Mingle - Emergency Potluck

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WELCOME POTLUCK

Greetings, residents! Those more observant sorts among you may have noticed a large influx of very crowded ferries. In order to welcome our new residents en masse, Town Hall is holding a potluck in Town Square. Please bring a dish if you are able and make a new friend!

All of our newest arrivals need only bring themselves. We look forward to welcoming you all into our community, and may your lanterns always be lit.

This event is open to all! In light of our new influx of prospective players following the Great Sail Migration, we've decided to offer a small public event to tide everyone over until the TDM this weekend.

Comments

Jonathan Sims | The Magnus Archives | Existing Player

[apocryphalarchivist]

Often times, Jon keeps himself busy, but today in particular was running him a bit ragged.

He'd been up early to help with the pamphlet-making, made a green-bean casserole (one of the few recipes he could recall enough of the steps of), welcomed several of the earlier newcomers he bumped into, and then saw himself off for a bit to mingle with whoever had caught the attentions of his few close friends.

It doesn't take long for him to find a drink and linger on the fringes, however, switching occasionally between chatting with Neil and people-watching.

He's not hard to find, though - and, unfortunately unknown to him, his people-watching tends to have a somewhat unpleasant and deeply-prying energy that's passed along to anyone he looks at for too long. Sorry about that, new friends!

[crushed_pearls]

Hey Jon that bird lady who fell on her face is sidling up to you with a beer.

She's not saying anything.

Nnnnnooooot saying anything.

Sipping the beer.

"'sup you meme-loving fuck?" Erin greets, affectionately.

[apocryphalarchivist]

A few seconds pass. Jon stares at her.

He takes a look beside him on either side, for good measure. Nope. She's definitely talking to him.

He looks back. The gears in his head are turning in slow, rusty ker-chunks of pure, unbridled, caught-off-guard confusion.

She's still looking at you, man. Get something out!

"Nothing... much? And, uh... yourself?"

(Well, it's better than nothing, at least.)

[crushed_pearls]

"Got a bunch of insane shit to say to you and it'll be easier for both of us if I could get a touch of the ol' 'compel a bitch to tell the truth' routine," the stranger admits. "Y'still got it?"

[apocryphalarchivist]

Insane shit. Well, that shouldn't be new news for him, and somehow, the acknowledgement of that helps shake some of the bewilderment of the whole thing.

With a quiet word muttered to Neil that he'd be right back, he abandons his tea on the table and stands.

"I--- yes, I can do that, if it'd help. Ah..." He trails off, and after a beat of thoughtful quiet, he's chosen his words.

He speaks, calmly and measured, and the strings of compulsion begin to pull.

"Who are you, and how do you know me?"

[crushed_pearls]

There's an initial resistance, a force not tied to fear that anchors and grounds this stranger, and then a different feeling; intentionally lowering that resistance, letting Jon in before it can be overcome.

She doesn't do that a lot.

"My name is Erin Peters, and I first heard of you through my lover, Daisy Tonner. I met a version of you in her past who did me a great service that I've been unable to repay."

[apocryphalarchivist]

Jon opens his mouth to reply, and closes it. He stares at her for a few moments, processing. Well, she did say that it would be insane. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it sure wasn't that!

(It's a bit of a one-two punch after the feeling of palpable resistance that left him just as puzzled. Questions about that are for later, though.)

"...Let me repeat this to make sure I've heard you right. You're in... some manner of relationship with Daisy Tonner, you somehow not only viewed but interacted with her past, and spoke with her recollection of me directly for assistance. Not only did this past version of myself interact directly back, but helped with whatever you asked."

He lets that hang in the air for a moment before his brows furrow further, and all that composure he had while compelling washes away. He's completely and utterly baffled again.

"I---" He tries to pick words again, fails, and moves his hands in a "I got nothing" gesture. He's really trying here, and unfortunately, the moving pieces of that aren't quite linking together, leaving the poor bastard short-circuiting. "What?"

