ph_logs | [OPEN] While we're on the subject, could we change the subject now?

[OPEN] While we're on the subject, could we change the subject now?

Who: Jonathan Sims and YOU!
What: Open prompts for the end of summer!
When: August
Where: Around Marrow Isle
Warning(s): Cursed objects, potential descriptions of gore (More warnings pending)

1. Looking towards the future, we were begging for the past

With a sound of effort, Jon drops the last of the tools he'd been carrying too many of, letting out a winded wheeze as he tries to collect himself.

It's been quite an undertaking, collecting ins and odds from Calloway's Curios before they fell into hands, not knowing what they are or what they're capable of doing. He's not certain of the particular qualities of a few of these things, but he's seen enough things and read about even more to know when something is simply here to cause problems.

Sprucing up the unused shed behind his cliff-side home is proving to be even more of an undertaking, considering he isn't especially gifted at carpentry, but sometimes you've just got to make due.

He's so engrossed in his work that he doesn't notice the presence of anyone outside of Grimmly the Dusknoir, the large Pokemon lingering, watching with what can only be described as single-eyed skepticism. The red eye follows Jon as he moves to collect the scattered metal rods of the lock-system he'd purchased, once again trying to carry all too many things at once.

To say the least, he's far too distracted to notice anybody coming up the short path to his home - especially as, with his heavy carry load, he staggers, stumbles, and topples back, dropping the rods in a spectacularly-noisy explosion of parts around his person.

Grimmly bellows with strange, wavering, ghostly laughter, the mouth on his stomach throwing his upper half backwards, with no regard for the daggers Jon glares his way.

"Oh, laugh it up, you shit, very funny. You could be helping with this, you know, you've got two perfectly good hands!"

2. Well, we knew we had the good things

Amid all the bustle he's been dealing with recently, Jon manages to find time to write and hang a flyer on the bulletin board.

Seeking assistance from the technically inclined for a repair project.

I am in possession of three tape recorders, and need someone who could potentially lend me a hand with fixing the wiring within the machines, as well as potentially making their power sources able to plug into a wall outlet. The tapes are in pristine condition, and I will only need assistance with at least one recorder, though all three being repaired would be preferred. Offering a reward of 200B for assistance.

If interested, please contact me via sending stone or telephone. Thank you.

-Jonathan Sims

With a reward like that, it's clear he's pretty serious about getting these fixed. He'll answer just about any call about them - be it someone who's ready to help him fix these, someone with questions about them, or friends with concerns about the devices. (It may be easier said than done convincing him not to fix them, if one even could, though.)

3. But those never seemed to last (Closed to Neil and Martin)

After meeting Martin on the beach, Jon was in more of a hurry than he'd care to admit to get to Neil and confirm dinner plans. Everything's smoothly in motion, and as ridiculous as it feels, Jon's more excited about this than he can rightly recall having been in a fair bit.

He's never been an incredible chef, but he's gotten a handle on home cooking since arriving in town, and throws together a plan quickly enough to have everything just about ready. It only takes a short trip out to the markets to have the supplies for everything: lemon chicken (the citrus specifically chosen for the occasion), mashed potatoes, and supplies for a light salad, hopefully making for something of an exceptional welcome-to-town dinner.

The sun is only just dipping towards the horizon when he's wrapping up, and judging by a quick glance to the clock on the wall when a knock at the door rings through the house, Martin's at his most punctual that Jon's ever seen him. Maybe he's as excited about this as Jon is? (He surely hopes so.)

Leaning as close to the kitchen's doorframe as he can while not straying too far, keen to finish wrapping things up as quickly as possible, Jon doesn't hesitate to call out towards the front of the house.

"Come in!"

4. Oh, please just last (Wildcard)
Want this guy somewhere, sometime? Shoot me a PM here or on Discord to plot, or just go wild and drop something!

[EDITED EXTRA PROMPT]

5. Beneath the Watcher's Eye

The more time passes, the more Jon feels his resolve beginning to slip.

