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?

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He's just going to accept that praise and tick his maligned ego up a notch or two. This is all shit he would have loved to know when he was alive and un-cultified because he's pretty sure everyone disliked him and thought he was a complete dick. (Because he was), so it's sorta nice to hear at least one person thought he had more skills than what was between his legs.

"Fuck, if she got five minutes alone with him he'd have no teeth, no nuts, and probably be bleeding from every orifice. It would be so fucking gnarly." But he pauses, "I'd probably watch that too."

Not just because it would be hot as fuck, but because damn that would be cathartic. He's not sure he could effectively even punch Jacob without the man just smugly smiling, so watching Hudson annihilate John would be his chance to live vicariously through some Seed brother based destruction.

In an alternate timeline where they defeated the cult, Hudson definitely kept John chained up in her basement for stress relief. And probably didn't let him do his 10-step skin care routine which is the real torture.

"Your car has windows! And everyone knows what you're doing in there. It's not like you're admiring the view of a wall." He's about to get real exasperated because he also didn't wanna know what Sharky was doing because public masturbation is one of his least favorite calls to get. He has to cuff those hands you know.... But then Sharky continues and that's, huh, that's kinda sad.

"You don't have to burn shit down or cum on it to get people to pay attention to you Sharky. Is this because everyone thought Hurk was such hot shit and you're his cousin?"

He's not sure what it's like to grow up in the shadow of Hurk Jr, but it probably sucks.

"Still hot," he says. "Every time John opened his fat mouth to talk to Rook I pictured ripping his teeth out with one of those old-timey iron tongs. You know, like for horseshoes." He thinks they're for horseshoes, anyway. He has no idea! He just knows they look like they hurt.

Wow, man, what the fuck, when did he say anything about needing attention! "I have, like, totally mild resentment for Hurk, sure," he says, defensively, like he's actually making a good argument here, "But that dude is a solid guy and I idolize him more than anything. I don't know, dude, it's all developmental shit from when I was abandoned as a baby. Who fucking knows what it's about? Let a guy jack off in his fuckin' car, man, just look the other goddamn way!"

Absolutely totally going to remember that later and run headfirst into a pillar.

"I was kinda hoping we could tie him to his stupid fucking sign and then set it on fire like Wicker Man." Maybe they could all chant 'Yes' as he roasted. That would be fitting. "But rusty horseshoe tongs are pretty good too."

This is all a little awkward because Sharky is randomly talking about some real private shit and Pratt doesn't really know what to do with that. He definitely epitomizes the generic manly man who has 'friends' but they don't actually talk about things or have emotions at each other. Gross. So he's not sure how to react to this other then to try and brush it off.

"Okay! Fuck, do what you want in your car I don't care, I'm dead, have yourself a fun time in there or whatever. It's just kinda sad that's your outlet. Can't you like.. take up fishing or video games or even bad karaoke? I guess it doesn't help that we lived in a place with a few thousand people who all know us since we were babies. But like.. come on man. You're better than that."

Wow, what is with all of this direct attack bullshit right now? Like, Pratt always struck Sharky as kinda emotionally stupid, so how is he picking up on all the weird subtext Sharky's pretty sure he isn't putting down???

But he can at least answer that: He's totally better than that, and he had plenty of other interests outside of, like, burnin' shit down and fuckin' shit up. "I'm absolutely not better than that, dude. Between the exhibitionism and the risk of public humiliation, there's no way I wasn't gonna rack up misdemeanors left and right. The only other thing I'm good at is lighting shit on fire."

Totally solid defense. No way is Pratt gonna see through that.

Wow this is not a conversation that Pratt is emotionally mature enough to handle. He sorta wants to just leave? But he also doesn't like that talk. Thinking you suck does bad things to your mental health which he absolutely does not know about first hand.

"Come on man, don't say that. You just hadn't found your purpose yet. And you got that now right? Reputable businessman and a kid to help raise. Better than I would have managed even if I hadn't died or been all fucked in the head. I'd be the dumbass that dies of radiation because I got too bored inside and risked jumping over to a different bunker to get laid. Like... you managed to survive. That's hella impressive."

"I guess..."

Damn, what the fuck. This conversation is super awkward. As much as Pratt doesn't like the negative self-talk, Sharky feels the same way! And with that jacket here and everything, he's even more convinced that Pratt needs to keep some sense of self-worth, for everyone's sakes.

"Look, I get hella uncomfortable talking about all my shit. But I'm fine bein' a lil' miserable forever, because you're right, I did fuckin' make it. And everyone was stupid surprised when they found out. I think some of them were pissed, too, 'cos other people should've lived instead? But like. That's what sucked about the Collapse. People who should'a died didn't and people who did die shouldn'tve." Should he say sorry about Pratt dying? It's kind of weird, but he should say it again, just ot be sure, right? "It's so fucking weird that you died and now you're here, dude. Freaks me out every time I think about it but I'm just happy to know somebody here."

