apocalypsehowcomm | OPEN LOG: 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖.

ʙᴏɴɴɪᴇ's ғʟᴏᴘʜᴏᴜsᴇ

( It's nearly two thirty in the morning on a weeknight. Which weeknight? Doesn't matter. All of them. The townhouse is settled in that overnight ambiance, with lights mostly off and the general sense that you should keep your voice to a low murmur or else you're a total dick and the closet monsters might pop out to slap you in the face for your transgressions. Most sane, normal, functional people are asleep.

Jack is none of the above.

Throughout the hours you can catch him doing... just, so much housework. Nonstop. Dishes, sweeping, mopping, dusting, straightening, occasionally running out of ideas for things to do and kind of wandering like a lost moron until he finds something to occupy his time. He spent some of his stipend (that he probably should have spent on clothes) on books, so when all else fails he can be found in a common area with a book in his lap, hunched over it in the dimmest possible light, intently reading. It probably looks something like this; eye-catchingly stupid with an even more stupid name.

You'd think, based solely on his frame and general vibe, that he might startle easily upon being disrupted. People with his build tend to be twitchy or jumpy. The opposite could not be more true. Pop out of the ground screaming heavy metal with a severed head or something, and he'll just look up vaguely confused and somewhat expectant. )

(Ren's no different. He has been less and less time at home, but when he is, the only thing in his mind is helping out in making the space they all share more pleasant to live in. That includes cooking for everyone, so tonight, while Jack is busy moping the floor, Ren himself is doing what he does best:

A nice pot of Japanese curry.

He sees the man taking a break, and serves a nice place of curry and rice for the man and approaches it with a smile.)

Would you like it?

( A couple of things are pretty instantly noticeable about Jack. First of all, and probably a good prompt for the food sharing, is that Jack is skinny as hell. Second, he's got semi-permanent dark circles under his eyes that leave him looking perpetually tired. Third, his left hand is missing the entire pinky — mostly evident when, after a pause, he reaches out for the plate. )

Oh... okay.

( A little surprised, a little uncertain, a lot compliant. It takes him a minute to even figure out whether or not he's hungry, and when the last time he ate was. The fact that he can't remember means he should probably do it now. )

Thanks.

( Followed by a second or two of studying it — it smells good, but he's from a super small town. Culture is mostly limited to shotguns and that one generic "Asian" restaurant that was just a buffet of random stereotypical Americanized food — and it ultimately got shut down for a combination of pest problems and the owners scraping leftovers back into the buffet dishes.

Mostly it just leads to a polite follow-up question: )

What is it?

(Ren doesn't judge much on appearances. Naturally, he notices the pinky is missing, along with the tiredness that washes over this man's features, and his restless behavior. All in all, all he wants to do is help him feel welcomed and appreciated for his efforts in the house.

Ren's just going to get some curry for himself and go back to helping the other. His serving is very generous, but it is his favorite food, after all. He'll find himself at the table, making space for the other if he wants to.)

Japanese chicken curry. It's spicy, so be careful.

( The fourth thing he'll likely wind up noticing is that Jack is really, really bad at small talk. It's the polite thing to do to sit down and eat with the person who just gave you food, and he does want to integrate here since he's going to be living and working with these people until they figure out a way home. All the same, it takes about two seconds for him to feel the nerves kicking in and for his mind to start running through like six different variants on what to even say first.

Nice weather we're having; oh god, Jack, shut up.

He picks up his fork, and settles on a safe opener. )

Do you cook here a lot?

( The guy's made one meal and everybody eats food, that's probably a stupid question. )

(Meanwhile, Ren's very, very quiet. Not in an unfriendly way, he simply finds that a smile, a gesture, an action, speak much louder than any word would ever be able to. He does, however, like to listen.)

As much as I can.

(And he leaves everything in the fridge for the taking, too.)

