apocalypsehowcomm | LOG: and if you go chasing rabbits... [open]

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LOG: and if you go chasing rabbits... [open]

Who: Jeff & OPEN
When: September 1 - 24
Where: Around town, notably the (former) circus grounds.
Summary: Jeff has a lot of feelings about things in mirrors and has a bit of a prolonged meltdown.
Warnings: Hallucinations, warped perceptions, past demonic possession, brief mentions of drugs (no active drug use)

0. WHEN LOGIC AND PROPORTION HAVE FALLEN SLOPPY DEAD (prelude)

(click here for backstory tl;dr)

Jeff's used to mirrors lying to him.

It started out subtle, just a little something living in the corner of his eye. A flash, gone in a blink. Trick of the light. His mind playing games. He used to take it as a sign that he needed to sleep, like, really properly sleep, and maybe lay off the coke for a bit.

One day, that little something became a figure, standing just behind him, reaching for him. He could never figure out its face, though he knew it had one. Maybe he forgot what it looked like as soon as he looked away. Or maybe its features just defied every single descriptor he could think of. Didn't matter, really, because any time he tried to focus on the figure, he couldn't. And if he turned around, and looked over his shoulder, it wouldn't be there, anyway.

Sometimes, the figures would multiply. Sometimes, he'd see them in other people, if that makes any sense? Like if he stared too long into a barback mirror, the world inside the reflection would just slooooow down and come to a stop. There would be life and noise all around him, but not in the mirror. In the mirror, they would all stop, their eyes on him, their hands reaching out. Jeff Calhoun, the center of some imaginary fucking universe.

Every day, it felt like the disconnect between this world and that would just get bigger, and bigger. Eventually, his own reflection started to come loose. Usually it tried to behave like it should, though sometimes it would be a touch too slow, or too fast, or move the wrong finger, blink while his eyes were still open, shit like that. On really bad days, it was Peter Pan's shadow, doing its own fucking thing.

By then, his head was already so fucked, well beyond the mirrors. It was normal for Jeff to see things, hear things, lose sight of what was real and what was a dream, because the boundaries were going all fuzzy anyway. He'd long since learned that it was all Ziggy's doing, once he learned what Ziggy was and that Ziggy was even a part of him in the first place. Cut him some slack; he never had any experience with possession before. Come to think of it, neither had Ziggy.

The point is...

The point is his life had become a kaleidoscope of nonsense, fractal nightmares, impossible music, you get the drift. It was terrifying-- of course it was-- and every day he wished for life to go back to normal and then one day it did. One day, he woke up in Gloucester, Massachusetts, and the year was 2021. Everything snapped back into focus, and reality was unified and consistent again. His head was quiet (empty, lonely), and Ziggy was gone. Jeff was alone.

And that's when he realized he'd grown used to having a demon in his head, and nothing-- nothing-- prepared him for the day when it would be gone.

I. AND THE WHITE KNIGHT IS TALKING BACKWARDS (various locations)

When the mirrors in Gloucester start lying, Jeff feels a sick sort of anticipation bloom inside of him. It's a familiar horror, and the dread that jumps up in his throat when he sees something standing behind him feels kind of like home. Jeff doesn't cover any mirrors, no matter how many memos the ADI sends out. Instead, he watches them, so fixated on the delusions reflected back that he won't even realize it's been an hour or two and his head's spinning and his thoughts are fuzzy, and he needs to step outside.

He always comes back to the reflections, though. He starts to seek the madness out, chase it wherever he can. That's when others might notice Jeff acting off-- well, he's always a little off, sure, but there's an obsessive, occasionally explosive quality to it now, and it definitely doesn't come naturally to him.

Maybe you find him standing at a shop window (or at a sink at Bonnie's, or, really, anywhere with mirrors or glass), looking at the distortions in the glass with some kind of longing. He reaches out to his own reflection (he's the figure now, the one from his old delusions, reaching out to touch a world on the other side) and he's singing softly, some nonsense tune to a song that doesn't exist, trying to discern something. Those who are magically inclined might notice he isn't just singing, he's casting some kind of spell. It's nothing harmful. He just wants to make contact with... whatever it is.

II. AND THE RED QUEEN'S OFF WITH HER HEAD (various locations)

Later in the month, when he realizes it's just an echo, a fucking shade, an afterthought, ripples from something long gone, he only doubles down on his obsession. Like maybe, if he chases the distortions to their source, he can find whatever it is he's searching for. He thinks he makes some progress when he starts losing his fucking mind, seeing things well after looking away from the mirrors. He likes to imagine the distortions from the mirror are stepping out from the other side, following him, and maybe, maybe one of them will be something wild and obsessive and lyrical and they'll find each other and he won't be so fucking alone anymore.