At first, it's simply accidental, compelling people for statements when they're not looking to share. It sustains him, he feels terrible about it, and there's another sore spot to try to navigate around on this cursed island. The more time that passes, however, the few statements that are offered by the call of his bulletin-board posts simply don't provide like they used to. More often, the fatigue hangs heavy on his bones, even without the work to wear him down. Thinking grows difficult, and simple ordeals feel as though they've gained ten new steps overnight.

He tries to fight it off; he really, truly does. The itch sinks deeper into his bones with each passing day, though - no amount of reading old statements or reading books on things that had happened in town scratch it.

There comes a point with all itches that you've simply got no choice but to scratch it.

He adds his flyer to the bulletin board once more, crisp and neat. Sending stone calls are acceptable, events that have happened within Pumpkin Hollow are valid pieces of information to offer, and anything of any magnitude will be heard. The net is as wide as he can possibly cast it.

Waiting for the net to fill is an impossible task, however. Despite himself, he begins to hunt.

His search doesn't have the physicality or brute force of a Hunter seeking prey - but in energy and approach, they're shockingly alike. He's patient, calculated, and mindful. He stays out late during the nights of shore leave from the Mipha's Grace,, finding new haunts to insert himself into. Restaurants, taverns, bustling public events, and coffee shops are his most frequent targets; if he finds the perfect candidate outside of one of those spaces wearing marks that are heavy enough, though, he won't be picky.

Once he finds scars adequate enough, he sinks into action. The approach is simple and polite: if there's too many people around, he'll ask to step aside. If it's a quiet space, he'll move to stand near, to sit across from, to linger by whoever he's got his eyes on.

And then, he'll speak. The supernaturally inclined feel static begin to build in their ears, and even those who aren't get a sensation of their own, unnatural and tingly, something akin a sleeping limb beginning to wake up.

"You have seen something great and terrible, something beyond comprehension. Tell me your story."

[Extra notes: this is my general prompt for Jon taking statements! You can play this any way you want to. If you want their CR to stay positive, your character can show up at his house and deliver their statement normally, talk afterwards, whole nine yards. For anyone who'd prefer negative CR, though, or want to have Jon take a statement but have characters who would keep that to themselves, put him wherever your character might be and have him compel it out of them!

Additionally, closed to close CR: characters are welcome to bust him compelling statements out of someone! He is doing it fully intentionally this time, and while he'll generally see himself out while emotions run high from the person he took it from, he can be caught by someone who knows what's happening. He won't target people he's friends or generally friendly with intentionally, but it can happen accidentally. Hit me with anything! \o/ ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I found the tape you made. Of him confessing to killing Gertrude and Leitner. I also found the one of him actually murdering Leitner. So I gave them to the police." Martin shrugs weakly. "He got arrested. But he'd already appointed Peter as his stand-in. He took me on as his personal assistant, and now--- well, he doesn't talk to me much, obviously. But when he does, it's usually about work, or faith, or... ships."

"...Oh."

A short, potentially lack-luster response, but it's clear that he's connecting dots. Well, at least, if he did go back after all this, he wasn't being sought out for arrest anymore. He doesn't like the notion of Peter Lukas being at the helm of all of it, though - pun partially intended.

Seeing Martin through the lens of of an assistant to a Lukas, however... some things that had been just ever-so-slightly on his radar are making sense, now, in a markedly worrisome way.

"It sounds like he was one step ahead of his own arrest, then. Disappointing, but not surprising," Jon finally notes, frowning thoughtfully. "I don't know that I care for the idea of Peter at the lead of the charge either, though."

"I mean, Peter is--- fine. He's helping me with something, and-- I'm helping him," Martin says vaguely.

Neil tilts his head. "Who's Peter Lukas?"

"Servant of the Dread Fear of the Lonely," Jon murmurs, quieter, a bit grim. "Pulling people away from the world around them, convincing them they're better off that way. It's one of the more insidious ones. The others have some direct action, at least; the Lonely lets you do all the work for it."

He hasn't said it, but the deeper he thinks, the more the worry furrows his brows, what goes unsaid is very clear: he's very concerned about this arrangement.

"What is he helping you with, Martin?"

