(no subject)

[slippin]

WHO: Jimmy and company
WHEN: December
WHERE: Inn and out
WHAT: Catch-all (just closed starters for now but more are coming! this was a lie)
WARNINGS: NONE YET





[ Hit me up here to plot something specific (PM and disco also good if you wanna get really intense)! Otherwise you can expect more of Jimmy's stupid bullshit + Christmas festivities. ]

Comments

for marcos

[slippin]

[ It's snowing. Snowing again—packing snow, big fat flakes. That's what Jimmy's thinking about as he descends into the wine cellar, speeding through the mental math of chilly springs plus wine-induced warmth minus pinpricks of cold times however fast it's falling...then again, he reasons, hauling open the hefty wooden door, there might be a novelty factor. Snow coming down, watching the flakes melt as they hit the water.

The cellar's so big it's more of a cave. Jimmy skips the racks of wine closest to the entrance, feeling like an explorer on the hunt for dusty, expensive vintages, examining the labels tied to each bottle with loops of string. He's returning a bottle to its berth when, in a gust of cold air that seems to run right through him, his lantern goes out.

A pause. A sigh. Then, taking full advantage of the cellar's acoustics, Jimmy lets out a groan. ] Really? [ He has no reason to believe anyone can hear him, no reason to think entities of the spectral persuasion are involved—other than the fact that he can't go three feet without bumping into one—but it's a big empty room. A wine-lined abyss to yell into. ] Can't a guy drink something besides tea? [ He waits, even though it's stupid. Stands there in the dark listening for eerie laughter or death rattles, or, who knows, some dead snob who's gonna lecture him about his taste in wine.

Nothing.

It's not until he feels for a bottle that the rasp of metal, the sound of a lock wrenching shut, echoes through the room. ]

[soloritur]

[ As fortune would have it, no one is ever really alone in the inn. Better yet, there are more than ghosts floating around the cellar. This might be the only downtime they get, so Marcos had the idea of surprising Lorna with a nice bottle of something when he went exploring. Of course he wouldn't be the only one thinking along those lines. It's hard to unwind in a haunted inn, they all need all the help they can get.

He was aware of the other man from the moment he stepped down there. The voice is only passingly familiar, in the way he thinks he's heard him around enough to know that he's with their group. It isn't until his lantern goes out that he decides to lend a hand.

Once he's close, the darkness is cut with a brightness that might appear more like a flashlight if someone didn't take a better look at how he's holding up his glowing palm. Hoping not to startle him into dropping something, he tries to sound as non-threatening as possible when he breaks the quiet. ]

Find anything good?

[slippin]

[ Jimmy's unsure what level of mind-numbing terror is appropriate to his current predicament. He doesn't remember hearing any ominous stories about wine-cellar hauntings or past mass poisonings, but he's also made a point, these last couple days, of avoiding creepy shit like that. So: the moment a light blazes out of nowhere, stinging his eyes, he high-tails it behind the nearest rack of bottles.

The question—asked with what sounds like a normal, human voice—meets with a pause. Embarrassed, scared? Time will tell. He shrinks in on himself, even holding his breath until he starts feeling self-conscious about it. Eventually, though, his voice sounding rickety and lonesome: ] If you tell me to go into the light I'm gonna have to, uh, respectfully decline.

[soloritur]

[ Marcos winces when he sees the man scrambling behind a rack. People aren't as afraid of him here as they were back home, even if none of them seem to know what a 'mutant' is, but they're still in a world where most people are walking around with candles at night. He should have thought of that before he hit him with a beam of light.

He pulls back his powers until there's only a dim glow emitting from his hand. Just enough that he can still see him when he gets closer. ]

Hey, hey. You're fine. It's not that kind of light. [ Although in hindsight, it's telling that he knows that expression. ] ...I'm here for the same reason you are. I think we could all use something to take the edge off. What do you say?

[slippin]

[ Well, that's...better? Is it a flashlight or something? It better not be a repurposed robot eyeball. Lulled by the man's chatter—always less eerie than the alternative—Jimmy peeks over the tops of the meticulously ordered bottles. ] How about to make sure we're on the same page, we state our reason for being here on the count of three. That way if I say “romantic interlude” and you say “axe murdering” or “soul harvesting” or “thought this was the bathroom”—actually that would be really unfortunate...

[ While his mouth's going, Jimmy creeps out into the open. He realizes his hands are up. He puts them down, and wheezes out a laugh. ] Hi. Hey. I don't have my watch thing but I'm with the group. Bona fide.

[soloritur]

[ He manages a laugh out of him. Can't really hold it against someone for babbling incoherently. They're in an inn full of ghosts, and if he's been around for any length of time, he would have seen worse. So it's probably a good thing that he's wearing sleeves so it's slightly less obvious that the veins running to his palm are glowing. ]

I've seen you around. Name's Marcos. [ He gives him a disarming smile. ] I'm not an axe murderer. And I've got a girlfriend, but she's back upstairs. Thought I'd see if I could surprise her.

[ By stealing alcohol from a spooky cellar. It seemed mildly romantic at the time. ]

What about you?

for lu

[slippin]

[ Subtle Jimmy is not. Even sans hi-vis suit and tie, he's not really in possession of a poker face—so depending on how observant she is and how much of a shit she gives, Lu might already be familiar with a wide array of expressions. Surprise. Bewilderment. Fear. Fearful bewilderment, as well as its pals creeping unease and slow-dawning dread.

But that's been in the halls, at meals. He hasn't gotten close enough to actually speak to her until today, standing at a window looking out over the garden. It's early, which means three cultists are scurrying around replenishing and rearranging seeds and nuts displaced during the night. Jimmy doesn't beckon her over—there are limits to his lack of subtlety—but he'll make room if she shows any interest.

He points at a complicated diamond pattern composed of rows of alternating bulbs. ] I think I've seen that before. [ A pause. ] Yeah, I definitely have socks like that.

[noonlight]

"Do you? Living dangerously, or do you just like to risk invocation when you dance?" Illumination has been keeping an eye on what sort of behaviour the cultists are up to. She's no true sorceror, but just because she hasn't summoned or tied herself to a greater, infernal power doesn't mean she hasn't learned about the principle of the thing.

"I do worry though, because they're doing a lovely job, really they are, but there's a couple of copy-errors. If they really want it to work, there's a couple of things they could adjust."

[slippin]

It takes a considerable amount of wherewithal to play it cool—lukewarm, at least—and keep his eyes on the schmucks down below for another moment or two. Then Jimmy looks at her, braced for what he's going to see: purple, horns, chance of teeth. His expression isn't as neutral as he'd probably like—a little searching, his eyebrows a little raised.

Is she fucking with him? Is he being fucked with?

“Oh, yeah, I'm on the cutting edge,” he says vaguely. The cutting edge of bad taste, according to critics and detractors. But it's the second part that really grabs him—he unsticks his gaze from her to lean forward, almost out the window. “So, let me get this straight.” He hauls his torso back in, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He looks troubled. His face isn't suited to it. “You're saying the difference between all this and”—he balls a hand up, holding it in front of his mouth, then lets the fist dissipate with a puff of air—“is...”