[OPEN] A Dog's Life

[lahire]

Who: Jack La Hire and You
When: After being hired by Magne
Warning(s): May reference fantasy captivity, might slide into PTSD territory

1. Chases dreams, so it seems [Winter Market]
George had offered advice on finding preferences for himself--how to figure out what Jack himself liked, in the aftermath of what he's been through. While visiting the library had been a wholly overwhelming experience, he's still trying to explore the world and its bounty.

Today, that's brought him to the Winter Market, before it dries up and blows away. He's sniffing scented candles and examining patterned pocket squares, trying to figure out what it is that draws him to certain things. It's a process. He might solicit help picking out decor for his new room or updates to his wardrobe.

One thing he's certain he likes, though, is the stall handing out warm mulled cider. If you're not encountering him during shopping, you might see him holding a cup in both hands and looking the closest he's been to content.


2. He shines in his master's light [Velvet Ambrosia and Silk]
Jack has a job now! It's not dealing cards! Everything should be great now, right?

Well, tending bar isn't the simplest work in the world, it turns out. While he's glad to be doing something, there's a learning curve going on here. Perhaps you're a patron who's just gotten the wrong drink. Perhaps you're a fellow staffer wondering where Magne got this doofus. Perhaps you're just watching him in horror as he goes to shake a Moscow mule.

He really is trying his best.


3. Looking good, so he should [Minor Fae Bullshit]
Here's the thing. Jack isn't a changeling in the same sense that George is a changeling, but he has very much been altered by his time serving The Golden Wheel. Less so by the Black Stag, that was a very brief captivity. But what this means is that there is something vaguely fae about him.

Unfortunately for him, he's still figuring out what this means in practice.

Catch him outside somewhere when he thinks he's alone, animating a small pile of sticks and leaves into a little poppet with glowing eyes. Or catch him literally scuttling against a wall in the manner of a spider rather than walking on an icy patch of sidewalk, as if that's less treacherous territory. Or perhaps you see him alone, shuffling his deck somewhere, before he flicks his wrist and the cards assemble themselves into a fucking sword for a moment, before collapsing back into their usual form.


4. For the choice is very narrow [Wildcard]
This is your chance to wildcard me. PM or catch me on Discord to plot, or just throw yourself at me.

Comments

[abhorrently]

"Does it need to be useful?"

She crouches to be more on their level, head tilting just a tiny bit to admire the construction of the being.

"Can't it just exist?"

[lahire]

The look Jack gives Fever at that question is sharply confused, as if she'd switched what language she was speaking.

"Does one even truly exist, if they are not of use?" Someone completely failed to take the lesson from spending a month as a laggard.

[abhorrently]

"Define 'of use' for me. I get the feeling I don't have the same definition of the term as you do."

Her hand outstretches towards his construct, but doesn't touch it - it's an offered hand, for it to touch if it wants. No, Fever, that's for pets.

[lahire]

The little construct touches her finger with an outstretched twig. Curiously? Perhaps. Is it capable of curiosity?

Jack, meanwhile, seems to be struggling to put the words to the answer to the question Fever has asked.

[abhorrently]

She'll give him time, engaging instead with the construct. Sitting down properly on the ground, she beckons it closer. It's okay, she's not going to hurt it - the thought that flashes across her mind to snap its little limbs lacks some of its punch, and is ignored in much the same way as one ignores an obnoxious person sitting behind you. There is no real danger here, unless Jack thinks himself into a logic error.

[lahire]

The servitor's about as smart as a dog and as eager to have attention, wriggling its way up onto her lap. Jack's gaze follows it; he almost looks vaguely jealous.

[abhorrently]

"What a sweetheart," she murmurs, having caught that glance and letting the poppet settle in her lap. If Jack won't answer her question, she'll eventually do it for him, but he needs more space. She knows how long it takes her to answer tough questions - he'll be allowed the same courtesy.

[lahire]

"It is not here to be admired." He sound more confused than upset, though.

[abhorrently]

"What is it here for, then? What moved you to bring it to life?"

The answer to all three questions is intertwined.

[lahire]

"I needed to know what I am capable of. How I can be of use."

Because this isn't not a metaphor.

[abhorrently]

This is a realm where she feels a little out of her depth, where someone else might have kinder and softer words, might be able to ease him into it. But she'll try all the same, because she's here, and she admits what she can't do as easily as what she can. Mostly.

"If you knew, right at this moment, that it wasn't useful in any direct sense - that the only thing it was capable of was to exist, and explore, and merely be - what would you do with it? This being you've created."

[lahire]

Jack doesn't answer aloud, instead demonstrating, pulling back his magic so that sticks and twigs de-animated collapse into Fever's lap.

[abhorrently]

Carefully, she gathers them up into her hand, a pile of pieces, placing them between their forms.

"Am I of use, Jack?"

Her eyes are bright, fixed on him.

"I'm a sorceress who maintains records because it was the first job offered to me when I arrived, and absolutely anyone could take my place. Frankly, I'm not that smart, and I know it. I cannot build, I cannot weave, I cannot heal or innovate or keep peace or bring any of my experience to something that really contributes to this community. I can barely even cook for myself. Even my magic, as proud as I am of it, does not really find any circumstance to add to the life of this place. Fighting demons will only last for so long."

"In many ways, I'm no better than your construct you just killed. So tell me, then - why am I here? Do I really exist?"

By his own logic, she doesn't. By the hateful abyss in her soul, she is naught but an abomination who walks above ground. By their chain of thoughts, she ought to be dismantled like his servitor.

And yet, she's still here. And yet, she wants to live, will fight to live with everything, everything that she has.

[lahire]

"Fever, you are beautiful and wise and amazing." Loudly implicit: and I am not.

He shakes his head slightly like he's trying to clear an etch-a-sketch inside it.

"And I did not kill anything. It was never alive, not really. Just...an extension of my own will. Right?" Of course, if that's the case, his will really wanted to be held a little.

[abhorrently]

"You know your magic better than I do. I'm destruction, not creation."

Reaching out, she puts a finger under his chin, turning his face towards her.

"And I'm not wise. I just told you - I'm not smart. But I don't have to be smart to guess that you wake up every morning wondering when the other shoe is going to drop."

[lahire]

He allows her to move his head, malleable like putty. No, like mashed potatoes. His inky black eye widen, and his breath comes out slow and shuddery.

"Yes, well. It will, someday."

[abhorrently]

"What if it doesn't? What if there's no catch?"

On impulse, she pushes further. Lays her hand against his cheek, and rests it there so he might feel it. A bit cold, given the weather, but blood steadily beats through her, and warmth will quickly take over the chill.

(Later, she will marvel at how easy it was. How for once the impulse to tear and harm and kill stayed away so readily. Is this her new life?)

[lahire]

There is a sound that comes out of him that can only be described as a whimper. And after a moment, he leans into that kind touch.

"You don't understand. It's bound to come. And I am bound to wait for it. And in the meantime, we'll all play games of pretend around it."

[abhorrently]

Her thumb strokes his cheekbone on reflex, still gentle.

"But I do. I really do. And it's why I don't ask you to believe me at all. Just...leave the door open a crack so you don't lock yourself in."

Leave enough room for possibility and potential to slip in when he's not looking.

[lahire]

"You make that sound simple." But he knows that she knows it's not, not really. He closes his eyes, leaning in without even realizing he's doing it.

[abhorrently]

"Oh, it's remarkably difficult. Takes constant work, and many reminders until you can form a new habit."

But it's possible. It's very possible. That's all he needs - the slimmest chance, thin as a spider's thread, and he might find a way through.