career of unending violence. Martial arts and combat scenarios mastered, successful campaigns waged against "human and inhuman opponents", years of experience "containing and managing" a detailed list of monstrous entities with supernatural powers, combat first aid and triage...

Even allowing for all of this having been conducted in small units (Jean describes their combat role as "forward support"), Jean's claiming to have a hand in the deaths of hundreds of people.

Still smiling: "Obviously no other entry is this intensive! I'm just, hahaha, I like to be thorough!"

"Ain't that the dream," he said with a sigh. He'd never heard of Hyrule, but someplace where humans and nonhumans were equal? It sounded nice. Did he think of himself as human? Not always. He legitimately didn't know, not for sure. Could a human do the things he could? Was he something other?

He pulled the book a little closer so he could get a better look, moving his glass to the side so he could lean forward. It was- he didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't all of this. He didn't even know what he should think- except that he felt a little exhausted just trying to imagine accomplishing all of these things. Some things stood out to him more than others, of course, some things snagged on his nerves like a kitten's claws in a curtain.

Sliding the book back, he took a long drink from his glass. "I can tell. So- what're your thoughts on supernatural shit? Like, people with powers or magic or whatever?"

Jean blinks repeatedly. "As what, a demographic? I'm not sure I understand, I'm, hahaha, ha, I'm woefully unfamiliar with magic as a legitimate branch of technological development!"

Can't stress enough this resume is full of impossible shit.

"The local technologies do seem to include magic, but I haven't had time to further my education there...can I ask you to clarify the question?"

"Like-" How did he put absolutely any of his concerns into words without outing his secret? Even if his father hadn't been the absolute shittiest human being Kavinsky had ever encountered, he would have learned early on that dreaming was something he didn't talk about.

He'd been to the Fairy Market before. He'd seen shit. The kind of shit you couldn't bat an eye at or else you were the next target. You didn't draw attention to yourself at that sort of event. And he hadn't, and he'd never gone back, but he knew what people were capable of.

"I don't know, like-" He wanted to feel safe. "Back home, people can't handle magic. If you're different, you're either dead or exploited. I haven't been here very long, but it feels...different? Like people are more accepting here. I don't know."

He dropped his head down to the table with a thunk, lacing his fingers together at the back of his neck. "I wouldn't want to be thrown into a cage or some shit because I was magically inclined. Or for anyone to think I should be." That had deviated from his original question, but in his defense; words were fucking hard sometimes.

...

......

.........

"Wow that sounds like an insane and counterproductive way to run things!" Jean blinks Several Times. "I can see why my service record is concerning - Comrade, I don't know what I am here. The things I can do are not things the locals can do! A twenty-foot vertical leap is not something they seem to possess!" You know, just under four times their body length. "My..." 'home' won't leave their lips, not after Zelda and Mort, not after Grace Holloway and Erik, "the place that I am from concerns itself extremely greatly with profit, Comrade Kavinsky. I took the work I thought would give me a better life. Does that look like the resume of a successfully better life?"

Edited 2023-11-22 03:31 (UTC)

He wasn't sure what part got him, exactly. It might have been the 'wow' or maybe it was how 'insane' and 'counterproductive' were, while maybe not the words he would have chosen, still spot on. So, whatever it was, it got a startled bark of a laugh out of him. Followed by relief, like the bubble of stress and worry had just been popped.

Picking his head up, he rested his chin in both hands. He was so unused to someone, anyone, saying they understood his point of view that it was a little like a kick in the ribs. But- if that sort of thing could ever be considered a good thing. And the fact they didn't say home- he wasn't sure if he was reading into it too much but...he knew that feeling, too. The house he'd lived in in Henrietta was just that; a house, not his home. Not some place he'd say he wanted to go back to.

"It's absolutely insane and incredibly fucked up. I wasn't-...taught to be cautious, but I learned. I had to, to survive. Until I fucked it up." But he wasn't going to dwell on that part- or he was going to try not to. But also, a twenty-foot vertical leap sounded fucking badass, and if he remembered to say something about it, he'd love to see a demonstration sometime. No wonder he'd heard something about Jean going after the Pine Devil.

"Capitalism's everywhere, huh? And I don't know- it looked like...a lot. Not sure I understood all of it." He wasn't afraid to admit it. "But I understand wanting a better life." That sentiment resonated with him, in his core. "That's all I ever wanted. Everyone should be able to have that."

"Mostly I wanted to be able to stop fighting every day! If I hadn't been starving to death I might have rethought hiring into a position explicitly looking for fighters but here I am now! I don't mean to sound arrogant but I'm...fairly certain that at this juncture in the hiring cycle I am the warrior on this island. Which is! Depressing! And also concerning! I wasn't even the warrior on my own team! I was forward support!" Jean sighs, and then sighs again. Thankfully there is still coffee. Coffee is Jean's friend. "But before your hopes get too high, my knowledge of available peers in magic for you is...limited! The smith down at Infernal Arms and Armor advertises herself as a necromancer, and Doctor West has magic for both utility and combat. But aligning with Doctor West may have...political consequences. Due to his."

You ever see someone like visibly search for a polite way to say a thing?

"...Incompatibility with a formal chain of command."

"That's fair. And I mean, if you've got the skills, it can be good to utilize them." He was quiet for a moment, just a moment. "I, uh. Don't know what forward support involves, actually."

Infernal Arms and Armor was a badass name, though the mention of a necromancer made him freeze for a moment. Not because Kavinsky was feeling judgy, it just- reminded him that he'd done a pretty damn similar thing to necromancy. Two things, actually.