( Jack's a great storyteller, the trouble is it's mainly in text. He can write out flowing blog posts that awesomely and entertainingly recount a story with a pretty decent degree of accuracy, but when it comes to telling it he just can't really seem to get over his own awkard fumbling. Shame, because the skill would probably come in handy around somebody like him.

One thing he does remember, though— )

Oh, hey, are you Ren?

( Coincidentally, he just had a conversation with somebody about the top two people likely to be cooking around Bonnie's at any given time. )

(By now, he's already a little busy munching - cooking is a good way to keep honoring his home and the man that took him in, and it takes him right back to the cafe he lived in, to the memories he's made, to all the good experiences he had in the past year. It's important to Ren to keep it alive.

But the fact that the newcomer knows his name makes his head tilt in confusion, he even blinks a few times as to try and place where could he have heard it.)

Mhm? Yeah, that's me.

Cool.

( He says, pleased to have like 2% insight about anything here ever, for once. )

I was just talking to someone on the network about the people here. Apparently you're one of only like two people who cook or something.

( Or they cook the most, at least. )

I'm pretty sure it was in a they're really good at it way.

Wanda and I, yeah.

(Which is why they're great friends. When you spend so much time in a space with someone else, sharing experience, that's just what happens, right?)

You're welcome to just take it if I've cooked it.

Thanks, that's... really nice of you.

( He means that, it sounds sincere. It's just incredibly unusual to him — not that people cook, obviously, so much as just... he's lived alone for a long time. Like, six years at least. Over the course of that, his degrading mental health and steadily ramping percentage of time spent at work means home-cooked meals have been getting fewer and farther between. He can't actually remember the last thing he ate before he got here that wasn't a frozen burrito or an MRE. )

Don't thank me. We have to be here for one another.

(After all, it's unity that makes such a dire situation livable, acceptable to a degree. Without one another, they have nothing to fall back to. Sure, it's just food, but it does mean something bigger than that, doesn't it? It's an invitation to count on Ren.)

Yeah, I guess so.

( He agrees, and while it doesn't sound reluctant, it does sound... uncertain? Maybe? Or like the concept is just a little foreign to him, even though he thinks it's nice. He's not really used to this kind of community atmosphere. He only recently found a small handful of people he'd consider his. Before that... he's been on his own for a long time.

It's great, and he supports it, but he doesn't have the first clue how he'd fit into all that. Odds are he'll default to the notion that he's on the outskirts of everything, hang out at the periphery and try not to fuck anything up. )

[would that wanda could say that she is reigned by a normal schedule; without a job, without a purpose, the hours in a day are for her to play with, doing with them as she pleases as she finds the beats and rhythm of menial tasks. one thing she's come to enjoying doing is heading outside randomly late at night—for a walk, a sit down on a bench, the reading of a cursed book in a solitary space—only to return to the flophouse with the chill of autumn biting at her heels.

she steps inside, closing the door behind her and rubbing warmth into the arms of her coat before walking the threshold into the common area towards the kitchen. tea at a time like this sounds particularly welcoming.

—except, there sits ...the new guy, an addition to the flophouse and something of a familiar face, sitting down reading a rather ridiculous-titled book. his presence startles wanda; it's usually empty when she tends to return. however, she takes some steps forward and toward him, hesitantly tugging at the front of her coat as if trying to remember something.

(what's his name again?)]

You're... [cooler guy, the guy from the store, the nervous one, just what was his name—] Jake?

[almost.]

( Wanda might be relieved to note not-Jake seems way less super weird tonight than he did that night in the convenience store. He's wearing clean, new clothes for one. He's not carrying around a cooler like a weirdo, he's not staring out into space, and he doesn't have that just got back from 'Nam vibe clinging to him. Turns out, being around other human beings helps keep you from getting lost in your own head, and not being regularly attacked by monsters takes some of the edge off.

He doesn't startle or anything at her appearance, just gently lowers the book to look up at her — and pings immediate recognition. )

Jack. ( He corrects easily, no offense written anywhere in the word or his body language. ) Hey. Wanda, right? I'm not, like... stalking you or anything, I kind of live here now, I guess.

