log: here they come again, whispers in my head [OPEN]

[cacophonish]

Who: Jeff and OPEN
When: All throughout February
Where: Bonnie's, ADI offices, around town, anywhere
Summary: Just a catch-all for Jeff's return to the game! Featuring dumpster diving, white collar incompetence, bumming free food and drinks, busking, generally being a nuisance... The 'zero' prompt is pretty much just a bunch of exposition, but it's there for TDM prompts/continuing TDM threads!
Warnings: Reference to past drug and alcohol use/intoxication, emotional manipulation, violence, death, hallucinations in the 'zero' prompt.

0. Same old sad refrain
cw: reference to past drug and alcohol use/intoxication, emotional manipulation, violence, death, hallucinations

Once upon a time, there was a boy who didn't belong in this story. He wasn't very smart, and he wasn't very heroic, and this story-- the story he didn't belong in, the story he couldn't escape from-- scared him.

He was always so scared. Aided by drugs and every intoxicant he could consume, he hid himself away in lies and fantasies, dreaming of worlds beyond flesh and blood and mundane drudgery. Worlds where magic was endless, and reality fractured into a beautiful kaleidoscope of limitless, nonsensical possibility. These were the worlds that existed in the reflection of a storefront window, or in a picture that didn't develop quite right, or beyond the corner of his eye, always close, but never accessible. He thought, maybe if he kept on singing, kept on playing, kept on plucking at people's hearts with his tainted magic (he could make them laugh, make them scream, make them cry, at all the wrong times, whether they wanted to or not, could just wrest that control away and fill them with wrongness, and god it felt good, it felt so good to wring and twist their emotions--), he could find a way into one of those worlds, and leave this one behind.

The boy kept trying, and trying, until one day, a monster ate him.

Okay, she didn't eat him. But she did kill him. She stabbed him, and left him bleeding out on an empty stage, in an empty club. The boy died, alone, with nothing but a lie to save him. See, he realized that he didn't have to accept his death. He didn't have to believe in it at all. All the blood he'd lost, that didn't need to stop him. He reached out and held onto that delusion, and pulled himself off that stage.

He would be fine.

And so he was fine, and he wasn't scared anymore. For the first time in a long time, he'd felt whole and complete and-- hungry. The boy was so hungry. And though he tried to show some restraint, it became difficult as those few people who unknowingly held pieces of his humanity vanished out of the story. One, after another, after another, after...

That's when he realized he could leave this story, too. So one day, that's exactly what he did. He packed his things, and he walked right off the page.

(Well. Metaphorically.)

That could've been it. It could've been the end of his part in this story. But instead, once upon a later time, six months down the road, the boy came back. Maybe the he got bored. Maybe he got lonely. Maybe something's nipping at his heels, or curiosity got the better of him, who knows, it's weird, sometimes his story changes, but he doesn't seem to be lying about it.

He just makes himself fit right back in, without missing a beat, as if he'd never left.

i. wished i'd never said what i said

It's probably some ungodly hour of the morning when Jeff stumbles back into Bonnie's, singing and humming to music in his head as he brings his contributions to the communal kitchen: food scavenged from Gloucester's bakeries, coffee shops, and grocery stores. Well, okay, not from the stores proper, more like... the dumpsters behind them. But it's fine, it's all good! He only goes for the stuff that's boxed, bagged or wrapped in plastic, so, like, no garbage has touched any of it (directly). And if it's expired, so what? Expiration dates are just a suggestion, anyway.

Come enjoy a day-old croissant with him! Or maybe you find him a little later in the morning, lurking by the Memorial Wall while he eats some expired yogurt. It's hard to say if he's actually reading the names on the wall, or if he's just staring into space. But he's there for an awfully long time, his expression vaguely dreamy and disconnected, as he just... seems to soak in the names of the lost.

At various times, you can also find him in his room, where he'll either be decorating, listening to music, or practicing his guitar. Loudly.

ii. take me to the top

Once he's back in the ADI's (er) good (uhhhh) graces, Jeff becomes a semi-regular presence at the ADI offices. Like before, he kind of sort of works in the Admin department, which is to say he's mostly a glorified errand boy. Need some paperwork to not get filed? Need a hundred copies of the wrong report made? Need your coffee order screwed up? Then Jeff's your guy!

