[ Just sitting himself down at the feet of the statues (feet .....) and pulling out his flask, apparently not really holding a grudge beyond sarcasm now. ]
We had... I don't remember. Seven? or so killers. They were called Generals. They would would pick two of them to hunt someone every night in the jungle on the island. Some of the corpses we found, though, had been chopped into pieces. So we thought it was them.
We couldn't tell if they had been chopped up before or after they died.
[ Clearing his throat, taking another sip of his drink and then offering it up? He might not be tall enough to reach the top of the statues here, but he'll try. ]
A robot somehow managed to frame my friend-- Well. We weren't very close when I was alive. Hated each other in fact, but I died, and then I showed up on that space station, and she was there too, and it was a whole thing - but the point is, over the course of the day everyone thought it was increasingly obvious she had done it and convinced themselves of that. I did my damned best to try and get myself voted for, but, you know, once the tide has turned, hard to shift it. Everyone voted for her, turns out it was wrong, she still got ... [ gestures, like referencing the shirt in his closet.] Lavafied.
[He doesn't say anything, but he waves his hand in a politely dismissive gesture at the offer.]
Lavafied? You mean you guys didn't have to figure out how to knife each other over the dinner table? [Dry. But then more sincerely:] People think you're covering if you try too hard to die.
But I get it. We spent four days voting for innocent people, except when we found the Zaroff, before we got a General. Not our finest hours either.
Seven actually. In a row, yeah. We were in the jungle at night, head counting at breakfast the next day, finding bodies for lunch, and then accusing whoever at dinner.
[He leans his head back.]
I guess this is where you lecture me when I say that we found our first General because I happened to leave a cut on them before I died. It was the only time they checked for injuries, but I was dead. I don't think they ever checked again.
Why would you even tell me that? I'd never have known otherwise, you know. Fuck. The truth sucks, always lie when you can. Now I just know that and I can use it.
[ but he takes another drink at the seven days in a row thing. ]
At least we don't seem to be on that schedule. What in the fuck is that.
I would say sure, you'll just tattle on me, and you probably will. But you told me you lie all the time. So maybe I'm banking on you lying.
[He is just bullshitting.]
It'd be over faster, but it'd probably be a lot worse. Guess I don't have a choice. Will just have to get used to--what? Eight weeks? And all this weird friendship-y downtime. [There is a REALLY long pause here. A really long debating one.] ...
...Sorry about the gun. I just don't care for people trying to manhandle me.
[Jason has problems with authority? WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED.]
[ He doesn't look up at the apology, because it's actually very sweet and he doesn't want to push his luck with it, but he's clearly grinning a bit. ]
Eight weeks of weird friendship-y time. At least. Hopefully not longer. [ But waving a hand over his shoulder. ] Consider it forgotten already. Except when I need a reason to mildly bitch about something or other.
You really shouldn't forgive someone who pointed a gun at you and called you Satan, you know. Why can't you just be petty and hold a grudge like the rest of us?
[Don't just leave them to be unhinged and awful on their own.]
Uh. The Devil? The Boogeyman? Never seen or met him, shockingly. Big red dude who looks like a very ugly version of you who rules over Hell. Uh--did you go in the hell door in the hallway? Saw him in there with Yoo.
Did I? I don't think I did. I think Harrowhawk blew the horn to summon the Valkyries, and then you got so excited you said, "If I run and leap at Jason Todd, he will most certainly catch me in his arms."
I'm not going to pretend I don't like a strong opening salvo ...
[ he won't. he's finished his flask mostly by this point, so he's just buzzed and annoying now. ]
I suppose you were polite enough to say sorry about the gun, so, if I were a really forgiving guy I'd say a sorry about the aggression. But, I dunno. Seems too easy.
[ yeah well wait and see how friendly he is with the guy who decapitated him and yeah they of course make a FWOOP noise as they get tossed out into the wonders of the Prism
[ Honestly kind of fascinated? Looking around? There's so many options? What is with all the milks? Going over to start peering into cases immediately. ]
He watches Molly for a second, pushing his hands into the jackets of his pockets because he is Cool.]