( She... probably didn't think that, man he has got to stop implanting these weird ideas every time he talks to her. What's wrong with him? )

[wanda tilts her head and shoots him a confused look. this sounds oddly familiar—like back at the general store where they first met and jack said something that kind of incriminated him into an action he was definitely "not doing".

she does break out into a slight smile regardless.]

It's almost like you want me to think you're up to something.

[there is a moment of consideration as she takes in his appearance, and is glad that, despite the circumstances, he looks a lot better than back when they first met. she points towards the kitchen.]

I was going to make some tea. [company is nice, even if it's just in the offering of something.] Do you want a cup?

( The scrunched up look on his face says yeah, I know at her observation. He's nothing if not self-aware. It's just... sometimes kind of like watching a train wreck. Nothing he can really do about it, this bad boy's already headed off the rails.

Tonight's not so bad, though. Tonight he feels at least slightly confident he can get through a completely normal, sane, not stupid interaction with her.

God please don't let him be jinxing himself right now. )

Yeah, that would be... really great. Thank you.

( He's generally more of a coffee guy, but tea and coffee are kind of like... friendly cousins. The former even sometimes involves caffeine, so he's game. )

[tea is wanda's preference because tea is what would be drunk the most back home, considering the culture she was brought up in. with a smile at his answer, she beelines to the kitchen, where she puts together the aforementioned drink.

she returns to the common area a few minutes later, carrying two mugs; one, she offers to him.]

Here.

[and once taken, she goes to get a seat somewhere across from him.]

No one will mind if you turn on more lights to read better, you know.

( By the time she's back, Jack has his bus pass stuck into his book like a bookmark — because he's not a dog-earing heathen scum of the earth, thank you very much. He hasn't closed it deliberately, though the pages naturally fan themselves over the mark. It still has that crisp new book rigidity. Things he gets way too much satisfaction from for 300, Alex.

He curls both hands around his mug, and shoots an absent glance around the dim living room. )

I know, I just... have a lifelong dream of making my vision go bad.

( As far as small talk goes, it's not the most awkward he's ever been. So far so good. )

[that actually gets her to snort, and she hides her amusement by bringing the cup up to her face and taking a sip of her tea. it's peppermint; warm not just in temperature, but also taking a refreshing note that will surely be of use for jack's late-night reading marathon with a dim light.]

I won't stop you.

[though the comment is the most normal thing he's said in her presence, which means—]

You look like you've settled in well compared to when I met you at the store.

Yeah.

( Admitted awkwardly with a little downward glance at his mug. He thumbs the rim as he shrugs one absent shoulder. )

Sorry. Things were just... really...

( Well, there's no other way to say it— )

Fucked up, back home before I woke up here. Like, really... really insane. I pretty much hadn't had a conversation with someone that wasn't trying to kill me in... weeks? Not to get all weirdly dark or anything.

[making sense with his words—putting words into an intelligible sentence. that's a lot better than when they first talked, but it's not like wanda is keeping track.

she listens, though, and understands even if the situation is not the same for her.]

I would also have a hard time if that had been me. [hmm] Though it does explain why you talk the way you do.

[starting conversations with alarming statements and all.]

Why would anyone want to hurt you?

( That first bit earns a scrunched up mouth and a slightly distant look while he replays their conversations in his head. Trying to figure out what the way he talks sounds like, and ultimately deciding on... just, weird. He's weird as hell. This isn't news, so he isn't going to dwell on it. He's come to terms with it sort of like he's come to terms with losing his leg. Sucks, but what can you do? )

It's... kind of a long, crazy story. I'm not even sure you'd believe half of it.

( Which isn't to say he won't talk about it, he legitimately put it all in a blog for strangers online to read with 0 hesitation, it's just that she's already been hit with a big ol' helping of his crazy it seems fair to give her an out right off the bat. Presumably she didn't make tea in the middle of the night with the goal of being freaked the hell out by a stranger.