[crushed_pearls]

Erin pats him on the shoulder. "Let me answer all of those implied questions with two of my own: if you could take an Avatar somewhere the Fears aren't, how would you set about treating their condition?"

"And are the Dread Powers here, Jon, or is it just that fear is fear no matter where you go?"

[apocryphalarchivist]

That's one hell of a question. It gives him pause, and he frowns gently, thoughtfully.

"I suppose... it'd be the same as being dropped somewhere barren," He answers, a bit grim. "Try as you might to find sustenance, you'd eventually wither away. Not unless you could remove the very core of what tethers them to the Fear that's claimed them. As for if they're here, and can exert their influence on these people, I... don't know."

His last words come with a bit of reluctance. Even so early into his being an Avatar, not knowing doesn't sit well with him at all.

[crushed_pearls]

"The you I met theorized that Daisy, cut off from the Hunt, was sustaining her state by her own fear of that Power," Erin says softly. "That in its absence, she might be able to asset control over her nature, be her own monster. And that you was right. That's what I owe you for."

[apocryphalarchivist]

His brows immediately lift with interest, and he lets out a quiet 'huh', lifting a thoughtful hand to his mouth.

"A self-nourishing cycle of fear and it's own consumption," He murmurs. "That... adds up, now that I think about it. I'd never considered that an Avatar could feed off their own fear, but if there was no tie, no higher tier of the food chain to take that energy..."

His gaze drifts off to the side as he falls into thought, but he catches himself, looks back Erin's way, and clears his throat.

"I'm glad that--- some version of myself could help, even if the way I helped is still a bit, ah. Nebulous to me." He offers a hand to shake. "But even still, the semantics matter less than someone being free of the Dread Powers, one way or another."

[tisnotthehouse]

"Mister Sims." Tarantulas is holding a bowl of pudding -- how fortunate for him and his sweet tooth that so many people brought dessert! -- and smiling in a guarded, slightly uncomfortable way, his extra legs twitching slightly in mid-air. He's not about to be rude to his therapist's partner, but the staring, you see. It's starting to fucking get to him. "Is there anything I can do for you? You seem...unusually focused."

[apocryphalarchivist]

"Oh--- hello, Tarantulas, isn't it?"

Jon seems to snap into attention. Perhaps that made things better or worse - his staring had absolutely minimal intention behind it, and with the casual, affable reaction to Tarantulas' approach, it rings clear that he's probably not even noticed that his gaze comes with a bit of Ceaseless Watching, so to speak.

So the Avatar of the Eye has a bit of a staring problem. And, in other news, the sky is blue.

"No, no, I'm quite alright," He's quick to assure, offering him an awkward smile. There's something... tense about this look he's getting from his arachnid acquaintance, and he can't place what it might be from. "Just doing a bit of people-watching, that's all. It's strange just how many new faces have arrived into town, isn't it?"

[tisnotthehouse]

"Very strange," Tarantulas agrees. He can read the writing on the wall well enough, he just isn't sure he cares to follow its instructions.

"I wonder," he says after a moment, tone calm. Even friendly. "If anyone's ever told you that you have a rather intense gaze? Some might even call it somewhat disquieting."

Not Tarantulas, of course. Oh no, he's as calm as a clam in water. Just look at him, calmly standing here. Eating his pudding. Pay no attention to his legs wrapped close around his shoulders and chest, that's just for courtesy. Because he's the kind of person who cares about not smacking people.

[apocryphalarchivist]

That gives Jon pause. Ohhh. Oh, he understands now. A friend of a friend, whom he'd never spoken to, making an appearance very suddenly? He can't recall the last time that hasn't come with a word that's needed to be had.

He doesn't bristle, of course, nor does he take offense. At most, he shifts in his seat, turning to face Tarantulas a bit better.

"Oh? Nnno, no, I hadn't had anyone mention," He replies, slow, almost tentative. His brow furrows gently, and he casts a lightly concerned look Tarantulas' way. "If I've troubled you, I apologize. With so many people about, I hadn't expected anyone to mind some people-watching, but I'm not looking to cause trouble."