"Mmm." Neil pauses to finish chewing his food. "Sounds like the foundation of a cult."

Martin actually laughs at that, but it's hollow. "Yeah, well. Uh. He's just... helping me keep everyone safe. With you out of commission, Jon, andddd as much as I hate to admit it--- without Elias. It's been hard to keep everyone... safe. We don't have Daisy either, so."

"Right, the, ah. Coffin. She's mentioned."

Jon picks at his food for a moment. When he speaks again, he's only able to cover most of the bitterness in his tone.

"Clearly he's not doing a terribly good job at that. ...I don't trust that he isn't up to something."

"I know what I'm doing," Martin replies firmly. "...He can't see things like you can. It was a sneak attack."

"Well, whatever arrangement I'm sure was made, entirely honestly and fairly in terms by someone like him, it--- it can wait," Jon shoots back, more quickly than he might've cared to. "Not much progress on--- whatever he's after can happen here, I imagine."

He falters, back to quiet, for a beat. It's not proper dinner conversation, but the tone already isn't as light as one could expect, and the not knowing has been eating at him.

"...What sneak attack happened, exactly?"

Martin grumbles, roughly rubbing the static out of his ears. "Come on, Jon, don't make me give a statement at the table... Can I tell you later?"

"Wh---" Jon sputters, going from confused to deeply embarrassed in a few seconds flat. "I-I'm sorry, wasn't trying to make you do anything, I just--- meant to ask. Apologies for that. Of course, a-anytime is fine."

He struggles to save some face, but considering the pattern's starting to form but had never fallen to someone he knows (at least, not without their asking as much), he can't help but wind up a bit distressed by the whole thing.

"It's alright," Martin says softly, gently. He really means it. "I know it's... hard to tell the difference in the moment. Just be careful how you ask, please."

"It seems like you know a bit about this," Neil points out. "I'll admit, I do understand some of it. The Fears, and how they work. Oftentimes I suspect their influence isn't rooted in one specific world, as many things which happen here seem colored by them. But my understanding of what it means to be the Archivist is limited to what Jon tells me."

"I don't know much more," Martin confesses. "The Eye feeds on information. Jon has the ability to compell people for it, especially with regards to the Fears. But this isn’t the first time a random question has had that... pull."

"...It's changed a bit, the longer I've been here," Jon adds, reluctant. "I've managed to keep things under control for the most part, I like to think, but it seems like every month that passes, it feels less like a tool on a utility belt I can use when I need it that has some quirks, and more of an... itch."

He's been avoiding talking about it at great lengths, and even for Neil, this is likely the most admission he's had about it in some time - he knows full and well that it isn't something that makes sense, but something about speaking about it put it at the focus of things, like it wasn't something he could simply try not to do.

"The longer I go without getting information from someone, the more exhausted I become, and the stronger the itch gets. Even if it hasn't been an especially long time since the last, I've... found myself pulling information tied to past terror from people in otherwise polite conversations. The more time that passes since the last instance, the... more justified in doing so I feel in the moment, after I've pulled myself back."

Finally catching himself rambling, and making a bleak subject bleaker, he clears his throat gently.

"If you thought this world was strange, some of the things I've heard would leave some of this feeling like little more than a bizarre dream," He tries to joke. "Strange and terrible worlds are out there, apparently."

Edited 2024-08-06 18:09 (UTC)

"Mm. Jean's, in particular, springs to mind," Neil agrees. "A wasteland buried under concrete, pretending to be a city, built from blood and bone and controlled by the rich. It begins to feel like the awful end of the path we were on, back on the Grand Fairisle." He pauses, clarifying for Martin: "That's, ah, the largest island in the archipelago. Inaccessible at the moment, but it's where I come from."

"Ah." Martin nods. "That, um. That doesn't surprise me, though, Jon. It obviously looks... different. For me. But I... yeah. It gets easier every day to just give in to the impulse, and harder to resist."

There's nothing about Martin relating to that that Jon feels good about - particularly not after the ties to Peter Lukas. Pieces are falling into place in ways that he'd hoped they wouldn't.

