come_sailaway | [Open July Log]

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[Open July Log]

Who: Deputy Pratt and YOU!
What: Pratt got his first regain and it's a doozy. Also still has no idea he's just telling the truth all the time.
Where: Buffet, Laundromat, around the Deck
When: Throughout July
Warnings: Standard Pratt warnings apply (cannibalism, murder, starvation, cults, etc) but now with Jacob warnings too! (Brainwashing, torture, skinning people). Important!! There's a very real chance he'll attack anyone who talks to him in the third prompt on the deck, so be aware.

Pratt got a notice that he had an item at the Sundries shop and was kind of stoked about it. Sweet, first present from back home. He swings by on his way to third breakfast, but as soon as he picks the thing up there's that sudden pang of trepidation. It's a rectangular box, looks pretty normal and what's in it is pretty obviously clothing from the weight and the sound it makes when he shakes it but.....

Oh that's interesting. Go ahead Peaches, open it.

1. Buffet

He doesn't open it. Not right then anyway, instead he takes it with him to the buffet grabbing himself some grub to fortify him against the growing dread seeping into the pit of his stomach. However; mashed potatoes can only do so much, and eventually he does, actually have to open it and see what it is.

You already know what it is.

Sliding his fingers through the tape on the box he lifts the lid off and stares. The look on his face almost like he might have just unboxed a human head, but it's just a jacket. An Army jacket with the name J. Seed on the chest. A plain, normal jacket that he recoils from so violently he spills his soda everywhere along with the remains of a bowl of pasta as he almost falls on the ground in his haste to get away.

Weird reaction since other than the fact the jacket reeks of blood and human entrails, it doesn't seem that bad?

2. Laundromat

As soon as he recovers from his shock at what's in the box, he grabs the jacket and fucking bolts out of the buffet to the one place he knows no one goes that often: the Laundromat. He stands in the middle of the room, amber lights flickering, signs cheerfully reminding him to balance his load, holding the jacket in both hands and looking right on the verge of either crying or punching something.

Go ahead then, put it on.

"Shut up!" It's not clear who he's talking to since he's in there alone, but then he suddenly throws the jacket at the wall, not very effective since the heavy canvas just flutters to the ground in a heap.

He stands there watching it, eyeing it like it might be a rabid dog waiting to attack him.

Eventually he does pick it back up, rubbing his fingers along the bloodstains, the holes around frayed patches on the sleeves. Standing there in the laundromat about to have a full on panic attack over a jacket.

3. The Deck
Pratt should have taken the time that he was in the laundry room to actually wash this new item of clothing that smells like it's been in a slaughterhouse for years. Because it has been. Unfortunately Pratt didn't think about it. And is now not thinking about anything because he is just... walking in circles around the deck.

Wearing his new 'gift' from back home he's been walking the length of the ship and back for probably hours now. The way he moves, his stance, is different than his normal 'cop on duty' pose he usually has, but it's pretty obvious this is some sort of a patrol. What for, and why, is anyone's guess.

4. End of the Month Wildcard

Well, Pratt has stabbed and been stabbed, and eventually got himself murdered. Apparently that's what he needed to put the pause on his spiraling breakdown. Sure he's still wearing the jacket, but he washed it. Several times.

Pratt is trying to reintegrate into society and aggressively pretend he's not a traumatized psychopath that could snap at any moment.

As always he can be found at the Buffet or the Dining Room since this guy is practically always eating. He's also hanging out near the Pool with comically large glasses of shaved ice. He doesn't look like he belongs at the pool since he's still wearing his police boots, the army jacket and pants. But look, he's trying. The shirt has an oversized foliage print, that counts right?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Normally it would smell strongly of fabric softener, but there's a noticeable stench lingering in the air. However, there's been an uptick in people avoiding showering because of the water curse, so it could be that.

But generally people don't smell that bad within a couple days. Not unless something went very long.

"I..." she doesn't want to say anything wrong, but she's not sure what the right thing is to say either.

Just answer his question.

"It's just random," she's been lead to believe. "At first I thought maybe it was some sort of reward or favoritism. But it seems Friday just... finds things that get pulled through. And matches them with who they're more likely to... belong to. I don't think she puts much intention behind it."

It's more of an answer than she intends to give, hoping she's not overwhelming him. She keeps her voice slow and steady, and remains lingering in the doorway.

At least Pratt himself looks nice and clean, so there's that.

He glances up at her for a brief second, and then back down to the jacket he's holding, "I don't think that this was intended for me."

Actually, now that he thinks about it, what's worse? That he got something of Jacob's, or that he maybe got something intended for Jacob, meaning the man is here somewhere. Oh god he hadn't thought about that.