Of course, if you tell him he screwed this up or got that wrong, or this isn't the thing you asked for, he'll tilt his head and look at you with wide, truly innocent, sincerely dumb and ditzy eyes, and say, "Huh? No, I'm pretty sure this is what you asked me for."

He seems to really believe it.

Intermittently, over the course of the month, he may also leave a vintage Lisa Frank Valentine at your desk, whether he knows you or not. Looks like he got his hands on some fun kitsch somewhere along the way, during his travels.

iii. and don't ever tell me when to stop

Of course, you can always find Jeff loitering around Gloucester. Like, even if you're not looking for him, really. Sometimes he's hanging out on a busy, bustling street, performing with his guitar. It seems like he's spent some time learning music from, like, after 1995. Wanna hear his guitar cover of Shake It Off? He'll take requests!

Sometimes, he's hanging out at a crowded bar or club, mingling, being a social butterfly. If he spots you, he'll sidle up with a bright, cheery smile, and a playful, "Buy me a drink?" (No. Really. Buy him a drink. He's always broke.)

Are you enjoying a meal at a diner or restaurant? Having a drink and pastry at a coffee shop? Well, hope you don't mind Jeff plopping himself down at your table, menu in hand. Was he supposed to meet you here? Well, he seems to be under that impression, whether or not you are. "So! What's good here?" He may even help himself to your food if you don't, like, swat him away. (Maybe people should start carrying spray bottles around to spritz him with.)

iv. wildcard

hit me with anything! you can shoot me a message at weeyotch or weeyotch#8200 to plot anything in particular, or just wing it, throw something at me, I'll roll with it.

Comments

timberly (cont)

[cacophonish]

[ continued from here ]

Whether or not it's what Jeff expected, it's certainly what he likes to hear. Little playful barbs land as sweet as a kiss. His fingers flutter against Tim's hand, like even his body's laughing, and he picks up the pace a little, a bounce in his step, as he starts to lead the other boy...

...yeah... definitely in the direction of Bonnie's.

"I guess. I mean it sucked, you know, being alone, but..." He hums a little, looks out in some direction that he thinks might be west, but who fucking knows. "Wish you could've been there. I would've shown you the sights, man."

[ployboy]

All of those misdirections just to skip their way merrily off to the flophouse. Of course Jeff weaseled his way into his old room. Or most likely, they're going to crash into a random, currently unoccupied room and Tim's going to be swallowing down that frog in his throat and praying they're not walked in on. Y'know, when they're in the moment.

Feeling his face uncomfortably hot, Tim barks a laugh and picks up the pace. With Jeff's long legs (god, he loves those long legs) it's a good hustle from short little him to keep pace. It sucks, Jeff's whole... lonely journey, that story of his that nobody will know entirely. But with his mind getting ahead of himself and his adrenaline so painfully, predictably racing, Tim can't hide the spark in his eyes. He's selfish like that.

"My friends and I had a whole place to ourselves in San Francisco," he says and realizes this is maybe the second time he's mentioned having friends at all. His voice is fond. "That city's like a second home to me. I can't say I've been sightseeing elsewhere, though."

[cacophonish]

"Yeah?" There's a spark of interest in his eyes, and Jeff looks at Tim like he's the only person in the world right now. Everyone else around them, passing by on the streets, and sidewalks, might as well not exist. "What was it like?" And what were his friends like? Jeff tries to imagine Tim's crew, and faces swirl in his head, composite images of people he's met, and pictures in magazines, and faces on TV...

"I never spent much time in San Francisco," he muses. "My brother, he was going to Berkeley, so, you know, it was pretty close, and he'd show me around when I went up to visit, but..." He shrugs. "Maybe when the apocalypse is over, we can head out there."

[ployboy]

In a moment of insanity, Tim envisions grabbing the front of Jeff's shirt and kissing him there in the middle of the sidewalk. He wouldn't mind unfamiliar perfumes lingering on Jeff's jacket and skin, he just wants his hands on the long blond hair.

He's had eyes on him before, of course. He's seldom ever felt so reassured by it.

Tim doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to be doing with himself. That is, until his eyes widen at the realization that there's only one way to properly describe Titans Tower to an outsider:

"A party house," he admits in a deer-in-headlights whisper.

With how many times he had been forced to ask whose panties were on whose head in the middle of the damn night, Tim can deny it no longer. He removes his hand from Jeff's only to grab hold of the guy's entire arm, burying his head there in mock shame.