No worries, it's not as if people are going to flat out lie to him and tell him he's better off dead and then he'll spiral into thinking they're right. Nah. Not him.

If nothing else this extremely brutal conversation has gotten him to kinda forget about the jacket so maybe it's for the best. He feels very weird though, he's seen Sharky naked plenty of times, but this is like seeing him exposed.

"People like things to be all perfect and defined. Bad things happen to bad people, good guys always win. That's why they can get lured into cults and shit in the first place, cuz if bad shit happens to them maybe they deserved it. Or maybe I'm just talking about myself, but whatever, the point is, they were probably jealous cuz it proved you were better than them." Pratt isn't really sure where he's going with this. Other than he thinks Sharky is a lot more capable than he lets on. "I dunno. Always kinda envied you just doing whatever the fuck you wanted without caring what other people think. I'm all caught up on that all the time."

And still is really.

"Freaks me out too honestly. But I'd be totally fucked if you weren't around."

"Yeah, but like, that's normal shit, dude. How could you have ever thought that some whack-job cannibal was gonna move into the Vet Center and start fuckin' caging people? We all saw it coming but like, not like that. And just because I didn't get fed the kool-aid, that doesn't make me better than them, or you, or anybody. It just means I got lucky."

And people fucking haaaaaate lucky idiots. Unless they're Hurk, anyway. But he isn't gonna bring up Hurk again and start a whole other... whatever the fuck this conversation is becoming.

"And, like, you super should not envy me. I was a fucking mess, man. I literally kept jars of clean piss to sell to meth addicts. Like, who the fuck does that???? Fuckin' weirdos, that's who. Just because I don't feel shame doesn't mean I shouldn't be ashamed, you know???"

"Okay but even if you should be you're not. I'm all up in my head about everything. I second guess all of it cuz I think I'm a fuck up. Might be nice to just... not care? I dunno. Probably not possible. Especially now." A sigh, just gonna drink his soda and worry about shit that won't happen.

"This is a super weird conversation."

"Yeah, man, what the fuck?" With an awkward laugh and everything because, uhhh, wow. Pretty strange to get really in-depth and like, court-mandated deep with somebody outside of office hours.

"Look, I dunno what the fuck my point was to begin with, but, like. I definitely dig the deep bro-down that just happened here, weird or not. The pep-talk is mad appreciated, but I feel like we gotta hype you up some in return, dude."

He's going to blame the jacket because he honestly doesn't get it. Maybe they've both been pushed to their mental limits and this is what happens, which is better than them having violent outbursts or disassociating. But still, awkward as fuck.

"No we don't. It's fine. In fact I'd rather we didn't because then I'll just feel like more of a disappointment when I inevitably fuck something up."

This is someone who's probably never gotten a sincere compliment in his life and he does not want to break down crying in front of Sharky if this emotional rollercoaster of a convo keeps on trucking.

"Mad feel that vibes, bro." Which means he won't try hyping Pratt up, this time. He's filing that away for another day, when Pratt is less... you know, fucked up over a fucking jacket. But for now...

"Look, my entire plan today is like... hanging out by the pool, hitting up the hot tub, maybe going to the sauna? Then drinkin' and video games. You should come with me." As he completely ignores that fucking stupid box. "It'll be good for you."

And that's the truth!

He will accept that raincheck because he's probably gonna need it eventually.

"I think I'm gonna go... hide in my room with a tray of food from the buffet. You know that shit doesn't go bad? Doesn't even dry out, it fucking lasts forever." He may have food all over his room now, sorry Caitlyn.

He's kinda hoping he can sleep this off and wake up fine and normal and realize this is just a stupid piece of clothing.

"Shit, really?" Sharky hadn't considered that. Shit, he's definitely gonna take some of this shit to go, then!

"If you're sure, man. I don't know if I wanna leave you, like... alone? But I'm not gonna force you, I'm not your babysitter." No truth serum necessary for that one! "Just, like... text me if something comes up, okay? Seriously, like, anything."

"You can't watch me constantly, that'll make us both miserable." And will exponentially increase the chance that Pratt accidentally stabs him. Which is the last thing Pratt wants.

"Yeah I'll be okay eventually. Gotta just.. deal with it." And in Pratt's defense, he will be fine for a few days, until the hallucination of Jacob gets too loud and abrasive and impossible to ignore. "Yeah definitely, if speed dial was a thing you'd be on it."

"Yeah, true. If I'm watchin' you, I want it to be for, like, chill reasons. Because you're too stoned or too drunk or somethin'."

He gives the box a brief side-eye as he jams a handful of bacon into his mouth like it's going out of style, or like someone is gonna take his plate from him. Some post-Collapse habits die hard.