He can't really go any paler, but he does look like he might pass out.

"Fuck." His fingers trace over one of the blood stains on the sleeve, "Maybe it is. Maybe I'm supposed to have this. It's my blood here."

"I don't think it showed up for you. Just that it showed up. And. Maybe... Friday made a mistake, thinking it was something you would want," Ava is mostly just guessing at all this, based on what was reported during one of the information meetings.

But it still might be their presence here, some sort of... energy that pulls through things... or apparently his blood. Ava has absolutely no clue.

She bites at her lower lip uncertainly. "Do you want me to make it disappear?"

"Something I would want." hollowly repeated because he's not sure what to say.

That's actually a very kind offer and when Pratt is more... well.. Pratt again, he'll thank her for it. Because no one's ever nice to him and a person he's met one time offering to do anything for him is pretty great by his standards.

"No. I should keep it. I should be strong and keep it." Though he still looks like he might cry. "Someone told me we get terrible things sometimes and I tried to imagine the worst thing I could get to like... prepare myself? But I didn't imagine this."

Well who's fault is that?

Pratt glares over his shoulder at something that isn't there before shaking his head and looking back down at the jacket, crunching it up in his hands. "It's fine. Gonna be alright."

Ava is trying to piece together the significance of the piece of clothing (jacket?) that Pratt is holding, without having to pry for too much information and distress him even more.

She knows this item did not belong to him. But obviously to somebody he knew, and that it must have been involved in a significantly traumatizing incident. Given his recognition of his own blood upon it. And that this is worse than anything he could have imagined.

And she knows Pratt died, though she has no idea how. He seemed too young for it to be something natural.

So she can only guess that perhaps whoever was wearing this jacket was involved in his death. Either somebody that hurt him, or perhaps a friend he also watched die?

Ava awkwardly adjusts the pile of laundry in her grip.

"Whatever happened can't really get you here," Ava tells him with way more confidence than she actually has in that fact. "It's over."

He presses the thing back into the box, but he can't seem to stop touching it. Like his fingertips need to make contact with it all times.

"I dunno. This could be a warning that maybe it's going to get worse. Maybe he's going to show up here. And .. I can't handle that. I will fucking snap and I won't come back. I know it."

At least he's managed to start looking at her instead of an inanimate piece of clothing. So that's some progress.

"Hey," Ava gives the faintest attempt at a smile. "You know what? It's statistically very unlikely. But. If he does, point him out to me. I can take care of him."

He almost says something about how she can't. But then... this is the woman who went invisible and intangible in front of him. If anyone can slip away from Jacob's trials it would be her.

"Yeah. Yeah if he shows up here...I'll tell you. Or Sharky will."

Because there's a chance Pratt won't be in any state to tell people anything.

"So, I'm... going to do a load." Still awkwardly gripping the pile, a couple socks have fallen to the floor. Why do socks always do that.

"Want me to throw that in with? Give it a good bleaching?"

"No. I mean.. not yet. I just..." he would totally leave it there normally, just trail off like he normally does. He doesn't know what he's thinking half the time, and he also blurts stuff out randomly so he hasn't even realized there's some truthing shenanigans going on yet.

Maybe he'll figure it out before the end of the month.

"I don't think I can be away from it for that long. Not.. right now. And I don't want to attack the washing machine to get it back out. That would be... crazier than I normally am."

"That's fair." She's not going to argue what's better for him when she has no idea. Ava finally steps into the laundry room, and shoves her clothes right through the front of one of the washers. Not to show off, but mostly because she's holding too much to have a free hand to open the door. And she's lazy. Honestly.

She bends to pick up the lost socks, warily watching Pratt. He definitely seems on the edge of... something. "I'm going to get this started. Then you want to get a coffee with me? Or do you need something stronger."

"That is still, extremely cool." He sounds just shy of having a panic attack, but boy will he fanboy over someone with superpowers even on the verge of death.

"I think anything stronger and I might make really bad decisions. Unless I drink enough to pass out and make zero decisions." A pause. "Wait, maybe blackout drunk is a great idea right now. I dunno. Can't hurt to try."

Being called cool really does make Ava preen just a little. She presses the buttons to start the machine and turns back to regard him. Worried.

"Or I could just knock you out," Ava offers. "Somewhere more comfortable, if that's your choice."

"You can do that?"

He actually considers it because right now the thought of numb nothingness sure sounds great. And he's never woken up crazy. Or at least not that he knows of.

"Uh maybe. Is that weird of me? That's fucking weird isn't it."

"I can. If you'd like. Open offer. When everything around you is crazy, I think it's weirder to act normal. Honestly."

"Yeah but the only crazy thing around here is me. So.."

Well... that's not true. There's crazier stuff.