That's when people might catch Jeff out on the streets of Gloucester, all bubbly, giddy hysteria, laughing at some joke nobody else is privy to. When he isn't laughing, he's having an argument with nobody, screaming hoarsely, "Fucking come out already, you fuck!" Sometimes he pounds his fists on shop windows, trying to goad something to come out. Most people think he's just a tweaker, some crazy street kid on some cocktail of drugs, and they give him a wide berth. Don't make eye contact, and he won't drag them into his scene. But of course, there's always a chance that cops may come at him for disturbing the peace.

Or maybe he's making a scene at the worst possible place, and he's attracted the attention of some of the gang kids from the docks, who might be looking to mug him for cash or drugs or maybe they just want to kick the shit out of him for fun. For as feral as Jeff's coming across, he's still dead useless in a fight, so it would probably be in his best interest to get whisked away from the scene before it escalates.

(One upside to acting like a lunatic in public? People are feeling cagey enough in his presence that it feeds that twisting thing in him, the one that isn't the Gift, because the Gift is gone.)

III. REMEMBER WHAT THE DORMOUSE SAID (circus grounds)

Finally, he traces the echo back to its source: the quiet, empty fields west of town, where the Fenix Down Extravaganza had been performing just... days (weeks?) ago. He's not really sure. Time's doing that fucked up thing again, where the days are kind of bleeding together, the same way reality and fantasy are starting to fuse once again. Maybe he's been staring at mirrors too long. But that's okay, because he's here now, in the place where it all started. Ground zero for the contamination seeping through the town's mirrors.

He doesn't really have a plan here. He doesn't know what he's doing, besides chasing something unattainable, a memory of a nightmare from which he wasn't ready to wake up. He's so tired of being the only one in his head. He's tired of being alone, and of missing home, and fuck, if those hauntings in the mirrors are the closest things to home, then he'll press his face against the glass until it cracks.

Jeff tosses his backpack down onto the grass, then sits down and starts rifling through it, looking for the cheap hand mirror he lifted from one of the shops in town. It's a stupid thing, heart shaped, and he feels like some evil queen in a fairy tale as he stares into it all who's the fairest of them all?

If anyone happens to come to the field, they may find Jeff there, crying as he's desperately begging someone (something?) to come back. Or maybe huddled in on himself, covering his ears and closing his eyes as if dealing with a really bad trip that he doesn't want to face. The fear coming off of him is obvious in the way he tries to make himself small to the monsters in his head.

Eventually, he passes out, and somebody may come across him asleep in the grass, still holding on to the mirror. He seems dead to the world, but don't worry: he's still alive.

IV. WILDCARD

Look, Jeff can't spend all his time going bonkers over mirrors. He leads a very rich, busy life otherwise! So, while he'll spend most of the month seeming tense and unstable, he still has some semblance of a routine at times-- particularly in the first half of the month. You can find him busking with his guitar around town, dumpster diving for day-old baked goods and imperfect (but perfectly edible!) produce, hanging out at Bonnie's, and-- unusually, for Jeff-- at the ADI library. He's doing research! Sometimes, he takes that research to various cafes or diners, jotting a bunch of notes down in a composition notebook.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

While it’s a pretty natural habitat for Malcolm, forgive him if it seems like an odd place to find Jeff.

Two books in his arms, Malcolm makes his way over when he spots the bard and drops into the chair across from him, setting his books on the table.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he jokes.

Jeff looks a little tired, and his hair's wilder and messier than usual, but his eyes light up and he smiles as Malcolm approaches. Look at that, no near-death experiences are going on, no meltdowns at haunted carnivals, and no awkward morning-afters going on.

This is super fucking quaint.

"It's like we're living in a rom-com, dude." Sing-song, he adds, "Looks like we're meant to be."

Kidding.

An eclectic hodgepodge of books takes up Jeff's half of the table: local folklore (of course), some psychiatric texts (notably anything concerning schizophrenia and delusions), an MC Escher artbook, both of Lewis Carroll's Alice books, and a few printouts of scholarly articles about the Alice books and all the hidden meanings and symbolism and blah blah blah. His own notebook is currently turned to a page that's devoid of any real notes, just a couple of doodles of a smiling cat, and a big spiral scratched into the center of the page.

Curiously, he cranes his neck and tries to get a look at what Malcolm's got with him.

Malcolm has a couple books on unusual causes of death. He’s read both of them before but maybe he’s missed something. He recognizes the psychiatric books in Jeff’s pile. “What are you looking into? Clinical causes of psychosis? There are lots of other things that cause it. Things that are easier to come by than neurological disorders. Psychotropic drugs, PTSD…”

"Um, I was..." He looks at his books, trying to figure out how to explain. "I was just trying to learn more about some of the, uh... Entities. 'Know your enemy', right?"

Yeah. 'Enemy.' Definitely not something he feels drawn to.

"Like, how are we supposed to tell the difference between... um. Between an artifact and, yeah, clinical psychosis, you know?"

Edited 2021-09-14 17:12 (UTC)

Artifact.

Malcolm studies Jeff a moment.

"Are you experiencing psychosis?" he asks bluntly.

