[ On a day that Jack is enjoying some calm in his domain, maybe restocking or reading a book, he will find a strange customer outside, trying to get in...
A large yellow lab stands on its hind legs, front paws on the door trying to push it open. The dog barks and wags its tail excitedly, desperate to get the cashier's attention. ]
( It takes him a few minutes to notice. He is, as always, in his usual spot behind the register reading a book that's absorbing ninety percent of his attention — it's the tink tink of tiny claws on glass that finally distract him enough to pull him out of it. He looks up, expecting to have to grab a broom to chase off yet another attempted raccoon cigarette invasion, but instead finds- )
Aw, hello.
( And just like that, he's sliding from his stool and rounding the counter to head outside. Given the standard fare insanity that happens at the gas station, he probably ought to be more suspicious about this, but in his defense...
It's cute.
He opens the door, not giving the dog free reign but rather dropping down onto one knee in the doorway to immediately give the dog an appropriate amount of Good Boy Rubs, which double as a quick check for a collar. )
( It's for the best that Kyle isn't around to see the gift received. Jack's dignity does not do him any favors — he immediately tears up. It's truly pathetic. He has to dab at his eyes with a pair of socks from the top of the clean laundry pile he'd been carrying back to his bed to fold.
He spends a few minutes examining the book, then a few more starting on his first entry — and then it hits him.
Oh, shit.
This is, like, a Christmas present. He didn't realize they were on Christmas Gift levels. Holy fuck, this means he has to give Kyle something back, right?
That day or two Kyle spends mysteriously absent, Jack spends frantically shopping for something that feels right. He's not very good at shopping for people. His passive insight is incredibly low, his people skills are rusty, his Charisma score leaves a little bit to be desired, but... he tries.
On the second day, a less than skillfully wrapped gift is set on Kyle's bed in turn. He totally means to bail before Kyle gets back to find it, but he doesn't make it out of the room in time. Since that's off the table, Jack's mouth makes up for it by immediately word-vomiting in the most awkward way possible at high speeds. )
So- I didn't really know what to get you, because I'm really bad at like... gifts and stuff. Seriously, just- so bad. If you could do me a favor and pick which parts of this aren't terrible and just... throw the rest away and pretend like they weren't there, that would be really cool of you. I'm sorry it's late. I forgot holidays were a thing people did, I haven't celebrated Christmas in six years. Frankly, I tend to just- like- work on the holidays, I didn't realize that's a thing people do here, and um- ( A beat. ) Yeah. That's all. Sorry. Oh! And. Thank you. It's- really cool and great, and I love it, and you're- also very cool and great. The end.
( Beneath the atrocious but genuinely attempted wrapping job is a wicker basket of assorted Stuff. Jack couldn't figure out what constituted a good gift of equal value, so he apparently decided to just pick a bunch of things that seemed possibly relevant and shoved them all into a basket.
Inside: -a container of strawberries -a bleached white bone he bought from a really uncomfortable guy in a really uncomfortable coat for a startlingly reasonable price, who promptly vanished down an alley. weird. -a long, navy blue scarf -one scented candle -a pair of knitted socks -one (poorly) hand-drawn card of a ninja chopping a Christmas tree in half with a samurai sword that reads "sorry this is weird -Jack" )
[Eventually, one of these days, Jack will find a simple fruit basket on the counter of his gas station store.
There is a little tag, one side that is just black, the other side reading SATAN.
If Jack makes the fool's mistake of biting into any pieces of the fruit, he will unfortunately find it to be wax.
And if Jack unfortunately takes that bite, the black side of the card will fade away and reveal the Sorry for sticking my arm through your chest that one time 3:)
( He was 100% not expecting the fruit basket thing to actually happen. He was also 100% not expecting the fruit to be wax. So of course he 100% takes a bite, just to immediately spit it out.
Somewhere in the Horizon, Jack Townsend mutters under his breath: )
Asshole.
sometime in week 2 after people start becoming mushroom missionaries
[ To his credit, Jerry has been trying to reach Jack every day, but it doesn't usually work. He knows it's probably a pointless effort. Every day, he sends a message and waits, and most days, nothing comes back.
