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ph_logs2024-08-07 04:46 pm
restingslasherface) wrote in ph_logs2024-08-07 04:46 pm
[August Open] God Has Permitted Me To Survive
Who: Agent Jean and YOU
What: August open as I claw my way back into regular participation
When: Take a wild fucking guess buddy
Where: Watchtowers, beach/docks, public library, the gazebo, the woods, and wherever you like
Warning(s): Struggles with mental health, cosmic & demonic horror, possession, violence if you want some
Self-Care | Various
Jean is still working on relaxing. The paradox is not lost on them, but they do understand that relaxation is, you know, a skill, like speaking or reading or swordplay or training their stupid cat-dog-rabbit-thing, so they're going at it with the same kind of regular dedication they give to their otherwise busy schedule. Once a week you can find them at Oak & Iron expanding their knowledge of alcohol firsthand, and if they're not busy chatting with a local you are very welcome to join them.
They've also continued to sketch, something they didn't think of as a hobby they enjoyed before but which is, on reflection, one of the thin pillars of their fragile mental health. Jean can be spotted all around town simply working on their drawings, but especially at the beach, under the gazebo, in town square, and sometimes just hanging out in the lobby of Town Hall. Just about anything or anyone could be a subject of their art; odds are good that you're on the list.
Vade Retro Satana | Library, Ocularum | OTA but Neil Encouraged
With autumn and the ascension of Mendel approaching, Jean is trying to research more humane methods of resisting mental influences than the ones they themself went through. It is not really going all that well. A lot of books get checked out just before Mipha's Grace sets sail, and when the ship comes back into port Jean can be found staying late at the library desperately peeling through tomes for advice, or over at Neil's using the good doctor's library for much the same reason. Their notebook on the subject is uncharacteristically chaotic, full of scratched-out ideas with sketches in the margins that have a distinctly...
...stressed...
Style.
Outreach | Closed to Dahlia
Deep into the above, Jean gets dressed up in the Page of Kora's Avatar and ambles across town to the Leeds Estate. They settle in just outside the gate, pondering for entirely too long to themself if this is an appropriate reason to approach Comrade Leeds, and ultimately settles on the thought that Dahlia herself really is the one to make this decision. So they slip their sending stone from their pocket, and...
"Comrade Leeds? My apologies for the intrusion, I had hoped to speak briefly on training for the local levy and other volunteers. To be, hahaha, AHAHAHA, to be perfectly honest I expect my request may be a longshot regardless of any other factors, but just in case it isn't it would be remiss of me not to ask! If you're amenable I am currently outside."
Play With The Devil's Toys | The Woods
This moment was probably meant to be private. Deep in the woods, where only the mighty, the stupid, or both go, one might stumble upon Jean dressed in Cobalt Scar and contemplating a truly godawful weapon, thrust point-down into the soil. Their expression is grave. Their hand flexes, tentatively, once, twice. They seize the handle with gritted teeth, and the sound they make is pained, and it is full of furious hatred.
"No," they growl, and there is another growl, lupine and massive, rich and layered and inhuman, behind it. "No, you obey me. If you expect to be permitted to survive you obey me."
The sword doesn't seem to say anything out loud, but Jean's grip is white-knuckled, and it's not clear that they're winning whatever fight they're having with it.
Wildcard
Fuck me up.
What: August open as I claw my way back into regular participation
When: Take a wild fucking guess buddy
Where: Watchtowers, beach/docks, public library, the gazebo, the woods, and wherever you like
Warning(s): Struggles with mental health, cosmic & demonic horror, possession, violence if you want some
Self-Care | Various
Jean is still working on relaxing. The paradox is not lost on them, but they do understand that relaxation is, you know, a skill, like speaking or reading or swordplay or training their stupid cat-dog-rabbit-thing, so they're going at it with the same kind of regular dedication they give to their otherwise busy schedule. Once a week you can find them at Oak & Iron expanding their knowledge of alcohol firsthand, and if they're not busy chatting with a local you are very welcome to join them.
They've also continued to sketch, something they didn't think of as a hobby they enjoyed before but which is, on reflection, one of the thin pillars of their fragile mental health. Jean can be spotted all around town simply working on their drawings, but especially at the beach, under the gazebo, in town square, and sometimes just hanging out in the lobby of Town Hall. Just about anything or anyone could be a subject of their art; odds are good that you're on the list.
Vade Retro Satana | Library, Ocularum | OTA but Neil Encouraged
With autumn and the ascension of Mendel approaching, Jean is trying to research more humane methods of resisting mental influences than the ones they themself went through. It is not really going all that well. A lot of books get checked out just before Mipha's Grace sets sail, and when the ship comes back into port Jean can be found staying late at the library desperately peeling through tomes for advice, or over at Neil's using the good doctor's library for much the same reason. Their notebook on the subject is uncharacteristically chaotic, full of scratched-out ideas with sketches in the margins that have a distinctly...
...stressed...
Style.
Outreach | Closed to Dahlia
Deep into the above, Jean gets dressed up in the Page of Kora's Avatar and ambles across town to the Leeds Estate. They settle in just outside the gate, pondering for entirely too long to themself if this is an appropriate reason to approach Comrade Leeds, and ultimately settles on the thought that Dahlia herself really is the one to make this decision. So they slip their sending stone from their pocket, and...
