come_sailaway | i'm feeling devious, you're looking glamorous

WHO: Jeff & OPEN
WHEN: June 1 - June 10
WHERE: Random cabins, every bar, the buffet, idk basically anywhere
SUMMARY: A messy new arrival hits the ground, uh... stumbling to rock bottom. I swear he'll chill out after this.
WARNINGS: Binge drinking, references to demons, possession, trauma, and death. Oh and Billy Joel slander.

So, like...

All things considered, Jeff thinks he's taking this pretty well. Obviously, he's majorly fucking dead, which is about what he expected after performing the ritual to give his body over to a demon. And, okay, so the afterlife is a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean, and that's, like, really not his scene, but it's better than the big empty void of oblivion he'd been expecting, so... Things are already looking up.

Look at him. He's chill. He's copacetic. He's not freaking out about anything at all.

After the mandatory safety drills are done, you can find Jeff all over the Serena Eterna, exploring all the fine shops and amenities the ship has to offer.

i. bar hopping...

...fuck it, okay, fine, he's bar hopping. That's all he's doing. Look, there's a lot of places to get a drink here, and Jeff's a connoisseur of self destruction and debauchery, and besides, he's already dead, so it's not like he has any reason to sober up now.

So, really, if you stop by any bar on the ship, you're likely to run into Jeff there at some point or another, in various states of intoxication. Maybe he's holding a one-sided conversation with an indifferent ghost at the poolside bar, while it blends him a daiquiri. Maybe he's singing to himself and anyone around him at Hurrikane-- hey, wait, did a cocktail napkin spontaneously burst into flames while he was singing? Maybe he's dancing with anyone who's got the misfortune of being at Rischie at the same time as him. Or maybe he's grooving alone at John's, to the beat of some song in his head, stopping to hurl expletives at the ghostly piano player as it launches into its set. "Fuuuuuck you, Piano Man. Billy Joel's a hack. Ha... ha... Fuck. Billy Joel. I'm in hell..."

The ghost of the piano man doesn't even care. Somehow, the indifference stings.

ii. strange bedfellows...

Big messy breakdowns can take a lot out of a guy. Not that Jeff's having a breakdown. It's just a general observation, about breakdowns in general, for other people. Jeff's fine, after all. He's just having a good time.

But sooner or later, that ~~breakdown~~ good time starts to take its toll, and Jeff's gotta crawl back to his cabin to sleep it off. The only thing is, he doesn't actually remember his cabin number. It's... 123, right? No. Wait. 113. 102... He knows for a fact it starts with a 1.

(What do you mean every cabin starts with a 1?)

Eventually, Jeff finds his way back to his cabin, or at least what he thinks is his cabin. Maybe it's actually your cabin, in which case: if you left the door unlocked, he's definitely going to stumble in and zonk out on one of the beds, thinking it's his. Total Goldilocks move. If it's locked, well, he'll just slump down in front of the door and sleep the booze off there, in the hall. You might have to step over him, or just wake him up.

iii. breakfast of champions...

Decked out in Tommy Bahama, with sunglasses perched in his hair, Jeff looks like he's finally settling into the cruise life... as he groans and slumps his head down on a table at the buffet, a plate of untouched food beside him. What's the point of hangovers in the afterlife?

"'s not fair. I wanna diiiie..." he whines into the table, as if this hangover is, truly, the worst hangover anyone's suffered, ever, in the history of the universe. If you join him, Jeff will lift his head and look absolutely pitiful. For as much of a mess as he is, he really has mastered the art of puppy dog eyes. Somehow, he actually manages to look like some kind of innocent Disney princess decked out in Tommy Bahama.

"I don't think I'm doing so good right now," he confesses.

Fine. Okay. So maybe Jeff isn't taking any of this well at all.

iv. wildcard...

go wild, throw anything at me. hit me at weeyotch or weeyotch#8200 if you want to plot something in particular!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The thing of it is that the door of room 102 is propped open with a lounge slipper from Tommy Bahama, so it's easy for some dipshit to just let himself in and fall asleep on the bed.

Which means when a dapper swell comes home after a night out, he discovers his bed already occupied. Really, this is the logical conclusion of matters. Still, still, he isn't a complete and total asshole. So he does a few things: takes off Jeff's shoes so he's not making a mess in the bed, tucks him in, and leaves out a cup of water and some painkillers, before settling onto the sofa. Watson's in Rich's room tonight, and he's not sure where César is right now. So it's just him and a stranger that smells like booze.

Dandy. Just great.

Eventually, the booze-reeking stranger wakes up.