On the other hand, there's a ~~wizard~~ sorcerer here that made it a point to reinforce how crazy for him is kind of normal for everyone else, so... who knows. Maybe his whole deal is like Easy Button mode for her, he doesn't know her life. )

I have lived in crazy before.

[not quite literally, but kind of pretty literally. she taps at the curve of the cup, waiting for the heat of the water to warm her hands from the night's chill. few things are bound to unnerve her, given what she's experienced.]

But I understand not wanting to share. Not that you don't trust me, of course. [a glance at him—] It is just exhausting to keep repeating it to everyone who asks.

[which is why she doesn't really go into detail about her own baggage, generally.]

Wish that I could say you can get a break in this world.

I mean, it's not really that...

( Mildly, hesitantly, holding his cup to his chest like it's a baby or a football or something. )

So much as like... yes, this place is weird, and I've heard a little about it, but it's still not as crazy as some of the stuff going on back home. You kind of... walked in on me staring into the abyss covered in blood, so I'm trying not to push maximum capacity, you know?

( Covered is a really strong word. It was on his bat more than anything, maybe a little on the cooler, a few flecks here and there, but... in terms of blood vs. no blood, any amount of the former is a little alarming when you don't known the context. )

...one could say it is an improvement?

[to be here than to be back home. like a nice little break from whatever crazy circumstance is taking place. sometimes wanda feels like being here is but her hold her breath, waiting for the moment to exhale to let whatever disaster comes next from flooding her.

not that there is any particular thing that occurred prior to coming here that has her concerned for her future actions—though she can think of a few.]

How did that happen? You staring into the abyss while covered in blood.

( Yes, arguably, definitely an improvement — one he'd be more appreciative of if every second he was away didn't mean a greater chance for the collector to seize control of the gas station and ruin the fucking world.

Then again, Jerry's here now — from the future, too, which means maybe he can start to relax? )

It's... kind of a long story.

( He starts with an exhale. )

The short version is... the gas station I own is sitting on like some weird cosmic crossroads and this asshole god-king named Brother Riley wants to steal it and use it to break out of his shitty prison and take over the world, so he started sending in clones to try and murder me every day? So, you know... just... that.

( Just normal gas station things. And like that isn't interesting enough to warrant follow-up questions, he adds on a polite: )

What kind of crazy have you seen?

And you don't have any kind of powers?

[it's the first thing she can think of; she can't imagine having to face some kind of threat of that magnitude and just so happen to be a bystander with none of her magic and no real way of defending herself. though if she reaches back into her childhood, she knows the feeling very well.

but—surely he must have something to be able to survive 'every day', right?]

I have so many questions. [a shake of her head; she could interrogate him until the sun came up, wondering about all these details he's removed from the 'short version'.] But to answer yours, the world I am from just went through what is called The Blip. Half the living things in the universe was exterminated, myself included. [this part she speaks about a little quickly, with the intonation of someone who may or may not be sharing a joke.] When I was returned I basically created my own world based on sitcoms and trapped a bunch of people to do what I asked to make it the perfect world, until an actual witch tried to sabotage me.

[a huff, and a shrug.]

God-kings tend to be assholes. Is he human?

Edited 2021-11-23 19:52 (UTC)

Huh. Well, that sucks. Witches, am I right?

( Sorry about your perfect world sabotage situation. Also the extermination thing.

Would a normal person be way more weirded out by that? Probably. Should he have a more concerned reaction to being told that she trapped a bunch of people in TV-land? Maybe.

Que sera sera. Kanye shrug. Jack is fucking weird.

He scratches behind one of his ears. )

But, um, no. No powers. And he's... definitely not human. He just looks like one.