"Try not to worry about it, alright, man? It's easier if you just... forget to think about it? If that makes sense." Just be willfully stupid, obviously! "Easier said than done, I know, but... y'know. That's how to be shameless, I guess."

"Considering how fucked my head is I'll be impressed if I don't forget this entire conversation. It's only the crappy stuff I remember. " Which means that forgetting about the jacket is out of the question.

But at least the hallucination of Jacob that follows him around is being pretty quiet right now. That's kinda nice.

"I was thinking about drugging myself to sleep, but all I could find is Ambien and the horror stories of people sleepwalking on that shit... coupled with me being.. well me. That's some serious nightmare fuel there. So I think you're safe from having to make sure I don't die in my sleep drunk or high."

"Yeah, don't fuck with Ambien. It's not addictive or anythin', but like, that shit really does fuck you up." Ambien zombies are a real thing, man! Sharky's pretty sure Hurk Sr. was taking that shit when he slept walk naked half the distance to the harbor. "Gonna have to, like... start reading or somethin'? I dunno. I wish I could help you out better, I just sorta drink til I pass out."

You know, like a healthy adult. Speaking of healthy adults: "I'm gonna go get some cake before I bounce, you want some???" Comfort chocolate cake, right?? That's shit Jacob would never offer or be cool with Pratt having, which is all Sharky needs to think to want to offer.

"That ain't good for you either Sharky. Your liver is gonna melt if it isn't already pickled like kimchi." Considering what Sharky was drinking in the apocalypse it's a miracle his whole body isn't fermented like a martini olive.

"I always want cake."

The amount of sugar Pratt can consume is legitimately horrifying. Sharky specced into the alcohol skill tree, Pratt min-maxed sugar.

"Yeaaaah, I probably am gonna die of liver failure before anybody even gets a chance to shoot me, huh?" He says it as if he's saying a funny joke and not, you know. Literally the truth.

"Fuck yeah, buddy. The only thing that would make the dessert table here better is if there were some fucking edibles, but y'know what, I'll take what I can get." Which is cake! He doesn't exactly knock over his chair when he gets up, but there's a definite eager chair-tipping action there!

"Is that good?" Because if that's the goal then well done Sharky, mission accomplished. But that kind of doesn't feel like it should be the best case scenario here. Maybe there's an option where he can both not get shot and have a liver. Keep those options open buddy.

He watches Sharky go, grumbling about how if there were edibles he'd be hauling Sharky back to his room nightly so it's probably a good thing there isn't. Then his glance falls on the box with the jacket in it, sitting there so innocently. There's a moment where he almost picks it up again, but then forces his fingers to shove it even a little more away. Maybe he can just eat cake and not deal with it, go shove this stupid thing under his mattress and forget about it.

You know that won't work. You're just lying to yourself again.

Pratt rubs his eyes and glares at a spot against the wall before shaking his head and pointedly ignoring that jacket even harder.

The trip to the dessert table and back again is as good a time as any to figure out how to deal with that fucking jacket. The second Sharky saw it, he knew that his new job was to destroy the goddamn thing -- preferably with Pratt's approval, but maybe even without it. Burning it, throwing it overboard, ripping it apart and burning it before throwing the ashes overboard... whatever works, man, just as long as that thing is fucking gone.

For now, though, he's gonna have to bide his time. Wait it out, see if Pratt can't get his shit together on his own. The last thing the guy needs is to be relying on Sharky for help. Jesus, look how the last one turned out.

The cake looks tasty, at least, which makes up for the total bummer sundries gift. At least, Sharky hopes it does; that's why he gives Pratt the (slightly) larger slice when he gets back.

"I tell you, man, there's something so fuckin' special about refined, super processed sugar and shit. So glad to have it back in my life..." He'd die for this cake, man. He plans on it!

Even Pratt wants to get rid of it. He really fucking does. In the same way that he wants to slit Jacob's throat and string him up like one of those fucking awful crucifixes all over the roads in his territory. And he knows, deep down, he's not going to do either of those things. Physically can't. Oh he can think about it, consider it, formulate a whole damn plan, but it just won't happen.

The closest he's gotten to actually being able to defy Jacob's will ended with Rook unconscious on the back of a truck and Pratt getting strapped to a chair to starve to death. And he'd put literal weeks of planning into that.

He glances over at the jacket one more time before being distracted by cake. Because while that plan hadn't worked, it also hadn't actually failed either.

Maybe there's still hope.

"I'm surprised my teeth haven't rotted out of my head with how much fucking sugar I eat. Dentist said I won the genetic lottery there because I lived on a diet of Mountain Dew, Oreo's, Red Bull and Junior Mints in the Academy. I'm not sure I ate any actual food at all." Saying it like that was just so long ago he doesn't remember and not like five years prior.

"You know if you put the different colors of Skittles in Sprite that it'll turn florescent colors? And it fizzes up all awesome."

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