"It's okay. My hopes are constantly down in the mud. So I appreciate it." He did, genuinely. And he absolutely was familiar with the moments when someone was trying to figure out a way to be polite. "Aligning? There's politics here?" The closest brush he'd had with politics in Henrietta was Dick. Considering the Ganseys were loudly Republican. He was sure plenty of other people were involved in politics too, but the Ganseys were notable.

"So he's got issues with authority?"

"Forward support in this case meant that I got hit instead of other people," Jean explains proudly. "I made sure they could fight! It was a good team..."

He immediately had to bite his tongue to keep from making a knee-jerk innuendo. It was also a shame he was unversed in other things so he couldn't make certain comparisons. "That sounds like it was probably pretty stressful. But also, like...rewarding? Like, it's immediately obvious that you're making a difference." Kavinsky would probably be proud of that, too.

A proud nod. "We did good work. Never lost a fight, even when we took casualties - it was a good team. As for Doctor West..." Jean falters.

Rallies: "His particular grievances are with the de facto owner of the island and with its religious institutions. Those are, haha, ha...not good enemies to choose. You can see the problem."

People said enthusiasm and stuff like that was infectious--Kavinsky wondered if that applied to pride.

As for the rest though, Kavinsky made a thoughtful noise. He preferred not to have enemies whenever possible, though it...usually wasn't possible. At least, not to avoid enemies entirely. "So, what are the religious institutions here like?"

"Understaffed! Comrade Degas is in sore need of material and human resources! I'm uncertain how to answer the question otherwise..." Their eternal grin becomes a thoughtful and even somewhat guilty frown. "...I...am unused to faiths that aren't business ventures, which is perhaps as politely as I can say that. It's a social context for which I have no context! But the gods they venerate do seem to understand the appropriate actions for an employer to take for their employees..."

Here their thumb rubs a ring on their hand, gently, even thoughtfully.

"...I'm afraid I can't help you there, Comrade!"

He nodded thoughtfully while he listened. "That's okay. I'm not religious anyway, just curious." And he could probably do some poking around, himself. He'd never seen the point in believing in any sort of god when he felt like a god himself--...when he wasn't feeling like a monster.

"So, what sort of things do you wanna know for the interview stuff?"

"Prior experience, relevant skills, any accomodations you might need - the usual!" Jean pauses. "Medical information should probably go to the clinic though, that's absolutely none of my business! Still, any deviation from the baseline that might be relevant in an emergency could save your life, if the doctors know."

"Prior experience like, jobs? Cause I haven't had any. Wasn't sure what I wanted to do with myself. Figured I'd worry about it after college." And what a joke that was; he'd probably never get that far.

"And I don't need any accommodations." He paused a moment. "I'm also healthy." Wrong. But he didn't know how to talk about mental health or his drug addiction, and if it wasn't required, he was just...not going to mention those things.

"I've got a lot of skills, though. Dunno if they're all relevant but, I know my way around guns, and I've got an eye for details. I did forgeries, mostly for fun. Let me see something a few times and I'll probably be able to recreate it, though it also depends on complexity." Cars, for instance, were considerably more difficult than a fake ID. So many moving parts to try and hold in his head at the same time.

"I can also take things out of my dreams." There was the big one, and he was well aware it needed more explanation but- he wanted to give things a moment to sink in.

Jean dutifully writes everything down, leaving space to elaborate on each. "Formal work isn't necessarily the only prior experience; being a student teaches skills! And it sounds like you've got quite a few very interesting ones relevant to the investigative part of our collective duties...skill at forgeries in particular could be very handy for accurately recording information." The positive spin is slicker than a corporate lawyer, so smooth one might believe that Jean sees it that positively and hasn't noticed the potentially criminal applications at all.

They pause at that last, and their expression is curious. "You can transfer objects from your dream into a physical form?"

Kavinsky had never seen anyone put a positive spin on his forgeries--anyone who wasn't actually asking him for something like a fake ID, anyway. It was charming, and he liked the idea that he could use his skills for something more positive--and important, even.

"I guess so. I feel like being a student mostly taught me to get used to feeling like I was being strangled by a tie every day." He was absolutely not fond of the Aglionby uniforms.

He'd always figured people would be confused when they heard what he could do--even Ronan hadn't taken it well, and he could do the same thing. So he was actually pretty pleased that Jean got it. "Yeah, exactly that. I practiced my whole life to get good at it. Started out with small shit, but the dreaming was real good in Virginia." He didn't know it had to do with the ley lines there; he didn't know they had anything to do with dreaming. "Had a whole field of cars there. Sure, a lot of them were fucked up, but there's so many parts to keep in mind. It took a while to get it right. Smaller things are always easier, though."

"It sounds a bit like what my former employers did," Jean muses, sounding more wondering than anything. "But stabilizing the archetype was always the hardest part, and rarely wholly successful; often we could only mimic power, and not wholly re-create it. That sounds like incredibly difficult work, comrade."

"Oh, it's-" except he stopped, because that sounded an awful lot like a compliment, and no one had ever, not once, said anything even remotely positive about his dreaming ability.

"It is, actually. I've worked really hard to turn it into something that I can make work for me. Like, feeling like it's productive. Or even just useful." And he was proud of what he could do, even if it seemed like he was the only one who felt that way back home. "Also, uh. Thanks for being cool about this. Past experience made me worry everyone would be a dick about it."

Supression Request: These Feelings [November Open]

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cw: vague dark things

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cw: drugs mention

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