[jack really is proving to be wanda's kind of person, what with his general nonchalance about situations that would otherwise make people raise an eyebrow either in concern or contempt. it's nice to not have people ask a zillion questions about the situation, or trying to ponder the morality of things.

but the not-human thing is a bummer: then no chance in getting rid of him by human means.]

Is it your responsibility dealing with him?

wanda takes a sip of her tea; ponders the situation for a moment.] Because you own the gas station keeping him stuck. Feels like it should have been in the contract.

( Jack's best friend is a former murder-cult member with a penchant for bombs and a hard-on for homicide. He helped his former best friend hide several bodies (granted, all the bodies were the same guy, but still). He's got some... pretty lax boundaries, to say the least. )

If I don't do it, nobody else will.

( A simple answer, with a shrug. )

Plus, I'm... kind of weird? I have a broken brain that makes me immune to... stuff. Somehow. I think anybody else he could just brain-scramble or something, but that doesn't really... work on me.

[so what jack is saying is that if wanda ever needed to use her powers to push around people's minds, he would be immune to it. —nah, she's past that.]

Sounds like a lucky break, but I cannot imagine there is much comfort in having that kind of responsibility on your shoulders.

[and so, whatever jack needs to do to deal with him and/or destroy him for good becomes, irrevocably, difficult.]

...is that why you have a hard time sleeping? I was going to offer a spell that would help you fall asleep, but it sounds like it's something you've been dealing with for a long time now.

[has grown used to, too.]

Yeah. I appreciate it, but... spells don't really... work on me either, for that. I mean, they haven't so far. A few demigods have tried.

( Things neither he nor they knew at the time: they don't work because he's already asleep — or if he's not, when he does fall asleep it's not to REM and he's still aware of his surroundings, he just starts... hallucinating like a motherfucker.

It's gonna be a real fun shock when he gets that diagnosis in a few weeks. Still permanently tired, still hallucinating, still memory loss and black-outs and loss of time and everything, but... at least he's not dying, right? )

[demigods. it sounds like jack has found himself in the middle of something that goes beyond the casual human experience, despite the sound of a lot of things going against his favor.

wanda inches forward on her seat, feet flat on the floor, elbows on her thighs as she tries keeping eye contact with jack. it's easy to not feel the constriction of time right in this place, what with the dim light and the quiet that pervades; the heating rattling the pipes that course through the building once in a while, the dried leaves rolling on the pavement.

should she even be contemplating this?]

If you ever wanted some help, perhaps I... could — try. I'm not positive I will be able to do much, considering your experiences. [carefully, she pushes the cup around in her hands] But if it ever is too much.

[she looks down now, grimacing, but ultimately forcing a smile on her face.]

I have powers that let me control what goes on in a person's mind. I would use it to help my brother sleep free of nightmares. I've used it on even more powerful people; a god of Asgard, a witch. [sorry pietro— wanda looks up at jack again.] Only to help, and only if you want, of course.

Edited 2021-12-16 18:49 (UTC)

( But if it is ever too much... Jack can't help but think, Lady, if only you knew. Everything's felt like too much for years. His exhaustion, the constant weight of his ever-deteriorating mental state, it's been too much for as long as he can remember — a quantity of time rapidly dwindling as it eats away at his memory.

Needless to say, his hopes aren't very high. All the same—

He shrugs. )

I'm game. It couldn't hurt. What's the worst that could happen?

( Literally nothing, as far as he knows. Nothing happening is basically the only consequence of failure, and it's one he's extremely used to. )

ɢʜᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏᴜʀs & ʜᴀᴜɴᴛᴇᴅ ʜᴏᴜsᴇs

( To be completely, 100% clear: Jack does not want to go to a haunted house. He doesn't want to go to a ghost tour. He doesn't want to visit any cemeteries. He's not really into the whole Halloween thing — it's kind of a weird bad omen in his town, something annoyingly spooky always happens, and he's always on the outskirts of it at least.

That being said, Jack rarely gets what he wants.