But he tries again anyway. ]
hey
̸y̴o̸u̵ still alive, bud? h̸o̸w̶ ̸you holding u̷p̷?̸
the evil ents didn't get you did they
t̷e̵l̸l̵ ̶me if you can s̶ee ̸this, o̶k̷?̶ ̵p̴l̴e̶a̵s̶e̶?
Hey, you remember that time with the m̸̹̖͎̓̓͊̅̑̔́̂̌͗͐͠ä̸̧͚̗̻̯̳̻̦͎͙͍́̈́̓͑̌̽͘͘y̵̨͙̻̘͗͂͊̽͝ͅf̸̧͍̪͇́̊̂̏̃͋̾̆͌̈́́̚l̶̬̘̬̖̖̜̽͆̊́́̂̇͒̉̈̓̀̚̚y̵̡͉̲̻̰͉̘͇͈̯̙̗͖̺̓̿̄̒̈̊̄̊ ̵̧̘͇̦̙͔̫̗̈̈͆̆̓̽̆̆͗̃͆͘q̶͓͎̖͖̫̥̜̭̠͇͎͓̰͊͛̐͌͜u̷͍̬̖̞̭̪̮͎̯͉̻̜̱͙̹̒̂̐̾͛̏́́̏͗̑̀͛̚͝ȩ̴̡̊̊̔͋̾̃̉̔̀̀̈͝͠ȩ̴̫̦͓̤̝͈̞͍̮̅̔́̇̅͛̆̽̎͐́̚͝ṋ̷̢̫̰̲͎͙̟̼̰̝̊̉̾̐̑̐̉̇̈̄̔͑͘,̸̛͈͙͇͐̔̉̔̆̏̑̇̔́͂͝ ̶̨̰̱͕̦̖̭̼̤̹͌̌̈́̇̎̅͜͠ẁ̶̗͉̬͚̻̯̦̘̼͕̅̋̓̇̃̅̃̈́̚ͅͅḣ̶̘̞̥̺̌͛̀̍̏̓͝͠ë̷̢̡̧̬̫͈͓͓̺͖͓̳́̈́͊̈͐͂͂͘͝n̵̼͚̞̮͚̥̦͖̣̐́͐̎̚͜͠͝ ̵͙̪̟͉̺̥̐͊̋̓̉̍́͑͘͝͝ẙ̴̛̥͗̀̿͛̅̐͆̌̓̓̆̇̚ͅó̴̪̙̦̩͔͛̿̓̉͒̽̈͒̅̀̔͘ü̶̢̧̱̙̼̼̠̾̄͜͠ͅ ̷̢̢̮̤̖͉̺͉̺͌̔̈͑̑̅̋͠ͅd̷̨̺̳̳͓̳̞͚̖͚̹̲̓͋̽̇̐͛̽̂ó̵̢͎͔͚̮̃͒͗̓̑̓̚͘ș̷̡̢̧̛̛̞̦̝͕̥̜͈̬̖͂͊́̏̍͆̀̓̂̎̎̍̚ͅè̴̝̗̮̜̾̍̅́̌̌̅̐̈̿̀͘͝d̴͎̥̘̃̊̉̈͂ ̷̡̯̩͚̱̺̩̙̭̜̩̦̝̦̈́̚͠m̵̙̳̋̎e̴̘͒̾̀͒̀̓̾̈́̈̀͘͜͝͝ ̴̦̂͆͐͆̌͒̎̅̏̔͌̔̆̀͝ẃ̴̢̥͌̋į̶̛̻̘̤̣͍̎̉̎́̋͆̎̽͛͋̄͘͜ṱ̷̢͕͈̦̠̞̩͕̼͉͂̉̈́͘ḥ̶̨͚̗̳̫͕̖̙͔̜͈̗͕̏̏ ̶̨̨̧̛͇̝̪̪͚̝̙́̊̈́̋̈́̄͆̾̕͝ͅa̷̢̹͈̲̫̯̗͎͇̫͉̙̼͇̓͒̈́̒͗̂͗̉̈́͆͝ͅḷ̴̝̫̞̈́́͗̂͛l̷͚͓̺̝̮̹̠͎̬̫̬͉̾͗͌͑̾̎̓̒̈͗̽͛ ̶̙̃̈́ṭ̴̛̑̿͠h̷̛̪̝̥͈͍̫̹̼͚̞͖̣̔͆̉̑͌̐͗̈̄̉̾̓̏å̷̢̺̬͈͎̮̫̆t̶̻̤̲͛͋͑̈̀ ̸̮̟̠͈͓̦͚͍̅̓̄̋͐͒̕͠ ayahuasca
[ Some level of intuition is responsible for him being in these woods tonight. A sense that something was off, the scent of a storm in the distance rolling toward them - but instead of ozone its ash and rotting flesh, an odd shadow across Lucifer's ill-fitting human mask earlier.