"Comrade Leeds? My apologies for the intrusion, I had hoped to speak briefly on training for the local levy and other volunteers. To be, hahaha, AHAHAHA, to be perfectly honest I expect my request may be a longshot regardless of any other factors, but just in case it isn't it would be remiss of me not to ask! If you're amenable I am currently outside."
Play With The Devil's Toys | The Woods
This moment was probably meant to be private. Deep in the woods, where only the mighty, the stupid, or both go, one might stumble upon Jean dressed in Cobalt Scar and contemplating a truly godawful weapon, thrust point-down into the soil. Their expression is grave. Their hand flexes, tentatively, once, twice. They seize the handle with gritted teeth, and the sound they make is pained, and it is full of furious hatred.
"No," they growl, and there is another growl, lupine and massive, rich and layered and inhuman, behind it. "No, you obey me. If you expect to be permitted to survive you obey me."
The sword doesn't seem to say anything out loud, but Jean's grip is white-knuckled, and it's not clear that they're winning whatever fight they're having with it.
Wildcard
Fuck me up.
no subject
"I'm sorry, Fever. I didn't want it to be a bad death."
no subject
The sentence is a command flung at their feet. The lightning remains in her hands, flickering, sparking, tightly leashed to her. It will not fly without its own commands, but Jean doesn't know that.
"I did not give you my consent to kill me. Tell me why you did it anyway."
no subject
The wildlife knows better than to intrude on this meeting of two predators.
Their voice is low, and soft: "Would I have survived to extract your Page if it had been anything less than a surprise attack? The power you're holding in your hands right now can easily kill me...or worse, ha ha...ha." They sigh. "...My spine is mostly delicate metal components. One touch and you paralyze me for life, or until someone kills me."
cw: torture and murder discussion
Slowly, almost leisurely, she walks toward them. Something dark and bloodstained swims behind her eyes, in her presence, until she's close enough that if she let the spell go, it would find its mark unerringly.
"I like that look in someone's eyes, when they realize they can't run away." Soft, calm. Almost dreamy. "When they can try all they like, but it won't save them. Tears, threats, promises, love - none of it will change their state. None of them are enough."
A pause.
"Should I open you up and disassemble you? Find which of your organs would be the best to keep for my own? Your spleen, maybe? The tongue's a bit too pedestrian to be a suitable souvenir of this collaboration." Her hands absently shift over themselves, letting the lightning play, keeping a firm grip in her mind. "Or I collect nothing. Just make a few cuts. Oh, nowhere vital, don't worry about that. But..the right substance just stops blood from clotting, did you know? It just....keeps flowing. On, and on, and on. You'd be surprised how much blood you can lose and still stay conscious. If the scent doesn't make you become prey for what's out here. You'd still be drawing breath, yes, but they don't really mind."
And Fever smiles, and it's a genuinely content thing. Beatific.
"Or perhaps not. Perhaps there are no cuts at all. I simply walk away. You might get lucky, be ignored by the beasts. Then, what would happen would be a slower, mind numbing agony. Thirst you could not move to quench. Hunger you could not do a thing to sate. Just withering, left and utterly forgotten. I'd have to watch from a distance, see how long it took for you to finally fade away."
The spell winks out of existence.
"...Why didn't you read the Page? You went to such trouble to get it."
And it should be worth it, if the injury to her pride is ever to heal. Even without the spell in hand, she's furious, and if she hadn't already nearly lost control but a short while ago, it would be very dangerous for Jean indeed. But Fever can manage, for the moment.
no subject
But they understand, too, that by their actions Fever has perceived Jean to have shed the cloak of the law, to have violated the nameless yet sacred pacts of peace that bind this island society together, pacts the City has long since abandoned. And in understanding that, they are deeply, visibly, ashamed. They have failed not only to be the person their loved ones know they can be, but to walk all their big talk to Fever that she, too, could be that person.
Still...
"If you are able to read it yourself, then there is no need for me to know your secrets," Jean answers, the soft and no-nonsense answer of a subordinate reporting to a superior. "The thought only really occurred to me after your death, comrade, but that still wasn't too late. With your permission, I will retrieve the Page from my pocket."
no subject
But she hadn't. The choice was the important part, and it was taken from her.
Jean's tone mollifies her just the slightest bit, something reflexive allowing an inch of grace, and she extends her hand. No sparks, no trick.
"Let me see it."
I leave the ball in your court as to if Fever can comprehend the Page
Slowly, and with only one hand, Jean retrieves the folded Page from their pocket. It is bright, so bright, not incandescent but still not something for human eyes, as if to look at it is to lose all other light.
They place it in Fever's offered hand. It weighs nothing at all, and yet it is so heavy. Like a life.
no subject
Some things are known. Facts that remain comprehensible. Knowledge that anyone can have.
But others-
this can't be true, it isn't, this can't be right because otherwise it's all wrong
don't rejoice and instead rage and hate everything everyone especially yourself so you know what needs to be done
"...Go home, Jean."
It isn't a suggestion. But it doesn't have the force of an order. It is quiet. Strained. The pressure of a storm slowly creeping over to steal the breath from Jean's lungs, pushing down and down and down and-
her head hurts, so bad she cannot see, can't breathe, she presses a hand over her eyes in a futile effort to make it stop, hissing quietly through her teeth. Her body feels locked up, too tense, a cage and
not her own, and it hurts, it hurts like she's trying to get out of the pod with blood on her forehead and a ringing in her ears and is her heart even still beating or is ittoo close, this is what
lovewill always beWrap?