"We all come and go whenever, but there's times we do meet up. Properly. Like-- we're all from different places. I'm from the East Coast. That friend I had told you about, who lived in Hawaii? He's in Kansas. He lives on a farm."

There's a lot to sacrifice for the sake of Jeff's attention.

His friends' lives aren't one of those things.

No names.

"I fly in, or I'll fly them in. We've had that spot since we were kids, just four of us. One time--"

To think, Tim used to be mildly respectable. He snorts because he attempted to suppress a laugh and failed.

"One time we crashed one of B's cars, one of his really good ones. Drove it right into a ditch. I thought for sure we were done for."

gilear (cont)

[cacophonish]

[ continued from here ]

His reaction? Well, the amused smirk fades, and his brows furrow in naked confusion, and a cocktail of dread and concern starts to creep into his expression.

"I-- what? I don't-- what're you talking about, man? I don't remember seeing you like... You think I killed someone? and-- and dumped the body somewhere?"

How's he doing, does he seem convincing? Jeff lies as naturally as breathing these days, but there's one tell: his voice isn't as small, or fragile, or broken as it was in those moments when Gil used to find him before, confused and terrified over his own inability to trust his own head.

A beat, then Jeff drops the lost, scared puppy act and smiles. It's meant to be reassuring, even if he's a bit chagrined, but whether or not it is, is up to Gil.

"No, um, I know... I remember being all fucked up that morning. I was always..." He waves a hand dismissively, then reaches down to pet the cat. "Um. I kicked the drugs, Gil, so..."

It's fine now. He's fine. There won't be any more troubling episodes like that again.

He exhales. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, though. I mean, about the... crime scene?"

[inlieuofadad]

And that's the problem, right there: Jeff lies as naturally as breathing. It's too easy for him. He's too confident in his uncertainty. Gil's shoulders sag a little, his eyes taking on a mix of tiredness and sadness.

"I think you killed somebody, Jeff, and I think you know you did. Maybe you didn't back then, but you know now." A pause, and he risks going too far. Too farther. "The crime scene was a stage with more blood on it than a person can survive losing. One person's blood, no other DNA mixed in. No body. But someone saw a young man about six feet tall, long blonde hair, your sense of style going into the theater earlier that evening. He went in alone. Nobody spotted someone coming out."

Killed or killer, Gil thinks, queasy at the thought. He can't tell which. That's the worst part.

[cacophonish]

Blink blink blink blink.

"Whoa. You just came right out and said it." Jeff tilts his head, then lets out a laugh that seems to force its way out of his mouth, startled and startling. "Sorry. Not-- I shouldn't laugh-- it's not funny, it's-- just, I've never been accused of murder before? I've got no idea how to process this, dude."

But then, a little more seriously, now... He leans in, looks at Gil with raised, terribly concerned brows, and asks in a parody of sincerity, "So What do you think happened on that stage? Who did I murder?"

[inlieuofadad]

"I tend to come out and say things," Gil says dryly. "Not sure if Malcolm gets it from me or I get it from him."

He sighs heavily. "Did you kill someone that time or did someone try to kill you?"

The that time is intentional.

[cacophonish]

Most people who meet Jeff, they tend to take him for a dim bulb, and maybe they wouldn't be totally wrong. It's not like dying made him smarter. But there's something sharp in him now, some animal cunning that pays attention to the little things, changes in his surroundings, people's demeanors, the words they choose...

Where before, he was on a slow descent towards self destruction, now he's been destroyed and reborn. Now, he's all about survival.

Which is to say: he catches Gil's meaning with the that time, and he knows the game they're playing. Gil knows. He wants Jeff to know that he knows, and Jeff could insult the man's intelligence by denying it, or he could confess and give the whole villain monologue, or he could...

Smile in unspoken acknowledgement. Gil's on to something, they both know it, but Jeff's not going to give him any straightforward answers.

"I think you need to gather some more clues about that night. Set the scene for me, man. Spin a story." He looks down at the cat in his arms, lowers his head as if to speak in her ear. "It's no fun if I lay it all out, right?"

[inlieuofadad]

Gil's shoulders droop for a moment, just a fraction of a second, before he squares off again. His expression--neutrally curious--shifts to something... tired. Sadder. Disappointed, but it's disappointment directed at himself, not Jeff.