The Gray Space blurs the scenery around him as he moves, dark tree branches like arms sweeping over his head like hundreds of arms and hands reaching out for him. He hears nothing in this cold, sterile place. Not Lucifer, not Jack - but he knows they're both there. The moment he breaks through from one reality into another he can smell fear like cold sweat, only its not coming from the one he's expecting.
Kahlil doesn't know what he grabs onto exactly. His mind tells him it's Jack/it's definitely not Jack, but the former wins out and he feels his Singularity-granted powers surge from his body, to his hands, to whatever the hell it is that he's holding between them. Doubts like a thousand curling fingers reach into the mind of the nightmare-thing, seeking purchase with scraping nails and whispering voices.
( The Witchwood is a dark and dangerous place normally. It's an anomaly, a quirk, that Jack and Sabine — and Jerry, much of the time — are able to live here without attracting attention or aggression from the demigods. It's that same odd energy, that same void, that same inexplicable immunity to the impossible, that keeps their residence there safe and peaceful enough for company in that few-miles radius they inhabit.
It is not peaceful tonight.
Tonight, things without name howl. Tonight, the few natives and innocents that live within proximity to this safezone scream, and claw at their faces until they bleed. Humans and gods alike suffer. Lucifer is not immune.
It's hard to tell what plane they exist on — if they're sharing a collective dream, or if the dream is bleeding into reality. Things come into and out of existence too rapidly, people flicker in and out of their own minds with every door they walk through. One minute someone is in the Witchwood, the next they're walking endless corridors stained yellow, hunted, but their bodies are unmoving in the fog until they burst through a doorway, and then they're back in the forest and the monster that was chasing them is clawing at them from behind a nearby tree.
It's mental chaos. It's reality bleed. It's liminal spaces and blood and internalized trauma escaping from the subconscious domain.
And at the center of it all is Jack — or, rather, the vessel that houses him. It's ten thousand moths in the shape of a man, or clouding the man within them. There are human features, somewhere, floating in the flapping of wings. Eyes gone white, or perhaps rolled to the back of his head so only the whites show. Arms outstretched, like a man crucified. He is standing, or he is slumped, or he is suspended by the fluttering insects, or they are his cocoon. It's hard to tell, it's surreal, the image is dreamlike and difficult to focus on — like trying to read a book in a nightmare.
This is justice. This is righteous. This is protecting him from hurt.
...isn't it?
Distantly, dimly, his sleeping mind becomes aware of something. Of arms wrapped around his chest, and of gripping doubt peeling back the disassociated layers of his mind.
The moths begin to swarm Kyle, batting against his face, his ears, landing on his shoulders, on his arms, swallowing him into the chaos. Trying to swallow him into the dream — the dream of dead gods, the dream of cages, of being chased or being trapped or both.
Suddenly, Jack's less certain of the narrative at play here — or the reality of it. )
for my next motion we use our fancy pants magic to make local wildlife into pokemon setting aside the obvious animal rights conundrums wouldn't you rather cruise around on a sweet bike battling gym bros with your electric mouse than watch out for magic nukes? we already have themed cities for fucks sake
I can't remember if we actually talked about you not starting conversations in the middle, or if I just thought about talking to you about it, but either way... come on, dude.
Also, that's a terrible idea. Like, almost all of it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
middle of november
A large yellow lab stands on its hind legs, front paws on the door trying to push it open. The dog barks and wags its tail excitedly, desperate to get the cashier's attention. ]
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Aw, hello.
