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

[cacophonish]

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.

Comments

[ratjesus]

"We're in Massachusetts, of course you do," he agrees, eyes narrowing at nothing in particular. "I hate it here, too."

He's only been here for less than a month. Jeff is clearly square in the 'post mental breakdown' stage of things, and a selfish part of Kugrash wonders if he's next in line to fall asleep in the middle of a field like this, hungover and searching for something, maybe even a sense of purpose. He's quick to admonish the thought, though it does leave silence stretching in its' wake.

It's not about you, Kugrash. It's never about you. Focus on the kid that needs help.

"You're alone here, huh? No one from home?" Did Jeff even have someone from home who woudld care about him? The thought makes his mouth feel sticky, almost dry. He pinches the bridge of his nose, lips pressed into a thin line.

[cacophonish]

Jeff cracks a smile at that. See, Kugrash gets him. Massachusetts sucks. What he wouldn't give to be back in LA.

"It's just me." He pulls his knees to his chest, hugging them, flashing Kugrash another grim smile. "Stuck in the wrong world, in the wrong fucking year."

[ratjesus]

"Yeah?" Kugrah finds himself mirroring Jeff somewhat, though he looks far less elegant and is far less lanky. He only pulls one knee to his chest, loosely resting his arm on the top. Relaxed, despite the situation.

"I had shit I was gonna do, now I'm here. Just me, too." But he'll bite: "What year?"

[cacophonish]

Jeff rubs his eyes. "Um, 1995." His fingers get a little fidgety. "So it's like, I'm older... and younger than half the people here. At the same time. It's fucking stupid."

He hugs himself tighter now, dropping his head onto his knees, practically mumbling into denim. "Makes me feel fucking stupid because I don't get anything. You know? First time I tried hanging out with people my age here, they thought I was a total freak who, like, grew up in a cult or something."

It wasn't that bad. They'd been nice enough. Friendly, patient, even if there were times he couldn't tell if they were laughing with him or at him. But time and self loathing may have distorted the memory a little, cast it in an even more unflattering light.

Enough of that. He lifts his head a little to look at Kugrash.

"What were you up to? Back home."

[ratjesus]

"That is fucking stupid," Kugrash agrees, and there's a glint in his eye. If you can't laugh at that sort of shit, you'll cry, right? That's not exactly what his mind is focusing on, however.

Jeff is from 1995. Kugrash doesn't need to do the mental math to know that Jeff'd be about his kids' age, or David's at least, and fuck, isn't that something? Maybe this is the universe's way of dicking Kugrash over one last time. 'This time,' the universe says, 'we're going to give you a nice little reminder, you useless little man. Here's a guy that reminds you of the son who wants nothing to do with you. The one you could have helped with that stupid little rat king crown of yours, but you didn't, and now he's just as cursed as you. All for the price of helping you out.'

All it takes is Kugrash to shake his head slightly and bring himself to the present. The kid's lonely and scared. He's been dealing with these types of feelings for a literal decade.

"About to eat a bagel," he says nonchallantly to Jeff's answer. The bagel he keeps tucked into his fanny pack, the one that's more important now than ever. But Jeff doesn't need to hear his shit, at least not this part. He needs something else.

Kugrash is quiet for a moment, mulling it over, and while his voice is still gravelly and rough, there's a softness to it. An awkwardness, but a softness.

"Something about the fact that the world's still gone and turned and moved on when you're stuck in one spot is a pretty big kick to the nuts, huh, kid? I get it. Sort of. My communication from most of the outside world stopped around 1989, so uh... You're not alone in that little freak department. It's easy feel isolated when you feel like a sack of shit."

[cacophonish]

"Oh." Weirdly, even without knowing any of the context about the bagel, Jeff kind of gets it. Or, at least, he thinks he does. He nods solemnly. "Yeah, I hear New York's bagels are the best."

(Though, as a Californian, he should be on the West Coast side of the rivalry, but the truth is Jeff isn't invested enough in bagels either way to take a side.)

"That's-- yeah, that-- that's exactly it. A kick in the nuts." Kugrash gets it, like, in a real way. It's not just awkwardly worded condolences from somebody who'll never really know what it's like to blink and suddenly find that 25 years have passed right by him. They can't know how fucking unnerving it is to find a world that's mostly the same, on the surface, but so, so different in all the details.