"It's not supposed to be fun, kid." Gil rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Anybody else know? Bonnie? You safe as you can be, this close to... the office?"

iii - coffee shop interruption

[ruevealing]

It's not very frequently that Rue ends up loitering around in Gloucester all on their own. Generally, they'd be headed straight out on an errand - to restock at the fabric store, to pick through cute trinkets at their favorite antique shop, or maybe just peruse through the local bakery for a new teatime treat - or out for date night or to catch up with a friend. But usually, if it involves having to wear their glamour, Rue is eager enough to avoid having to hide their true form again.

But with an afternoon free and an itchy desire to get out of the house, Rue has donned their ADI-approved glamour and is sitting inside of the local coffee shop, purposely positioned near the back wall. There's a few papers spread out in front of them, plans for both Mercy's Seasons Changing Festival as well as their own upcoming nuptials, and they seem completely absorbed in going over timelines and taking notes in the margins.

Until a certain man slides into the seat across from them. Rue blinks owlishly across the short distance right back at Jeff.

"I'm afraid you have the wrong table."

[cacophonish]

They seem busy. They seem like they're really absorbed in something that requires focus and concentration, so Jeff shouldn't interrupt, which of course means he has to interrupt.

So he flops down with a half-eaten croissant in his hand (Did he buy the croissant? No. Did he find it on somebody else's table and snatch it up while they were in the bathroom? Yes, absolutely, only suckers pay for croissants.) and casts a quick, curious glance down at the papers, before flashing a smile at Rue.

"Nah, I always sit at this table." Well, 'always' as of, uh, right now. "Soooo... what're you working on? Maybe I can help."

[ruevealing]

Somehow, Rue is doubtful.

But they aren't fluent in navigating the murky waters of fey polite society to only fluster in the face of a stranger. They don't quite drop their pen - they want him to know that he is indeed interrupting - but they shift their attention up to Jeff, leaving their work behind for now.

"I beg your pardon?" Alright, the corner of their mouth quirks upwards, just barely. They'll give him that. "Are you offering to help a total stranger with their wedding plans?"

[cacophonish]

"Ohhhh, whoa, these are wedding plans?" His eyes light up as he leans forward and really starts to look at all the papers on their table, the, like, logistics of it all. "Fuck yeah, I'll help a total stranger with that."

And look, even though Jeff's an actual, literal monster, there's still some boyish excitement in his voice, and it may be genuine. He loves romance!

"Though, I mean..." He taps his fingers on the table, and the boyish excitement gives way to something a little more sly and mischievous, with a hint of knowing. "We're not really total strangers, right? I'm pretty sure we got the same bosses." He cups a hand to the corner of his mouth and stage whispers, "Weirdos recognize weirdos."

Hi, fellow weirdo. The way he says it, it sounds like a compliment, not the insult it might otherwise be taken as.

[ruevealing]

"Excuse you."

The irony is that if Rue knew who this was, they would have a completely different reaction to meeting Freakscene in person. But as it is, being implied to be a weirdo by a total stranger who not only helped himself to their table but is now peering over at all of their plans? Yeah, not the finest first impression.

The many papers spread out in front of them are quickly gathered into a neat pile before a dainty, gloved hand sets atop of them. Funny how the shadow of their hand obscures even more of their neat handwriting than it physically should, but trying to focus too hard on that may leave him with a migraine.

"I don't know exactly what you are implying, sir, but whomever we work for, I am not another, ah, weirdo."

[cacophonish]

Look, he's used to making poor first impressions, but he's possessed of neither shyness nor shame, so... Jeff's unbothered and undeterred by the frostiness-- seemingly oblivious to it, even, though there's a certain sharpness to his eyes that's often easy to overlook.

He bats his lashes, looking positively innocent.

"What's wrong with being a weirdo? I've been called way worse, like, my whole life." He shrugs a shoulder, waves his stolen, half-eaten croissant. "Some of us just..." He smiles dreamily, as he lands on the right word. "Shine too bright for places like this."

And anyway. "You're not from Gloucester."

[ruevealing]

Weirdo, they suppose, is at least a little less terrible a thing to be called than a wild beast.

Rue doesn't look even slightly impressed, but some of that is simply the more muted expressions of their glamour.

"No, I'm not." And a quick beat passes, just as they stare unblinkingly across the table at the stranger before them. Something about him is very interesting, beyond the boyish innocence he's playing up. Their guard doesn't necessarily drop, but whoever this kid is, he clearly isn't a threat either. A soft hoot of a sigh escapes their mouth, before Rue's posture loses just a touch of the tension across their shoulders, reaching for their coffee again.