( And just like that, he's sliding from his stool and rounding the counter to head outside. Given the standard fare insanity that happens at the gas station, he probably ought to be more suspicious about this, but in his defense...
It's cute.
He opens the door, not giving the dog free reign but rather dropping down onto one knee in the doorway to immediately give the dog an appropriate amount of Good Boy Rubs, which double as a quick check for a collar. )
Hey, buddy. You lost?
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( on your bed after the negotiations cruise )
And a note: ]
A holidays gift. For when you run out of books again, to write your own stories.
-Kyle
[ He will be hard to find for a day or two after this. ]
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He spends a few minutes examining the book, then a few more starting on his first entry — and then it hits him.
Oh, shit.
This is, like, a Christmas present. He didn't realize they were on Christmas Gift levels. Holy fuck, this means he has to give Kyle something back, right?
That day or two Kyle spends mysteriously absent, Jack spends frantically shopping for something that feels right. He's not very good at shopping for people. His passive insight is incredibly low, his people skills are rusty, his Charisma score leaves a little bit to be desired, but... he tries.
On the second day, a less than skillfully wrapped gift is set on Kyle's bed in turn. He totally means to bail before Kyle gets back to find it, but he doesn't make it out of the room in time. Since that's off the table, Jack's mouth makes up for it by immediately word-vomiting in the most awkward way possible at high speeds. )
So- I didn't really know what to get you, because I'm really bad at like... gifts and stuff. Seriously, just- so bad. If you could do me a favor and pick which parts of this aren't terrible and just... throw the rest away and pretend like they weren't there, that would be really cool of you. I'm sorry it's late. I forgot holidays were a thing people did, I haven't celebrated Christmas in six years. Frankly, I tend to just- like- work on the holidays, I didn't realize that's a thing people do here, and um- ( A beat. ) Yeah. That's all. Sorry. Oh! And. Thank you. It's- really cool and great, and I love it, and you're- also very cool and great. The end.
( Beneath the atrocious but genuinely attempted wrapping job is a wicker basket of assorted Stuff. Jack couldn't figure out what constituted a good gift of equal value, so he apparently decided to just pick a bunch of things that seemed possibly relevant and shoved them all into a basket.
Inside:
-a container of strawberries
-a bleached white bone he bought from a really uncomfortable guy in a really uncomfortable coat for a startlingly reasonable price, who promptly vanished down an alley. weird.
-a long, navy blue scarf
-one scented candle
-a pair of knitted socks
-one (poorly) hand-drawn card of a ninja chopping a Christmas tree in half with a samurai sword that reads
"sorry this is weird
-Jack" )
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...
There is a little tag, one side that is just black, the other side reading SATAN.
If Jack makes the fool's mistake of biting into any pieces of the fruit, he will unfortunately find it to be wax.
And if Jack unfortunately takes that bite, the black side of the card will fade away and reveal the Sorry for sticking my arm through your chest that one time 3:)
Yeah.]
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He was also 100% not expecting the fruit to be wax.
So of course he 100% takes a bite, just to immediately spit it out.
Somewhere in the Horizon, Jack Townsend mutters under his breath: )
Asshole.
sometime in week 2 after people start becoming mushroom missionaries
ǝsɐǝʅԀ
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I'm great, actually. I feel better than I've felt in a long time. Years, maybe.
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early week 2
But he tries again anyway. ]
hey
̸y̴o̸u̵ still alive, bud? h̸o̸w̶ ̸you holding u̷p̷?̸
the evil ents didn't get you did they
t̷e̵l̸l̵ ̶me if you can s̶ee ̸this, o̶k̷?̶ ̵p̴l̴e̶a̵s̶e̶?