You didn't have one of these even in hell space station? Let me guess. You guys usually go down to Ye Olde Tavern for drinks. Ride in a cart? Cook in a cast iron pot over a fireplace.
On the Space Station? No. There was a screen and you put in anything you like.
And if you're asking about home, then yes, you can go down to the Ye Modern Tavern for some drinks, or you can force the wizard to make his magical tower-palace and then get them delivered by cat servants? Either or. Options!
Almost makes you miss the quaintness of having to limit yourself. Is it still a special spiced cream when you can get it any minute you possibly feel like it?
He is dug out and freed, but covered in toiled dirt, which he is trying desperately to brush off his clothes. He kinda looks like a feral raccoon? But actually doesn’t seem to be having a PTSD episode.
[ he'll stop when he gets the flinch - he's pretty emotionally intelligent for lacking the regular intelligence score, and is also very good at noticing avoidance behavior. You do you bud. ]
Yeah? You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. I know they're all pretty ... personal. Least the ones I've heard.
Yeah, they are. [He sighs, then glances around. Then. Just gestures. At the around.] Dreamed I...
...was digging myself out of my grave. [Lovely.] Got to the top and almost out, and then I was getting buried again. Wouldn't stop. Started the whole process over again. In the casket, digging myself out. Over and over.
Yeah. [He brushes his arms, then drops them by his side.] I thought the doors were bad. Nightmares. I thought they were like nightmares basically. These are worse.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
w0, SATURDAY
Congrats, you got to keep all your clothes on.
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I did. And you all found who did it without me taking them off.
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I mean. Barely. We threw the man under the horsecart based on a papercut, but I suppose there's a method to the madness.
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A lot better than my first go around actually.
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[ Just sitting himself down at the feet of the statues (feet .....) and pulling out his flask, apparently not really holding a grudge beyond sarcasm now. ]
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[sorry to molly that he is just like this
but it's fine bc molly has some drink]
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We had... I don't remember. Seven? or so killers. They were called Generals. They would would pick two of them to hunt someone every night in the jungle on the island. Some of the corpses we found, though, had been chopped into pieces. So we thought it was them.
We couldn't tell if they had been chopped up before or after they died.
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[ Taking another drink. ]
Yours wins I think. Mine wasn't great, but no one was dismembered, far as I remember.
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[ Clearing his throat, taking another sip of his drink and then offering it up? He might not be tall enough to reach the top of the statues here, but he'll try. ]
A robot somehow managed to frame my friend-- Well. We weren't very close when I was alive. Hated each other in fact, but I died, and then I showed up on that space station, and she was there too, and it was a whole thing - but the point is, over the course of the day everyone thought it was increasingly obvious she had done it and convinced themselves of that. I did my damned best to try and get myself voted for, but, you know, once the tide has turned, hard to shift it. Everyone voted for her, turns out it was wrong, she still got ... [ gestures, like referencing the shirt in his closet.] Lavafied.
Wasn't anyone's finest hour.
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Lavafied? You mean you guys didn't have to figure out how to knife each other over the dinner table? [Dry. But then more sincerely:] People think you're covering if you try too hard to die.
But I get it. We spent four days voting for innocent people, except when we found the Zaroff, before we got a General. Not our finest hours either.
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[ He doesn't seem offended or anything. ]
Four ... days? In a row?
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[He leans his head back.]
I guess this is where you lecture me when I say that we found our first General because I happened to leave a cut on them before I died. It was the only time they checked for injuries, but I was dead. I don't think they ever checked again.
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Why would you even tell me that? I'd never have known otherwise, you know. Fuck. The truth sucks, always lie when you can. Now I just know that and I can use it.
[ but he takes another drink at the seven days in a row thing. ]
At least we don't seem to be on that schedule. What in the fuck is that.
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[He is just bullshitting.]