The first incident happens while he's on his way to a bookstore. It's innocuous enough, just some teenager out flipping signs for some particular haunted house — the scariest one in the state! — which he's content to ignore until the persistent youth all but forces a flier into his hands. Jack, having a hard time with random encounters with strangers in the wild, accepts it and then immediately looks for a recycling bin to drop it into.

The second incident is after he leaves the bookstore and makes it to a coffee place; when he cracks his book open he finds there's a bookmark advertisement for a haunted house —the scariest one in the state! God damn it. He sighs and recycles that one too.

The third incident is when he's leaving the coffee shop — or trying to. Somebody spills a drink right at the exit, and he's stuck there a few feet from the door with some other guy trying to leave at the same time.

"Hey, you seen that?" The guy says conversationally, nodding his head at a poster for a haunted house — the scariest one in the state! seriously! you'll leave a changed person! Jack probably sounds like kind of a dick when he says; )

Yes. I've seen it. I've seen it everywhere.

( The fourth incident is where things start to get weird. It's the next day on his commute back to ADI, seated by himself on the bus trying to read his book when some guy in a full creepy clown costume sits down next to him. There are, like, thirty other open seats. It's a total power move to flop down next to the one guy that's clearly trying to mind his own business. The clown leans over to whisper, "Hiya, kid. Looks like you're reading a real thriller there. You like being scared?" )

Not particularly. It's a book, not a hand grenade. There's a difference between text and, like, actual fear, which it kind of seems like you're trying to make happen right now. I've never really understood the whole clown thing though, I guess it's supposed to be the Uncanny Valley effect? But the only thing that makes it work is those early "It" movies based on the Stephen King novels. Before then, it was more of a background trope.

( The clown seems taken aback and somewhat irritated, but all the same does some close-up magic to produce an ominous business card. It's for a haunted house — scariest one in the- you get the picture. He offers it to Jack, who says a polite, )

Oh, no thank you. I'm not doing that and I'm tired of finding recycling bins.

( "Go to the house, Jack. It's waiting for you," he whispers. Jack might be more impressed if he weren't using his ID as a bookmark.

There are no less than three more incidents in the coming days, and after the last one he's kind of at his limit. He approaches anybody even vaguely familiar or appropriate for the request in either ADI or Bonnie's, seemingly out of nowhere. )

Hey, listen, this is gonna sound... really weird, but the universe keeps trying to get me to go to this haunted house thing and I don't think it's gonna stop until I go. I'm pretty sure it's just gonna get progressively more annoying about it, so I'd really just rather get it over with, but I don't wanna go alone and wake up in a bathtub full of ice, so if you don't have anything going on later... I could really use the back-up. I'll owe you one.

Edited 2021-09-21 18:57 (UTC)

[ Danny's been hanging around the ADI lobby whenever he's not sleeping or out doing stuff (but he's been sleeping a bit around there, too; apparently the kid has zero problems with passing out wherever the mood strikes), and currently he's reading up on the local points of interest. He's not...exactly the kind of person who at a glance comes off as someone suited to save someone from the horrors of this place, but he has been making himself pretty busy lately all over town. ]

[ Incidentally, it probably helps more that he's got his own collection of ghost tour and haunted house fliers sitting on the end table he has his feet propped up on. One of them has the address information not-so-carefully ripped out. ]

[ He's quick to look up when he hears someone addressing him. He makes a bit of a face, somewhere between a smirk and a grimace at Jack's proposal. ]

You don't have to owe me,, don't make it awkward. I was gonna go anyway. You have a plan?

[ He's choosing to ignore the universe talk. Mostly because he prefers to ignore the universe in general. ]

( If Jack knew about Danny's easy sleeping tendencies, he'd experience a rare spike of jealousy. Must be nice.

The big ass stack of ghost tour papers definitely helped seal the decision. He figured either the guy was a spook enthusiast, or he was getting hit with the same eerily persistent advertising onslaught as Jack was. Either one would work for his purposes.

