Pumpkin Hollow Inbox

[restingslasherface]

Pay no attention to the date this was put up. You do not see it, it isn't real.

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[maltesefalcon]

Cerrit lingers late after a scheduled milita training, to catch Jean to talk. He's picking at his feathers on his neck and chest, straightening them. It's post-gala and post several talks they've each had. It's time to reach an accord between the two of them.

[restingslasherface]

Almost nothing has changed with the militia. Almost. A program of meditation and thought centering, meant to help "ablate memetic attacks", has been quietly instituted without further comment by Jean, but that's been more or less it. In turn, they receive Cerrit with their resting smile, which the detective may recognize by now as Jean's best Professional Face.

"How can I assist you, Comrade?"

[maltesefalcon]

"I wanted to inform you that I have been party to information about Dahlia and the Leeds family, that I have concealed. I wanted to explain why, and to promise you my honesty in the future." This is going to be a fun one. Cerrit is at his Most Civilized and Proper right now, to make Patia or Nydas or Loquatious proud.

[restingslasherface]

"...I see."

Jean is thinking of an earlier conversation, before they knew. When they expressed to Dahlia that a failure to find equilibrium with the community would be fatal to the Pine Devil. They frown at their own thought, gripped by a nameless guilt. Attempting to apologize now...might be inappropriate.

Still.

"I am prepared to listen."

[maltesefalcon]

"I made a deal with Aster at his 'dinner party', that required me to keep secret information I learned about the Leeds family. I am no longer bound by that deal."

As he's done with everyone else, he leaves the ball in Jean's court, letting them decide if they want to ask what he got out of it.

By tradition I declare: damn OCs and their one-liners

[restingslasherface]

"What motivated you to negotiate with hostile management?"

[maltesefalcon]

"The sending stones. That's how we got the sending stones, and field communication established."

[restingslasherface]

...

......

.........

"Comrade. The sending stones being infernal technology suggests, among other things, that they may be being listened to. They may also not survive Aster's destruction. Your intervention has, indirectly, slowed the installation of other forms of communication which would be more secure and unambiguously lasting."

Jean's not mad, they're just disappointed.

[maltesefalcon]

"Agent Jean, you remember well as I do, what it was like, operating before them."

It's a half-hearted defense. The disappointment makes sense. CT's bitterness makes sense. They should hold it against Cerrit.

[restingslasherface]

"I do," Jean agrees. "But I believe it may be high time to re-invest in those abandoned technological projects, considering. We're meant to leave this place better than we found it - interim solutions cannot be left unattended to become new problems." There's an odd little thing that goes on here; Jean's tongue presses against the tip of a sharp tooth. It's an expression usually only Zelda sees, one Jean makes when they are mentally and emotionally Stumped about something.

"Why bring this to me?"

[maltesefalcon]

"Because you're a strategist, and because you organized, if not lead, the militia. The Enforcers know, you need to as well."

He's actually got the wondering in the back of his head, if this is news to Jean at all. After all, Jean is part of the Ocularum, with Crichton and CT.

[restingslasherface]

"Mm." Jean looks at the training equipment, which is at the tail end of being put away by the last volunteers. "...This endeavor was to help the community. It still is. Some time ago there was a...misunderstanding on my part, which gave great offense to Comrade Leeds. She funded this equipment, you know. And while in hindsight it would be easy to say that her strident words about being part of the community and needing no coercion to see to its safety are good for her cover, I am inclined, still, to believe that she was being earnest and genuine. I have been doing what I can to discourage violence. Permit me now to formally state that Comrade Leeds and those who stand with her remain welcome to volunteer and, indeed, desired."

"Whether the locals like it or not, I see this place as one community. And until they figure out how to kill me, what I say about that goes."

[maltesefalcon]

"I think you and I have similar goals, at the end of the day. It's why I accepted the promotion from Kilbride; I want to dedicate myself and the constabulary to keeping peace. Actual peace."

october.

[abhorrently]

It's been a few weeks since the gala - long enough for some fires to burn out, Town Hall to redistribute Dahlia's work, and for unease to set in. Thus, she calls, one afternoon.

"Jean. I was wondering if you'd care to come by, when you're next free."

That's the best way to start this.

[restingslasherface]

"Certainly, Comrade. Is this a social visit?"