[lasthumanvoice]

“Either say something, Jon Sims, or fuck off.”

Cecil usually is willing to ignore staring, but, well. Some things were never resolved between them, were they?

[apocryphalarchivist]

Oops. He was thinking about saying something, but perhaps he sat, stared, and thought about it for too long. Good going, London's #1 Problem Resolver.

He clears his throat, gives Neil a nudge to indicate that he'll be back, and stands.

"Cecil, can I speak to you--- ah, privately for a moment?" He asks, and is pushing through the instinct to go "yes, of course, right away, I'll fuck right off! See you never!". You owe him one, Gerry. "I do have some things to say, yes, but, um. Maybe not in the middle of foot-traffic, if it's all the same to you."

[lasthumanvoice]

"Alright, pick a corner and let's go talk."

Cecil's giving Jon nothing in terms of facial expression or warmth, unfortunately. He is disinclined to be charitable.

[apocryphalarchivist]

Don't worry, Cecil, there's not much warmth being offered in return. Less anger, but pleasantries haven't exactly done him any good here before, why bother with them now?

A corner is easy enough to find, and he leads Cecil there, posture rigid and thoughts racing. He stops and turns only when they're far enough out of earshot of anyone else for comfort, and after a moment of enduring that hard look he's getting, he speaks.

"I... apologize, Cecil, for purchasing Lot 37, and what effects that had on you," He starts, calm and measured as he possibly can be. "I had intended to return it to you, and purchased it to prevent anyone else from trying to figure out what its purpose was. But I didn't succeed in doing that, and, not knowing the gravity of it--- failed to prioritize doing so appropriately. For that, I'm deeply sorry."

[lasthumanvoice]

For Cecil, this is a complicated thing.

Pros to Forgiving Jon
- It'll make Gerry happy
- Jon knows about Lot 37 and might be able to help figure out what to do about it
- No lasting enmity between them
- Getting to feel like he's been the bigger man

Cons to Forgiving Jon
- It means giving up a grudge
- Jon knows about Lot 37 and can use it in the future if he ever gets his hands on it
- Uggggggh, he doesn't want to!

But at the end of the day, for peace in his home, it's best to figure out how to deal. "And...it won't happen again?"

[apocryphalarchivist]

Jon blinks, almost taken aback by the notion.

"I only didn't say so because--- of course it won't. Lot 37 is yours, Cecil. It was always my intention to make it so, and I have no want, need, or motivation to try to take that from you."

[lasthumanvoice]

"Not just that. You won't let things sit, that you discover. You won't buy people's stuff from Calloway and forget you have it. If you're going to try to help people by putting your money down for things that matter...you need to act on it right away. Directly with them. Not through others, not trying to hide the matter."

Because a significant amount of the distress had been not knowing who had possession of Lot 37 after it was sold. It was expecting to lose time and be put into use again, like Dana Mayor Cardinal someone back home had, repeatedly.

Someone who sees Fears might recognize this one, webby and thick, still has its grip on him tightly.

[apocryphalarchivist]

"Ah."

A beat, and Jon clears his throat a bit.

"Yes, of course. With the sending stones and a much more lax schedule with my crew, should it have happened now as opposed to back then, I-I don't think it would have gotten forgotten, but... you have my word. Should anything of deep importance be found, I'll get in touch immediately."

[lasthumanvoice]

"Not just with me. With anyone. With everyone. Please, Jon."

The anger is seeping out of him, but his usual levity isn't running back into the vessel to take its place. Cecil looks, if anything, incredibly tired right now, as if the grudge was a battery that had been powering him and now he's left with very little juice.

(It's okay, he can still despise Calloway freely.)

[apocryphalarchivist]

"Anyone. I swear it."

He's quiet, for a moment, before he speaks again. Any defensiveness is gone with Cecil's anger leaving him. It's a strange place to be in, after several months of harsh feelings - but it's the first step. Always got to start somewhere.

"I think, should anything else, ah... named appear, it'll be a discussion before any buying comes into place. To prevent this sort of thing."