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Hi, Jerry
I'm okay
Hey, you remember that time with the m̸̹̖͎̓̓͊̅̑̔́̂̌͗͐͠ä̸̧͚̗̻̯̳̻̦͎͙͍́̈́̓͑̌̽͘͘y̵̨͙̻̘͗͂͊̽͝ͅf̸̧͍̪͇́̊̂̏̃͋̾̆͌̈́́̚l̶̬̘̬̖̖̜̽͆̊́́̂̇͒̉̈̓̀̚̚y̵̡͉̲̻̰͉̘͇͈̯̙̗͖̺̓̿̄̒̈̊̄̊ ̵̧̘͇̦̙͔̫̗̈̈͆̆̓̽̆̆͗̃͆͘q̶͓͎̖͖̫̥̜̭̠͇͎͓̰͊͛̐͌͜u̷͍̬̖̞̭̪̮͎̯͉̻̜̱͙̹̒̂̐̾͛̏́́̏͗̑̀͛̚͝ȩ̴̡̊̊̔͋̾̃̉̔̀̀̈͝͠ȩ̴̫̦͓̤̝͈̞͍̮̅̔́̇̅͛̆̽̎͐́̚͝ṋ̷̢̫̰̲͎͙̟̼̰̝̊̉̾̐̑̐̉̇̈̄̔͑͘,̸̛͈͙͇͐̔̉̔̆̏̑̇̔́͂͝ ̶̨̰̱͕̦̖̭̼̤̹͌̌̈́̇̎̅͜͠ẁ̶̗͉̬͚̻̯̦̘̼͕̅̋̓̇̃̅̃̈́̚ͅͅḣ̶̘̞̥̺̌͛̀̍̏̓͝͠ë̷̢̡̧̬̫͈͓͓̺͖͓̳́̈́͊̈͐͂͂͘͝n̵̼͚̞̮͚̥̦͖̣̐́͐̎̚͜͠͝ ̵͙̪̟͉̺̥̐͊̋̓̉̍́͑͘͝͝ẙ̴̛̥͗̀̿͛̅̐͆̌̓̓̆̇̚ͅó̴̪̙̦̩͔͛̿̓̉͒̽̈͒̅̀̔͘ü̶̢̧̱̙̼̼̠̾̄͜͠ͅ ̷̢̢̮̤̖͉̺͉̺͌̔̈͑̑̅̋͠ͅd̷̨̺̳̳͓̳̞͚̖͚̹̲̓͋̽̇̐͛̽̂ó̵̢͎͔͚̮̃͒͗̓̑̓̚͘ș̷̡̢̧̛̛̞̦̝͕̥̜͈̬̖͂͊́̏̍͆̀̓̂̎̎̍̚ͅè̴̝̗̮̜̾̍̅́̌̌̅̐̈̿̀͘͝d̴͎̥̘̃̊̉̈͂ ̷̡̯̩͚̱̺̩̙̭̜̩̦̝̦̈́̚͠m̵̙̳̋̎e̴̘͒̾̀͒̀̓̾̈́̈̀͘͜͝͝ ̴̦̂͆͐͆̌͒̎̅̏̔͌̔̆̀͝ẃ̴̢̥͌̋į̶̛̻̘̤̣͍̎̉̎́̋͆̎̽͛͋̄͘͜ṱ̷̢͕͈̦̠̞̩͕̼͉͂̉̈́͘ḥ̶̨͚̗̳̫͕̖̙͔̜͈̗͕̏̏ ̶̨̨̧̛͇̝̪̪͚̝̙́̊̈́̋̈́̄͆̾̕͝ͅa̷̢̹͈̲̫̯̗͎͇̫͉̙̼͇̓͒̈́̒͗̂͗̉̈́͆͝ͅḷ̴̝̫̞̈́́͗̂͛l̷͚͓̺̝̮̹̠͎̬̫̬͉̾͗͌͑̾̎̓̒̈͗̽͛ ̶̙̃̈́ṭ̴̛̑̿͠h̷̛̪̝̥͈͍̫̹̼͚̞͖̣̔͆̉̑͌̐͗̈̄̉̾̓̏å̷̢̺̬͈͎̮̫̆t̶̻̤̲͛͋͑̈̀ ̸̮̟̠͈͓̦͚͍̅̓̄̋͐͒̕͠ ayahuasca
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...
early May
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1/2
2/2
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welcome back jack
[look, it's a memory test, okay. for science.]
oh great thank u so good to see you
( Nice try, motherfucker. )
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1/3
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...
...
whenever
Lmaooo
I kind of
can't
right now
Why, what's she doing?