"This is some shit, but I found out something awesome? I was talking to some guy named César and he was saying the food never decays because there's no microbes or something. I took a whole tray of mashed potatoes to my room and he's right. It doesn't ever go bad. Doesn't even dry out, just gets cold."

"The only crazy thing you said is that." Because darling you're surrounded by crazy.

But that's her kind of science project. Ava giggles. "That's because everything is a simulation. Like the Matrix," Ava tells him, with too much confidence for having absolutely no idea what the fuck is the nature of whatever is going on. Because she refuses to accept MAGIC as the answer. "At least that's my coping method. We all lie to ourselves about the purpose of life, or what comes after, and how the world works in order to fit ourselves into it properly. So if it makes you feel better to imagine yourself as Neo or something..."

"I am one hundred percent fine with being in the Matrix. I mean being in a goop tube and used as a battery kinda sucks, but mentally I don't know about it so.. yeah that tracks."

Makes more sense than anything else he's heard. And there's glitches in the Matrix where there's accidentally robots and skeletons. Pratt is on board with the simulation theory.

"I'm not Neo. I'm definitely one of the nameless guys on the Nebuchadnezzer who just wanders by occasionally eating soup."

Magic makes infinitely more sense when it's just programmed into the system.

"Live your truth. I couldn't take the pressure of being some chosen one main character either. Too many people depending on you, watching your every move, judging. More freedom when you're just in the background."

The good news is he's not panicking about the jacket anymore, the bad is he's now concerned that he has completely the wrong outfit for sci-fi apocalypse space stuff like the Matrix.

"The downside will be that we don't have plot armor to protect us from shit. We're gonna be the corpses the camera lingers on to show something bad happened."

"Oh plenty of us have died on camera. It was rather dramatic. I cried right over there," she points to the corner. "Because I had convinced myself I wasn't going to be a mindless killer anymore, thought that by escaping SHIELD I could be somebody new. Wanted to honor Janet's mercy in sparing me, prove that I deserved it. And then there I was, failing to save the kids I promised to protect, taking two more lives and then my own. Not quite how I wanted things to go. But then my best friend brought me bread, and because I'm a background character nobody cared that much to question me about any of it. There's something freeing in that."

"Huh, well that's not ideal cuz like.. back home this guy," shaking the jacket to indicate he means Jacob, "strapped me to a chair and locked me in a bunker to starve to death and fucking televised it for everyone. And uh.. I did a lot of screaming so that's not a good look for me either? I think if I hadn't died after that people would have made fun of me. I probably cried, I don't remember, I was so fucking hungry all my organs were shutting down. So gotta say, not a big fan of the televised killing?"

So that's like.. stuff they have in common or something.

"I think I'm an NPC travel vendor. I'll helicopter you around to the next area, but if you chose the wrong dialogue options I end up attacking the main character and then they have to kill me and lose fast travel."

She wishes there had been any indication that the rest of their conversation up til this point has been a lie she fell for, so that this too might not be true. It's more horrific a death than she imagined for him, but even moreso that he thinks anyone might have found it funny. Ava swallows heavily, shakes her head.

"If anyone laughed at such a thing, that's because they're sick. In a way there's no cure for," she tells him. At least her own kills tended to be swift.

"I..." she reaches out hesitantly, wishes she was somehow somebody better suited to comfort. It's so hard to know what to do or say when the damage is already done. A hug feels like the wrong move, despite how badly she wants to even as he continues on about npcs and helicopters. Yet she goes for one anyone, already expecting to be pushed away.

"People didn't like me much so.. Being a police officer, they think I've got some vendetta against them. When really I would rather spend my whole shift playing Pokémon Go instead of dealing with them getting drunk and shooting power lines." He wasn't the worst cop on the planet, but he definitely wasn't an exceptionally good one. There are double digit amounts of people who traded blow jobs for not getting speeding tickets.

He was kind of a dick, and he's pretty convinced everyone was pleased that he got the shit kicked out of him daily and had that televised.

Pratt eyes her hand, he doesn't recoil but he does tense up, "Don't. Don't touch me. I already almost attacked Sharky for a hug. I can't.. I don't do well with touching."

Which he's not happy about because after months of torture, and then being basically ignored by his rescuers, he's touch starved as fuck.

Ava retreats a few steps back, had anticipated the rejection and doesn't allow herself to take it personality. Not when even Sharky apparently hadn't been allowed to comfort him either. This isn't about her, after all. But she is at a loss.

"I generally don't like cops," Ava admits with a light attempt at humor in her tone. "But you seem like an okay person. Not somebody that deserved that. And I know stuff like that doesn't just... go away just because it's over either."

She crosses her arms over her chest, worried.

[Open July Log]

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