Does he have a plan? )

Um. Not really. I was just gonna... go.

( Should he have a plan? He should totally have a plan, right? Damn it, see, this is why he needs Jerry. He's definitely bringing his cooler in his backpack whenever they go, so Jerry can detect anything weird that might be going on that Jack might not be seeing. )

Edited 2021-09-23 02:13 (UTC)

Sweet, me too.

[ Great minds think alike. Or, uh, not-so-great minds don't think at the same time? The important thing is Danny doesn't have to deal with someone barking orders at him,and he can just improvise under pressure like usual. It's just possibly-weirded-up tourist attractions anyway, right? Not like he's going to need to outsmart anything he can't punch his way out of. ]

[ ...Hopefully. Ol' dogbreath's been extra weird since he got here, and Danny has a hunch it might not cooperate like always. And there was something about powers and these Entities, right? He's already forgotten like half of that. ]

[ It'll be fine. ]

[ He awkwardly stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks over the advertisements he's collected for a few seconds. ]

...Think we should stake things out before stuff opens?

[ Y'know, just in case they can get the jump on things when there aren't a bunch of tourists in the way. Danny's also just anxious to start doing something about all this, and ghosts are his specialty. There's always Dogtown too, but... ]

( Whether he likes it or not, improvising under pressure tends to be Jack's norm. Very rarely does he have time to make a plan, and when he does... well, very rarely does he bother. And when he does bother...

Very rarely does it work out. It's honestly just a lot less hassle on everyone involved if they wing it.

There's a notable pause at the suggestion of a stakeout, wherein he clearly considers the idea. )

I'm gonna be honest, I've never... staked anything before? What would we do, just go... like sit across from it and watch people go in and out?

( What are the odds they'd see somebody trying to smuggle in an 'I'm an axe murderer' sign? )

Dude, I never have anything going on. [ Which is why Jeff's hanging out in Bonnie's common area right now, noodling on his guitar. It was a decent day of busking, so he's got some cash burning a hole in his pocket right now, anyway.

(He might have sang a little extra something in the air to make passers by feel more generous, but hey, nothing wrong with that, right? They won't miss the extra $10s or $20s from their pockets.)

He strums out another chord, then looks at Jack curiously. ]

So is this, like, an investigation? [ Jeff practically lights up. ] Oh! Dude! Do we need a cover story?

( He figured Jeff might be an easy sell. He doesn't know the guy, obviously, but the few times he's seen him around Bonnie's he's been generally agreeable. To Jack, at least, who's oblivious to any interactions he may have had with anyone else in the short handful of days he's been here.

Plus, he was kind of getting... some mild Jerry vibes off him, immediately confirmed when the guy's first impulse is to turn this into a crime noir. )

I was... thinking our cover story would just be two people who wanted to go on a haunted house tour.

( AKA the boring option. )

[ Okay, Jeff's the tiniest bet crestfallen when Jack goes for the boring option. His bright eyed enthusiasm dims for a moment, before he rebounds with what he feels is a very important factor that maybe Jack didn't consider-- ]

Okay, but, like... What if someone asks how we know each other? [ You know, as they do at haunted houses. ] Are we roommates? Brothers? Um, professional haunted house critics? Or we could keep it simple and say we're in a band together-- hey, do you know any instruments?

( You're spearing him in the heart over here, Jeff. God, he misses Jerry — real Jerry, not the version he's been carrying around in a cooler for... weeks? Months? He doesn't know how long. )

I play a pretty mean kazoo.

( He answers, tone so neutral it might be hard to tell whether or not it's sarcasm.

It is. It's definitely sarcasm.

But really though — )

I mean, we're technically roommates now, right? So we could always... go with that.

OPEN LOG: 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖.

ᴏᴘᴇɴ → Wᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴀʟʟ ɴɪɢʜᴛ 'ᴛɪʟ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴ

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ᴏᴘᴇɴ → ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀxᴇ, Eᴜɢᴇɴᴇ

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