Translation: do I need to bring (more) weapons (than usual)?

[abhorrently]

"Purely social. No need to bring anything."

Here is her address. She picked the second floor because of the view.

[restingslasherface]

Jean makes a somewhat unusual decision here; they show up at Fever's door in the Page of a Siren, giving themself a somewhat feminine and aquatic bent, clad in an elegantly ragged dress. Despite the small claws on newly webbed hands, this is, perhaps, their least threatening Page. With this is a small sailor's bag with their books, and a guest gift - a picnic basket of tinned blue crab, caught by the crew of Mipha's Grace.

They knock, and then adjust their dress. It's been a few months since Jean had even the modest breasts of the Siren, they're not used to it any more.

[abhorrently]

When she answers the door, there is a moment of an eyebrow raising, before she steps back to let them in.

"You look nice. Is the dress new?"

[restingslasherface]

"Quite old! But I rarely make use of this Page - it is, hahaha, quite niche!"

Jean sets their gift down in the kitchen without drawing further attention to it, and looks around.

[abhorrently]

The apartment is not the largest place, but pains have been taken to make it more individual, less stuck in the corpse of the last resident. There are comfortable furnishings in the main room - a deep blue couch that looks inviting, a rich red armchair, and a rug under the coffee table. A old quilt is flung over the couch, neither neat nor folded. Lamps that have been lit, though there is still a pair of candles burning in a dish. Fresher wallpaper on the walls, to set off the darker woods. A fern in a pot that seems to be torn between withering or trying to persevere, books on shelves that have no rhyme or reason to their order. A strange cabinet tucked in one corner, a circular mirror propped up on it, and a few items before it - three wrapped candies, a scrap of fabric like her dress at the Gala, and an interesting leaf.

Beyond all the efforts she's making to personalize this place, one thing might stand out more to them, though. On the walls, there is framed art, as there is in many of these places. But the contents have been exchanged - instead of paintings of places and people she does not know, they hold some sketches of things witnessed around the island.

Fragile things, one could say. The artstyle is unmistakable. Not all of them have been hung up, but it wouldn't be a miss to say that the others remain in the apartment.

The kitchen's also been repapered, and most of the dishes and the like were cleaned up, salvaged from elsewhere, and etc. No one needs matching sets, anyway. It's not the most unique place, but it's cared for, and that makes it different.

"Tea? I can try coffee as well, I've been working on bettering my version."

Jean makes it better, but she assumes that's out of practice.

[restingslasherface]

"I'd be delighted to...have...tea..."

The first long pause is the bookshelf. Jean can't not twitch just a little. It's disorganized. Books need to be organized or they're, they're...wrong, fundamentally and outrageously wrong. Fever no.

But that second pause is the frames. They arrest Jean entirely, sending them trailing off as they stop in place, struck dumb. Those are Jean's work, displayed in someone's home, as if they were real art. That. Can't be right, can it?

[abhorrently]

She goes to put the water on, and comes back when she notices Jean isn't with her, having lost them somewhere around the bookshelf. Yet, when she returns, she sees them staring at the frames, at their art on the wall.

"I still have the others. Just don't have a house big enough to hang them all up in."

They had been a gift, freely given. They are still. They feel better to look at than pictures of places she'll never go and people she'll never meet.

[restingslasherface]

Jean's clearly going through Something about this. Perhaps they aren't sure what themself; they take a few shaky breaths, the gills of the Page fluttering.

They turn to Fever at last, scrubbing at their eyes. "You framed them," Jean murmurs, a touch of wonder in their voice. "I'm flattered, Comrade."

[abhorrently]

"Now I can look at them as much as I like without worrying that somehow I'll damage them," she replies, a light smile on her face. "They mean a lot to me, both to have as a gift and to be able to decorate my space with."

She'll politely not mention how deeply this seems to be affecting them. It might make them self conscious.

"Is it still flattery if it's what your work deserves?"

[restingslasherface]

"...I suppose that's for the viewer to decide." Jean tries to clear their throat and can't in this Page; the result is just a really weird neck motion and the gills going hog wild for a coupla seconds. "Um. Thank you for the invitation, Comrade Fever. I. Have been fighting the urge to stay at home! Since the Gala and all..."