"Jean's in particular was awful, it's true. Extinction, Flesh, Spiral, and likely more, rolled into a horrible place. ...Guess we'll just have to try to make sure neither of us caves in completely, though," He lets out a quiet breath, before cracking a weak, playful snicker. "And, well. I know if I turn into a monster again, people around here will put me down without too much trouble, so that covers my bases, at least."

The joke comes out flatter than he might've cared for it to; quite frankly, not even he's sure how much of a joke it actually is.

"The Extinction?" Martin's eyebrows raise. "...Peter was right, then."

"I wouldn't say that," Jon mutters. "There's a million universes out there with a million more variants. I'm sure for every Fear we know of, they've invented new ones and had them cause apocalypses, too."

"But he could be right," Martin points out, sighing. "Well. Nothing to do about it now. At least, not until we're back home."

There's an awkward silence from Neil at that, and he takes Jon's hand.

Jon frowns, feeling very caught between a rock and a hard place. Of course this was something that'd have to come up, at some point. He'd hoped it wouldn't be on the first day, but he isn't exactly a historically lucky person.

"Nothing to do about it now," Jon agrees, trying to push past it without addressing home in either direction. He lets Neil keep the hand he took hold of, curling his own - a silent gesture, an assurance. A conversation later.

"Not like we haven't got enough of our own problems to deal with, anyhow. Any Extinction problems will simply have to wait their turn, the line's gotten terribly long as-is."

Martin's expression goes cold. He knows exactly what that pause and hand grab mean.

Jon isn't coming back.

There's a part of him, under the surface, that wants to cry again. His chest burns with heartbreak. It's stupid to feel that way, though. He missed his chance with Jon, assuming he ever had one at all.

It’s baffling, really. Such loyalty to someone who really treats you very badly.

Yeah. That's right.

"Like what?" Martin's voice is softer now as he tries to pretend that his heart isn't tearing itself to shreds inside him as they talk. Hopefully Jon will ramble so that Martin can eat faster, and therefore leave faster.

Jon has to fight not to wince at Martin's expression. It's well-trained--- that's something he's slowly started to catch about the man, after the years of knowing him--- but he can see it. Guilt boils like hot tar in his chest, suffocating and dense.

He'd been so certain about staying for so long, but the longer these things happen, the less sure he is. There's a unique pain with that - the temporary feeling of everything in his life, including Martin.

"Demons, mostly," Jon replies, trying not to let his nerves seep into his voice. "They'll show up to most any events and cause some sort of issue. Creatures from other universes keep finding their ways in, as well. Those on top of your standard-fare natural disasters leaves... a lot to handle among the day-to-day, really."

"Mmm," Martin hums, sipping at his tea. "Demons. Like the Bible kind?"

"Almost? Infernal Realm is shockingly similar to how they describe it, but they're more like, ehhh... extra-planar entities embodying the terrible things in the world," Jon explains, giving a non-committal wiggly hand gesture.

"Mm. So more like the Fears, but a bit more... up close and personal, is that it?" Same shit, different day. "Sounds like a lot. How are you dealing with that?"

Neil has been awkwardly quiet for a while now, distancing himself from the conversation.

"We're still trying to find ways to deal with it effectively, um---" Jon moves his hand, patting Neil's arm, possibly a bit too heartily. The silence has not gone unnoticed, and he's doing everything he can to reel it back in. "Neil's quite educated on the matter, actually. He's much more well-spoken on the intricacies of the matter. Right?"

There's a look over, and a little smile, with the faintest ounce of desperation to it. Oh, god, this was falling apart right in front of him.

Neil snaps back to reality with a smile. "Yes, of course. I'd be happy to fill you in on all the details."

Martin nods. "That sounds helpful, thank you."

Neil then proceeds to give Martin an overview of the demons. What they are, what they do, the royal family and its function, and how they've been impacting the island. Martin listens intently, using the exposition to eat the rest of his food.

"I see," he finally says as Neil finishes. "Thank you, for explaining all of that, Neil. I appreciate you getting me up to speed. And this has been a really lovely dinner."

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