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

Jon blinks owlishly, once, twice, and reels back a bit in flustered, bewildered offense.

"I beg your pardon?"

Throwing his head back, the stranger cackles. "The look on your face! It's just what my sister calls you. Dahlia can't stand that man you've been seeing."

"Ugh, her and half the fucking town. She can take a number and get in line."

The remark lacks any true bite - it's more of a second-nature huff that he's gotten used to getting into on Neil's behalf.

"Oh, get that stick out of your ass. I'm just giving you a hard time. I'm dead, what do I care." Jonah chuckles, patting the seat beside him. "She's got her reasons. West has been a headache for the whole family for a long time now. It's not easy to just decide not to dislike him anymore on a whim, especially considering he hasn't exactly gotten off her case, either. But, it's not my circus, nor my monkeys. I just thought the rude nickname was funny."

Jon's reluctant, but he concedes after a second of one last huff, moving to take the seat offered to him. He's quiet for a moment, appreciating the seaside, before he speaks.

"...It's a little bit funny. But still."

No traces of the previous offense lingers. Hard to stay mad about the opinions of a dead man, after all.

"So, you're a Leeds, then? Do you mind if I ask which?"

"Jonah! Pleased to meet you. I'm the second to last born, second to last dead. Right before Dahlia and my old man, respectively." Jonah offers a handshake, which is firm and calloused, speaking to many years using his hands.

Edited 2024-08-17 03:03 (UTC)

Jon shakes his hand gladly, his own hands bearing few callouses but likely just as many scars, before folding his arms across his lap, leaning against them softly.

"Jonathan Sims," He introduces himself, starting to relax easily enough. "Just Jon is fine, though. ...Is this a spot of choice for you, as well?"

He's only sort of wondering how many times he's accidentally been hanging out with ghosts.

"Oh yeah. I used to be fond of sailing." Jonah sighs, looking back to the horizon. "You're a sailor, too, aren't you? I've seen you out there. Pretty red ship. Cute blonde in charge. I'd probably have fallen in love with her a few times over if I was still up 'n walkin'."

"Oh, yes, she's terribly charming. She's already got two partners, and I'm sure if she had a mind to do so, the collection would be unimaginable," Jon jokes fondly. "I never thought myself to be much for sailing, truth me told. I originally joined to try to get off this godforsaken island. It stuck with me more than I could have ever expected it to, though."

Jonah sighs wistfully. "Yeah. She'll do that. The sea, I mean. I miss it. Maybe I'll catch a ride with you lot sometime."

There's a moment's pause between them. It's peaceful. Restful. Then Jonah speaks up again. "Anybody you wanna go spy on? That's always fun."

"You're welcome to. Might even find someone aboard who can offer conversation, if you're feeling especially lonely."

Though, considering how often people die here, he wouldn't be surprised if the ghosts of the town had some decent conversation...

The offer earns a snicker from him, though, and he tilts his head, offering Jonah an incredulous sort of amusement. "Spy on someone? The thought hadn't really crossed my mind. ...I've got a full day to spend doing something, though. Haven't got any targets off the top of my head, but I suppose we could always browse."

"Sounds good to me." Jonah hoists himself back to his feet. "Honestly there's not a ton to do, but hey, I immediately made fun of you as soon as I saw you, so I owe you at least a little bit of entertainment as recompense."

And so the pair wander the island. In fact, they pass other ghosts on the way, and Jonah is happy to wave to them and introduce his new companion. All in all, it's a rather idyllic afternoon, despite the strangeness of drifting through the island apart from the reality of the space. A community separated from the community. A subgenre, hazy and floating, where time passes strangely.

They pop in on Neil, who is idly doing his work, sorting through files. He seems unaware that anything might be amiss, buried in study and organization in his basement. They drop by Dahlia's place, to see her quietly reading at her breakfast nook over dinner, the dining room abandoned as usual. They meander through the marketplace to watch the living go about their day, forms fuzzy and translucent. And while they while away the evening, they spot Martin and Laios emerging from the Oak & Iron, hand in hand. They seem to be on their way to Empty Pockets.

"Mm, I've been seeing those two leave together a lot lately. Cute couple. Little awkward, both of them, but it's endearing."

Each stop, each new face, is something that Jon embraces gladly. Is it morbid, to say that he almost falls in easier with the permanently-dead than he feels like he does the living? Everything feels so light, so free. In his temporary death, he doesn't hunger as he does in the waking world. He's going to enjoy this for every moment he can get out of it.

Except for this moment.

Caught off guard, he doesn't realize that he's made a face. It's a subtle, tight pull of his lips, but considering that he's been downright merry for the last couple hours (were they hours?), it's quite a change. He tries to brush past the subject as smoothly and easily as possible.

"Friend of mine and his partner. They're lovely. Oh - you know, the docks are terribly lively at this hour. Care to go see if anything's happening that way?"

Jonah nearly agrees, but then he turns to look at Jon's face and stops. "What's with the look?"

"What look?"

He says, trying and failing to stop with the look.

"The look you're making with your goofy mug right now. What's the problem? Don't like your friend's new boyfriend?"

"What? No, he's--- fine. We don't talk much, but that's just by circumstance."

"Uh-huh." Jonah says suspiciously. "Has anyone ever told you that your poker face is rubbish?"

"It's a good thing I don't play poker, then, isn't it?"

Don't look now, Jonah, he's starting the trek off to the docks without you.

Jonah barks another laugh and follows. "Alright, so, which one is the one you're secretly in love with? The hunky one or the soft one?"

"Oh my god, listen to you! I am a grown fucking man, not some--- wistful, pining school-girl, watching her crush go to the latest dance with someone else," Jon gripes, folding his arms. "The soft one is a friend of mine from home, and I am happy for him."

His frustration fizzles, just a bit, and he lets out a short huff of a sigh. If there's anyone to push an ounce of emotional honesty over the looming dam towards, it's someone who can't make that a later-Jon problem, isn't it?

"It's just--- strange. To see someone who's life was so deeply entangled in your own moving well past all that, building their own, and to see your life paths drifting in different directions. That's all."

Jonah nods. "...Been watching a while, you know. Not to pry or anything, just trying to pass the time. Like a hazy little soap opera. You've been here a while. Been with West for most of it. And now, if I were to make an educated guess---- the one who never was, the one you can't even say got away because they never really did get away, shows up and now you're trying not to question everything. Am I close?"

Jon strains, tries to form an argument, and fails. The sigh he lets out speaks all the volumes anything he could've said would have managed, anyways.

"And now he's with someone else too, so it feels pointless, right?"

"Pointless in even acknowledging it to begin with. Nothing good for anyone comes out of seeing how far down it goes."

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