Actually, he wakes up a few times over the course of the night (morning?), for a few fitful minutes, before he slips back into blissfully dreamless sleep again.

But eventually, he wakes up properly, to a pounding headache and a mouth that tastes like a cemetery, and he clearly doesn't want to join the conscious world judging by the way he's groaning and whining.

(Bards are always so dramatic.)

He reaches for the water and pills as soon as he notices them, then lets out a surprised yelp when he realizes there's a dude on the couch. A really, like, well dressed dude, and is that his roommate, or did Jeff hook up with him, or--

"Heeeey, man."

There's the slight lilt of a question in there, like he's trying to toss the ball in the man's court to supply the context clues of who he actually is and how they met.

"Did you sleep well?"

There is so much Judgment dripping from those words, because look. Look, Johnny understands drinking, even understands it as a mode of escape, but the point at which you pass out in someone's bed is too far. Someone, ghost or otherwise, ought to have cut him off before this point.

Jeff looks at him with bleary eyes, seeming to really consider the question, regardless of the judgment in his voice. Then he shrugs.

"I feel like shit."

Which is now, apparently, Johnny's problem somehow. Jeff rubs his eyes. "Sorry, uh, I don't... I don't usually get this wasted."

It's a total lie, and he can't even deliver it all that convincingly.

"Surely, you don't. Well, you didn't successfully make it to your own cabin last night. This is mine and Watson's cabin that you crashed in. That's my bed."

He doesn't raise the volume of his voice at all, that would be wholly impolite.

"Oh!"

Hang on, just give him a moment to read between the lines and come to a completely incorrect conclusion.

"So, we, uh...?"

Totally hooked up, right?

“What? No, noooo. I don’t take advantage of people when they’re that drunk. I prefer my partners remember and appreciate me, thank you.” Ew, gross.

“I simply let you sleep, you were clearly far gone.”

Jeff's quiet for a moment, feeling weirdly chastened by the response. If they had hooked up while he was this drunk, he's not so sure if he would've felt taken advantage of, which... What the fuck does that say about him?

"Yeah," he says softly, like he totally agrees with the sentiment.

Now, time to move on from that, before he accidentally falls into a pit of gloomy self reflection.

"Thanks. Sorry for, uh, crashing in your room." He rubs his eyes again and starts to move off the bed, even though the very moment sends a wave of head spinning nausea through him. Ugh. He better not puke...

"I just got here, so I don't really know my way around yet. It totally won't happen again, man."

Johnny lets out a heavy sigh.

“Hold still for a moment, alright?” He disappears into the bathroom, and comes out with a cool, damp washcloth which he offers over. “Wash up your face and take a moment. You’ve clearly had a bit of a night. Probably for the best you ended up here, really. What’s your name?”

Jeff nods, because maybe trying to move was a little overambitious, considering. When the guy returns with a washcloth, he accepts it with a grateful, if wordless, murmur.

He immediately presses it to his cheek, then just kind of leans into his own touch, and it's hard to say if he's enjoying the sensation, or just needs the help keeping his head up.

"Had a bit of a..." Year? Something like that. But with the way he trails off instead of finishing the thought, it sounds more like he's just repeating the man like a slurring parrot. "Jeff."

He tries to smile and gives a weak little wave with his free hand.

"Jeff. I'm Johnny Summer. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but I'm not sure this counts as actually meeting you. You're brined like a pickle, aren't you? Here, do you need another glass of water? I swear, someone should have cut you off sooner, you didn't need to end up like this."

He's offended on behalf of corporeal bartenders everywhere.

Jeff shrugs a shoulder. "Mm, nah.... This is about it." He gestures to himself. "The whole fucked up package."

It should've been said like a joke, but it's not. Johnny's not missing anything, really. This is Jeff in his natural state.

"Water, um.... yeah. That'd be good. Thanks, man."

"It's alright. I think there's no one on this ship who isn't somehow fucked up." Including himself, but that's a thought to dissect later. He takes the cup to the bathroom and refills it again.

"Are you planning to do this regularly? Just so I know."

"Planning, like..." He looks around the room and gestures. "To crash here? Nah..."

To get this drunk again and again and again? Well... Jeff doesn't exactly plan anything when it comes to binging and dancing on the edge of self destruction.

"I mean, like, I dunno, when it comes to anything... I'm just winging it."

"Wing it with a little more care for yourself, and you might find mornings less painful." Even though he's scolding Jeff, it's gently said. He passes off the water and moves to sit on the couch.

i'm feeling devious, you're looking glamorous | OPEN

Strange Bedfellows

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