It'd be over faster, but it'd probably be a lot worse. Guess I don't have a choice. Will just have to get used to--what? Eight weeks? And all this weird friendship-y downtime. [There is a REALLY long pause here. A really long debating one.] ...
...Sorry about the gun. I just don't care for people trying to manhandle me.
[Jason has problems with authority? WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED.]
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[ He doesn't look up at the apology, because it's actually very sweet and he doesn't want to push his luck with it, but he's clearly grinning a bit. ]
Eight weeks of weird friendship-y time. At least. Hopefully not longer. [ But waving a hand over his shoulder. ] Consider it forgotten already. Except when I need a reason to mildly bitch about something or other.
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[Don't just leave them to be unhinged and awful on their own.]
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[ Though: ]
What is a Satan, exactly?
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[How do you describe Satan.]
Uh. The Devil? The Boogeyman? Never seen or met him, shockingly. Big red dude who looks like a very ugly version of you who rules over Hell. Uh--did you go in the hell door in the hallway? Saw him in there with Yoo.
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[ he doesn't seem THAT insulted. ]
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[Or cornered maybe, but he does not say this. Anyhow, he’s unfortunately self aware!]
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[He glances down.]
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[ winking at him. ]
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[He just gives Molly a LOOK at the wink.]
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[ Grinning at him, completely unashamed. ]
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[STOP GRINNING]
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[ he won't. he's finished his flask mostly by this point, so he's just buzzed and annoying now. ]
I suppose you were polite enough to say sorry about the gun, so, if I were a really forgiving guy I'd say a sorry about the aggression. But, I dunno. Seems too easy.
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I'm the last person who won't validate you for having too much aggression. You've got the wrong guy for that.
w1, TUESDAY
You been out to this place yet? It's fucking wild!
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Well, he doesn't have any choice here, so all he can do is sort of hunch up and raise his hands in surrender as Molly leads him away.]
Hey, hey--where the hell are we--? Hang on--!
[Do they make a fwoop noise as they get tossed into the color land?]
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right into grocery store?]
... At least it's not the one with the cubes and sad plants?
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He wavers as they get dropped in, but has a surprising amount of balance for a top-heavy dorito.]
A store...? This is what was so cool...?
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They can milk a nut now ... ?
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[Hehe.
He watches Molly for a second, pushing his hands into the jackets of his pockets because he is Cool.]
You didn't have one of these even in hell space station? Let me guess. You guys usually go down to Ye Olde Tavern for drinks. Ride in a cart? Cook in a cast iron pot over a fireplace.
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And if you're asking about home, then yes, you can go down to the Ye Modern Tavern for some drinks, or you can force the wizard to make his magical tower-palace and then get them delivered by cat servants? Either or. Options!
Almost makes you miss the quaintness of having to limit yourself. Is it still a special spiced cream when you can get it any minute you possibly feel like it?
W3, FRIDAY
how you doing buddy ]
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He is dug out and freed, but covered in toiled dirt, which he is trying desperately to brush off his clothes. He kinda looks like a feral raccoon? But actually doesn’t seem to be having a PTSD episode.
Amazing.]
Son of a bitch.
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[ Coming over to help shake dirt off of him? He's helping. ]
You have a dream down there?
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[He flinches slightly at the help, but then chills out. Like he's forcing himself to chill out.]
Yeah, but you're not going to like what it was.
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Yeah? You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. I know they're all pretty ... personal. Least the ones I've heard.
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Yeah, they are. [He sighs, then glances around. Then. Just gestures. At the around.] Dreamed I...
...was digging myself out of my grave. [Lovely.] Got to the top and almost out, and then I was getting buried again. Wouldn't stop. Started the whole process over again. In the casket, digging myself out. Over and over.
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[ he looks over at the disturbed earth, frowning, and then scratches idly at his newly sealed shut eye. ]
A lot of these have this ... theme of futility, don't they?
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Yeah. [He brushes his arms, then drops them by his side.] I thought the doors were bad. Nightmares. I thought they were like nightmares basically. These are worse.