"My home was the Feywilds, but yes, I was somewhat recently brought to this place instead. I don't believe I've seen you around the offices."

[cacophonish]

Though their expression is still on the frostier side, Jeff takes the slight draining of tension as an encouraging sign. Either he hasn't offended them to the point of no return, or they're just resigned to dealing with him for the moment... So he's just going to continue chatting with the same blithe friendliness!

Jeff shrugs and tears off a piece of his croissant, seeming to study the bread with something like amusement. "I'm what you'd call, you know, an artistic soul." He flashes them a grin, like there's an inside joke there that nobody's really privy to. "Not really cut out for office work, so I just kinda play hooky a lot. I think they like it better when I'm gone, anyway."

Because, like, he's fucking terrible at his job. Jeff pops the piece of croissant in his mouth.

"Never heard of the Feywilds. I guess that means you're from even farther out than me."

[ruevealing]

It seems he is pretty well versed in how to handle people not really wanting him around!

And to his credit, even though he's still just some stranger at their table, looking at their notes, interrupting their brief moment of quiet to themself, Rue does crack at least a small smile once Jeff begins to describe exactly who he is.

"Ah, that would explain it. You must be the one of those hooligans I've heard about, the ones that never do any work but still collect a paycheck. I'll have you know that most of the older office staff are most cross with you."

As if he didn't already know that.

"I suppose most I've met in this place haven't. It's another plane, off of the mortal realm. But where are you from?"

cw reference to homophobia/bigotry

[cacophonish]

Jeff laughs-- well, it's more of a giggle, borderline giddy, and playful in an almost childish way. "Has Pam been talking shit about me?" Honestly, if she was, she'd be well within her rights. "You forget to put in the order for one office luncheon..."

An honest mistake!

But anyway, when they say the words another plane, Jeff looks... very interested, almost hungry.

"Whoa."

He's met people of other worlds before, yeah, but that's par for the course here. Planes of reality, now, those are of particular interest to him. The only other person (no, not person, something barely definable and so far removed from humanity it may as well have been an alien) he ever encountered from another plane had been Ziggy, an abstraction of pure magic, something he hated and feared and loved and misses in equal measure.

Are the Feywilds anything like the plane it came from?

"Oh, I'm from a world kinda like this one, I guess. Only it's, like, 25 years in the past, and there's no one breathing down your neck about magic-- well, except for the usual assholes who make it their business to try and destroy wipe out anything and anyone that's..." Here, his smile takes on a bitter edge. "Different." Like him, queer and Gifted in a time when either one of those things could mean slurs spit in his face, something getting thrown at him, or worse. There's a reason he always had a particularly strong objection to the ADI's stance on magic.

"Anyway, I'm from out west. California." He smiles another dreamy smile. "The goooolden state." In contrast to, like, the general bleh-ness he associates with New England.

[ruevealing]

"The past?"

Even Rue can't hide the immediate flash of surprise that flickers across their normally composed face, confusion pinching at their brow. For as much as they've heard of all of the others from ADI, they've never explicitly heard of any of their coworkers having come from a different place in the timeline. Different planes and realms - that's nothing new to the fey, but people drawn in from past or unknown futures? That is endlessly fascinating.

And is it any surprise that the very specific way he says the word different, as if he chews it around in his mouth first, hits the owlbear like a punch in the chest. How strange, to have only just met but to already feel so seen by a stranger. Some of the stiffness in their posture disappears, expression softening to something more akin to their usual gentle countenance.

"You don't need to say another word. I'm quite used to feeling, ah, different as well." Speaking from one queer to another. "A shame that any of us who do not fit into their specific ideal makes us the ones who should be ostracized. But I'm grateful you are among kinder, more accepting people now."

Their hand slips away from guarding their paperwork to curl around their cup of coffee instead.

"The golden state? How wondrous. What is such a place like?"

[cacophonish]

"Mm, yeah. I mean, I guess in time travel terms, 25 years isn't a lot of time, but..." He shrugs, and flashes a wry smile. "It's a head trip, you know? Everything's just slightly off, all the time, in a thousand little ways."

But hey, whatever, it's no big deal! Certainly hasn't totally fucked him up or anything.