"What happened in 1989?"

[ratjesus]

"I fucked up," Kugrash answers honestly and without hesitation. His face pulls into a humourless smile, beady eyes glinting as he half shrugs and brings his hand up to rub at the back his neck. "I'm, uh, I'm not a good guy, though. I deserved it."

He did deserve it. Kugrash has always been a rat. Maybe not physically, but Bruce Kugrich had done unspeakable things, blinded by corruption and greed. Trying to become a better person is difficult, but doubly more when the path you have to climb is steep.

"Did you know there's five Die Hard movies now?" He'll switch it back to Jeff in a moment, make sure he's okay, but he's got to do something to break the nervous tension he's feeling inside of him first.

[cacophonish]

Somehow, in spite of his miserable state, Jeff returns that humorless smile with one of his own, some genuine warmth bleeding into his expression. "I don't... I don't think I'm a good guy, either," he admits. Maybe that's why Kugrash is a little easier to talk to than the others, the ones who shine bright with all that goodness.

So there's no judgment, Trash recognizes trash.

A laugh is startled out of him, then, when he hears about the state of Die Hard.

"Fuck, man. I haven't even had a chance to see the new one yet-- um. With A Vengeance?" He sighs dreamily. "I don't even know how they're gonna top the second. I bet they're all fucking great..."

[ratjesus]

There it is. Kugrash lets the confession roll over him, expression fairly calm as Jeff admits it: he's not a good guy, either. Two peas in a shitty pod, the both of them. Jeff, though, Jeff has something Kugrash doesn't. Jeff has time.

I can't have what you're offering me, and that's my fault. But American dreams change. Kugrash had said it--meant it--while he was barely conscious and breathing, blood matting his fur and partially obscuring his vision. He'd been on the brink of death, but he'd never been so sure of himself in his life. If he goes back, that's what he's going to come back to, and he's accepted that.

Jeff has a chance to grow and change.

He's just not so sure Jeff can handle that sort of lecture right now. Hell, Kugrash is pretty sure he can't handle giving that sort of lecture, either. The important thing is that what's unspoken between them grows--a bond, small but there. 'Hey, you're an absolute garbage bin of a man. Look at that, me, too. Let's try to reign ourselves in, huh?'

"Think you can walk a little?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. "If you can, I've got an idea."

[cacophonish]

Jeff considers for a moment-- which is longer than he normally would-- and nods. He finishes off the water in a few extended gulps, and actually holds on to the trash as he starts to get up. Looks like, for all his many flaws as a person, at least Jeff isn't a litterbug.

"Yeah, um--" Fuck, okay. Careful now. He gets up on unsteady legs, still a little lightheaded, but... stable, he thinks? Yeah. Yeah, he's stable. "We should... we should probably get out of here, anyway."

He offers a hand to Kugrash, though he's not one hundred percent certain he can actually help the guy up without totally losing his balance and flopping into the grass again.

But then... Kugrash does seem to be lighter than he looks.

[ratjesus]

"Alright." Kugrash rises with the help of Jeff's hand--he's not too heavy, just weirdly dense courtesy of his centre of gravity--it's just incredibly awkward.

"You're at Bonnies, right? Let's get you there first. I'll grab you something to eat and try to find a Blockbuster. I'm going to steal every tape I can from 1995 on and we're going to do some serious studying."

He flashes what he hopes is a reassuring smile, but most likely comes across as slightly deranged.

[cacophonish]

Somehow, the fact that the smile looks slightly deranged is only more reassuring to Jeff. Maybe because it helps Jeff feel like... who knows, like Kugrash is a fucking weirdo like him and actually wants to do this, and isn't just offering out of pity, trying to do his good deed of the day.

"Okay. I'm in. As long as I don't have to take any fucking notes."

[ratjesus]

Kugrash leans forward, very solemn, very sure, and stares Jeff straight in the eye.

"Fuck. Notes."

Step one: help Jeff get to Bonnies. Kugrash makes sure the other's walking, shimmying up to him and putting a small arm around his waist for both camaraderie and support.

Step two: try to find a Blockbuster. There's got to be a video rental store somewhere...