Jeff opens his mouth to say no, but stops himself and considers. Yes? He's seeing things again, in mirrors, but that's happened before. And the last time it happened, he wasn't crazy; it was just Ziggy reaching out, trying to communicate in the languages it knew. Does demonic possession count as psychosis?

Maybe he's crazy this time, though. Maybe not. After all, other people had experiences, too, at least at the carnival. But how many of them were told, in so many words, by another Entity's servant, that they already belong to the Spiral?

Jeff laughs unhappily and shakes his head.

"I don't fucking know, man."

Edited 2021-09-14 17:45 (UTC)

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Malcolm says after watching that parade of emotions march across Jeff's face. "I'm on an antipsychotic medication myself to mitigate psychotic symptoms of complex PTSD. Sometimes they work."

Jeff's not sure if the admission is a surprise or not. He saw the pills at Malcolm's (and Meredith and Tim's) place, but never really had a chance to get a good look at the labels. But even so, the fact that Malcolm tells him so directly, without any shame, it does put him at ease, just a little. Jeff smiles faintly, just for a moment.

"What happens when they don't work?" he asks softly, and a little hesitantly.

"Mostly I have vicious arguments with the empty air," he explains matter of factly. "Psychosis is generally caused by a combination of factors. Drug and alcohol abuse can increase vulnerability," he informs Jeff. "Even if the main cause of the problem is genetic, like in these conditions," he says, gesturing to Jeff's books, environmental causes can push it over from no psychosis to psychosis. You had a difficult time at the carnival. Is that when it started?"

There's the tiniest twitch at the corner of Jeff's mouth, a faint impression of a wince, when Malcolm lists drug and alcohol abuse as a factor. He certainly resembles that remark.

He glances down at his notebook, picking at the corners of the pages.

"Yeah." He shrugs a little, then admits, "That's when it, um... when it came back."

"You've had it before?" Malcolm clarifies. "At home?"

"Yeah. Sort of. It's weird, um--" He waves a hand. "A lot to explain." And way too complicated to get into here and now. Besides, Jeff doesn't even begin to know how to explain Ziggy to anyone from his own world, let alone another.

"I don't know if it's... um, the kind of thing that... you know, that medicine works on." He lets out another short laugh. "I don't know what's worse, you know? Being sick--" Meaning that everything, even Ziggy, was all in his head, all along. "--or being..." Wrong, in some kind of irreversible, irreparable way. Wrong right down to his core.

“I’ve grappled with that,” Malcolm tells him. “Is it still ‘sickness’ if it’s just… what you are?”

Jeff keeps picking at his notebook, blinking rapidly, like he's trying to keep himself from tearing up.

"I don't know, man. I wish..." He breathes out. "I wish I knew anything."

He keeps his eyes firmly lowered, on the notebook, as he admits, "It used to be that I wanted it to stop. Every day, I wished I could go just one day without anything fucked up happening. And... And then it all stopped when I got here, and..."

And then he realized that he missed the noise, and the company, and the feeling of something always being there with him, in him, in love with him, obsessed with him.

That's too fucked up to admit. He shakes his head.

"I don't know."

“Do you know what was triggering it back home? Have you made a connection to what triggered it here?” Malcolm asks.

He nods. "Back home, uh. Yeah, yeah I think I do." Jeff rubs his eyes. "But I don't know what the connection is here, so..." He gestures to the books. "That's why I'm here."

Just trying to grab at any threads he can.

"What causes it at home? A traumatic event?" Malcolm asks curiously.

"It's, like..." Fuck, what can he even say? Jeff takes a breath. "It's just something that doesn't exist here. Magic shit." Groaning, he puts his face in his hands. "Who knows, maybe I'm just fucking crazy. Maybe it's always been me, man."

"I know it's easy to feel that way," Malcolm tells him. "But it's probably not you."

"Then why does this keep happening? I'm seeing things again, but it can't be--" Ziggy. He swallows back the name. "It can't be for the same reason as before. So it's, like, I'm the--"

What's it called. Common something.

"I'm the common link."

Edited 2021-09-21 08:45 (UTC)

"Or this place is messing with you," Malcolm suggests. As an option. "It tends to do that, I'm finding."

"Maybe. I guess. Yeah." He doesn't sound totally convinced. Sure, there's spooky shit, and the ADI has them investigate, and sometimes the spooky shit bites back and people freak out and get good and traumatized, but...

The hallucinations and the disorientation, they don't hit the same way the kelpies did, or watching Pyre burn alive did.

"Do you think..." He hums for a moment, trying to find the words. "Do you think they're all bad? The Entities."

Malcolm recalls Kate torturing the mime.

“Has any of them made anyone do anything good?”

He thinks for a moment.

"If... If I could have cast that spell, when we first met... If I could've saved Gil for you, it would've only happened 'cause of my connection with-- you know."

“What do you mean?” Malcolm asks. “You had magic before you came here.”

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