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20 very drunk minutes after his appearance
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Event 18, handwaved years: the nightmare-ening
The Gray Space blurs the scenery around him as he moves, dark tree branches like arms sweeping over his head like hundreds of arms and hands reaching out for him. He hears nothing in this cold, sterile place. Not Lucifer, not Jack - but he knows they're both there. The moment he breaks through from one reality into another he can smell fear like cold sweat, only its not coming from the one he's expecting.
Kahlil doesn't know what he grabs onto exactly. His mind tells him it's Jack/it's definitely not Jack, but the former wins out and he feels his Singularity-granted powers surge from his body, to his hands, to whatever the hell it is that he's holding between them. Doubts like a thousand curling fingers reach into the mind of the nightmare-thing, seeking purchase with scraping nails and whispering voices.
He can only hope even one takes hold. ]
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It is not peaceful tonight.
Tonight, things without name howl. Tonight, the few natives and innocents that live within proximity to this safezone scream, and claw at their faces until they bleed. Humans and gods alike suffer. Lucifer is not immune.
It's hard to tell what plane they exist on — if they're sharing a collective dream, or if the dream is bleeding into reality. Things come into and out of existence too rapidly, people flicker in and out of their own minds with every door they walk through. One minute someone is in the Witchwood, the next they're walking endless corridors stained yellow, hunted, but their bodies are unmoving in the fog until they burst through a doorway, and then they're back in the forest and the monster that was chasing them is clawing at them from behind a nearby tree.
It's mental chaos. It's reality bleed. It's liminal spaces and blood and internalized trauma escaping from the subconscious domain.
And at the center of it all is Jack — or, rather, the vessel that houses him. It's ten thousand moths in the shape of a man, or clouding the man within them. There are human features, somewhere, floating in the flapping of wings. Eyes gone white, or perhaps rolled to the back of his head so only the whites show. Arms outstretched, like a man crucified. He is standing, or he is slumped, or he is suspended by the fluttering insects, or they are his cocoon. It's hard to tell, it's surreal, the image is dreamlike and difficult to focus on — like trying to read a book in a nightmare.
This is justice. This is righteous. This is protecting him from hurt.
...isn't it?
Distantly, dimly, his sleeping mind becomes aware of something. Of arms wrapped around his chest, and of gripping doubt peeling back the disassociated layers of his mind.
The moths begin to swarm Kyle, batting against his face, his ears, landing on his shoulders, on his arms, swallowing him into the chaos. Trying to swallow him into the dream — the dream of dead gods, the dream of cages, of being chased or being trapped or both.
Suddenly, Jack's less certain of the narrative at play here — or the reality of it. )
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cw: bugs...
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after this - https://abraxasooc.dreamwidth.org/45127.html?thread=12812615#cmt12812615
[ He put this here privately instead of on the network because it's personal. ]
The guards went again and rechecked, there is no one left in the crater.
I'm sorry.
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after shenanigans
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Eventually, he gives into the curiosity. )
What are you even talking about
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No news on the girlfriend
But bat dog
I think it followed me here
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( Yes. He has forgotten entirely about Travis's adventures with bat dog. Or dog bat. )
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july 1st
Istredd and I are being detained in the castle. I'm not sure for how long yet.
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Detained, what does that mean, detained
Detained where?
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July 1st
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I mean
What's up
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we use our fancy pants magic to make local wildlife into pokemon
setting aside the obvious animal rights conundrums
wouldn't you rather cruise around on a sweet bike battling gym bros with your electric mouse than watch out for magic nukes?
we already have themed cities for fucks sake
Make Feral Opposums Cuddly Again
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Also, that's a terrible idea. Like, almost all of it.
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Could you meet me in Borrel? Down by where we first met the bird man on the beach.
[ He could ask to do this in their room, but maybe it's best if Rita isn't lurking waiting to ambush. Or possibly Jerry, in the walls. ]
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Is everything okay? Is the bird man bothering you?
( which is probably a stupid question, because it's not like Kyle isn't way more equipped to handle that situation than Jack, but... still. )
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portal mishaps
[ this is normal ]
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( He is... a little oblivious to breaking news half the time. )
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a few days after mushroom mixup
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( No he hasn't gotten taller, but also, whatever you want from him: no. )
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a few days after he walked out
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