"Yeah..." There's something a little softer in the way Jeff agrees with Rue, some of that chaotic raccoon energy fading as the boy he was comes a little closer to the surface. It's so rare to meet people who can really see, who get it. "I guess it's kind of a trade off here, you know? Freeing in some ways, fucking... smothering in others. You ever feel that here?"

He tears off another piece of his croissant with a smile, the boy fading into the background again.

"Oh man. It's huge, so there's like, everything there. LA-- Los Angeles, I mean, that's where I was living-- it's on the coast, so, you know... Beaches, sunshine... And the city, fuck, it's like this massive, sprawling thing, but like. It was wild, felt like the city had its own heart, like it's..." He sighs dreamily. "Alive. And in a place that big, you can always find your family, whoever they are. But all around the state, there's deserts and mountains, and forests. These fucking... huge redwood trees..."

Okay, okay, no more talking of home. Even the LA here didn't feel like it had the same beating heart as the one in his world. Jeff finishes off his bread, then props his chin in his hands.

"Tell me about your world? The name alone... It sounds like my kind of place."

[ruevealing]

"I imagine the number itself matters so little when you are caught in a differing timeline. Even the small differences must feel uneasy to witness. I hope that it isn't too difficult for you. This place provides us all with enough trials as is."

Rue can't help the way their attention draws to the changes in the young man's energy, the softness that peeks out when he describes his situation. A mix between freeing and smothering, hm? They can absolutely relate to that.

"Incredible! I should very much like to see such a beautiful city. I'm afraid that Gloucester is all I've really seen so far in this place, but what a delight to know there are far better cities outside of it. I hope to one day travel and see them." One day, when they no longer feel so tied down to ADI and its mission.

"Well, Faerie is nothing like this place. It is rich and vibrant and overflowing with magic." Well, at least in the courts that Rue has traveled to. "We have cities and towns, of course, but nature is so much more prevalent in our infrastructure. My former court, in particular, had a fondness for golden peonies planted all throughout our major city. It was quite obnoxious, if not beautiful, in its own way."

basically 0 because I never got to hit you on the TDM and I need this

[lesbeau]

Okay, who the actual fuck is making that fucking noise.

Beau had kind of gotten used to Bonnie's being quiet- for a while there, she was the only person in residence aside from Bonnie herself and the Visionary in the basement. Of course, when she first moved in it was loud and rowdy and-- okay maybe she misses it, shut up, don't get at her.

Regardless, it feels almost like a sick joke to start hearing that music, throw open the door, and...

"Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell, dude, you just-- what the fuck!"

She's happy. Maybe. Sort of. Mostly she's standing in the doorway looking baffled like a raccoon just climbed in her window at 3 in the morning.

[cacophonish]

Whoa, wow, rude?? What if he was naked! What if he was in the middle of doing something nobody ought to walk in on! Luckily for everyone involved here, Jeff was just laying perpendicular across the bed, head dangling over the side, feet against the wall, tapping in beat to the song.

"Hey, Beau, what's up."

Totally casual, like he hasn't been AWOL for half a year.

[lesbeau]

Honestly, she almost expected him to be naked. That would just be the cherry on top of this weird ass day. Regardless, she's coming in anyway, walking over and laying a hand on his face. It's not a slap, just a contact to see if he's, like, real.

"Where the fuck have you been? It's been like half a year, you think you can just show back up and blow my ears out without even saying anything? Ass."

[cacophonish]

At the touch, Jeff blinks owlishly, then shoots Beau a teasing grin. "Did you miss me?"

Admit it. You missed him. You missed him and his awesome taste in music.

"I was--" Jeff waves a hand vaguely. "--around." What a great, specific answer, full of detail. "Hitchhiking, you know, going wherever the road took me. Like, um, Jack Cadillac or whatever."

You know, that guy. The road guy. Anyway, Jeff has never read On the Road, but at least he can assume Beau hasn't, either, so he can pretend to be totally worldly without instantly getting called out.

[lesbeau]

Just because Beau hasn't been on the road American style doesn't mean she knows nothing about long-term travel. Hitchhiking is still a thing in Faerun, though it's more for wagons than it is for cars.

Regardless, he gets that stupid smile on and Beau frowns, removing her hand enough to actually slap him this time. It's not hard, but it should register the annoyance. "It doesn't matter if I missed you, idiot. We all thought you got fucking eaten or something. Where the hell were you going?"

Yes, she's peppering him with questions immediately, and yes, Jeff might feel that desire to answer and the terrible feeling of her eye-related persistence.