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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[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..."

[abhorrently]

"I don't blame you. Given everything that did occur, you would have been the person people wanted to talk to. Since the other's not coming out of her estate to see a soul."

And if she's carefully watching to see Jean's reaction to bringing that up, then she's not going to make it obvious.

"Are they all badgering you still?"

[restingslasherface]

Jean shrugs, a little sheepishly. "I have made myself available to be badgered, in no small part to make it clear that I will not be tolerating mob violence any more than Comrade Daisy would. Destruction is remarkably easy to commit and very difficult to undo, so..."

Gebura had said: one more body for the pile is no great thing. But perhaps that depends on the body?

[abhorrently]

"Is that from your thoughts on wanting to keep things more peaceful for the community, or from any sort of personal place?"

She asks it gently enough to make it seem like a normal question that people ask. But she needs to know. Needs to be able to consider whether what she's been toying with since the Gala is a good idea or not.

[restingslasherface]

"...Comrade Leeds is in a terrible situation. I will not countenance cutting her down until she is heard out."

It's said quietly, but with absolute conviction. Jean could, should, have been another dead Rat from the Backstreets, unloved and unmourned. They showed their ugliness to others here, and those people had the temerity to accept Jean anyway. They won't take that gift only to turn around and see it denied to others out of hand.

[abhorrently]

"...I hoped you would say that, but I needed to hear it from your lips regardless."

She moves to go tend to the tea - the water is ready, by this point, and she'll set it up for steeping.

"Jean...what is it like for you, when you wear a Page?"

[restingslasherface]

"...You never quite get used to it, only better at ignoring it," Jean answers after a moment. "It, haha, is and isn't like becoming another person? Their training fills me, their nature layers into mine, and by that nature there are changes. But how much of that is power and technique, and how much is influence? How much is the snapshot of a life? Can I even answer that after years of training to resist ontological attacks? I try to treat Pages as tools, and I suspect this is...a crime. But what else can I do?"

[abhorrently]

She nods, rolling this answer around in her head like a stone caught in a current. One of those things that she suspects only truly is understood when someone does it, mantling another and saying this is the shape of the self. A force of will that must hold, or all is lost in the consumption and pursuit of power.

"Have you ever been able to talk with someone who gave you their Page while you wear it?"

She's getting to her point. Slowly.

[restingslasherface]

"Nn-" Jean begins, and then they brighten up unexpectedly. "Yes! Sort of! The Page of Kora's Avatar - I don't know how Manager Kora made it but I've spoken to her while wearing it! It's odd in comparison but yes!"

The nugget beams.

[abhorrently]

"So, it doesn't run any risk of harming you, or anything like that. It's not going to, say, cause some sort of strange overlap and trip us down into the isles of madness trying to figure out who is who."

[restingslasherface]

...

......

.........

If reality had any kind of narrative justice, the tea kettle would start whistling right now. As it stands, Jean blinks in vague confusion and asks: "Us?"

[abhorrently]

"...I still have the Page, Jean. I...oh, I tried to have some idea of how I wanted to say this to you, but I suppose the time is now regardless. In light of everything that's happened, what with you striking down the demon Prince and what we might be facing, I've been considering what it might do for you to use it."

It's not that Jean needs power, or another weapon. But it is a friend wondering how she might aid this fight that will be done one way or another."

"And I would want to see, and talk with you, but not if it risked harming you."

[restingslasherface]

"I..."

They're a little dumbstruck. Now the kettle whistles, and Jean startles violently, leaping a good foot into the air with an undignified yelp.

[abhorrently]

As if they had a completely normal reaction, Fever turns, goes to pour out hot water for them both, letting them sit with that knowledge for a while longer.

Letting them choose whether to accept or reject it. It's up to them.

After A Long Silence

[restingslasherface]

"...Comrade, you do understand that this means I will be able to read the Page? That result will be...inescapable, in fact, for my use of it."

[abhorrently]

"I assumed you would be reading it, if I placed it in your hands."

Glancing back to Jean, she thinks, and then opens the cupboards to hunt for where she placed the cookies. They don't have to be eaten, but it's part of the Polite Hostessing she has learned.

"And I assumed that what you found therein, you would pass your own judgement upon."

[restingslasherface]

Ah yes, Jean's wise judgement. Which they are exercising right now by attempting and failing to sip their tea; they go after a cookie next to soothe the burn on the tip of their tongue.

After a great deal of silent thought, they nod, just once.

[abhorrently]

Notably, given her tendencies, Fever makes no moves towards the snack at all. She just waits, looking down into her brewing tea, letting them make their choice.

And then it comes, and she nods back.

"...I will answer questions about it, after you read it. But I ask that this information stays between us and us alone. You will understand why with all my strength I have chosen to stay far, far away from the Enforcers, and your militia as well."

[restingslasherface]

Quietly, so quietly: "You have my word, Comrade. For whatever that is worth."

[abhorrently]

"It's worth everything."

She makes a sweeping gesture to indicate that Jean can sit wherever they want in this apartment, because she has to abandon her tea for a moment. Kneels down in front of the altar, opening it up and reaching into the back, feeling for where she's hidden the Page away, having rolled it into a tight scroll and made it difficult to get to on purpose. Unlikely that someone would break into her house, but not impossible, and she takes it out, still shining, in its roll.

Looking back at Jean, there's something in her face. Something perhaps only they can understand, the sensation of handing someone a knife and gesturing at yourself. Go on. Cut.

"Where will you keep it?"

It's still in her hand. As long as it's in her hand, it's safe.

[restingslasherface]

Jean's eyes linger on the Page; the teacup is unusually still in their hands, steaming gently into the air. For a moment it seems like they perhaps did not hear the question. And then...

Then they touch the bag they took with them. "My Pages stay within my notebooks," Jean murmurs. "And those only leave my person when I am asleep." Beat. "Or, hahaha. Ha. Being intimate."