Jeff Calhoun (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cacophonish) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-10-07 03:43 pm
cacophonish) wrote in come_sailaway2022-10-07 03:43 pm
[OPEN] i'm walking into spiderwebs
Who: Jeff & Open
What: October catch-all!
When: Any time in October (lmk if you want things set on a specific day for like idk timeline purposes)
Where: Calgona, Sports Deck, Chatterbox, Windjammer, and various places!
Warnings: A splash of existential dread and potential references to past drug use and intoxication.
Notes: Just some slice of life here as Jeff tries to adopt a new, healthy routine amidst ALL THE DESTRUCTION
I. let's get physical
Okay, so: they're trapped. They can't go home. They're... snapshots or bad copies or fragments of their true, original, whole selves... right? That's what Jeff thinks he gathered from all the info smarter, cleverer people dumped on everyone's laps.
Unless-- until they can find someplace else to go, this is all they've got. There's no going back. Jeff's been plucked from his shitty, fucked up life, and whatever happens in that shitty, fucked up life isn't his problem anymore. Which means this is... kind of a second chance. The circumstances might suck, but it's still a precious thing, right?
He'll be damned if he's going to piss it all away.
As the month unfolds, those who've seen Jeff on (or in the aftermath of) one of his benders may notice he's been staying away from the dwindling liquor supply. In its place, the bard's taken up some new hobbies, namely: exercise! It's finally time to put some muscle on that skinny frame.
Or, well. Make an attempt.
So lately, Jeff's been spending a lot of time at Calgona, attempting to lift the (remaining) weights, or work at some of the machines. He moves like he knows what he's supposed to be doing, like, in theory, but his body's too noodly to do what he wants.
In fact, there his arms go, giving out on him as he tries to bench a very modest amount of weight.
"Shit-- shit! Spotter, please!"
Ugh. Help.
Alternately, you can find him at the sports deck, running the track and looking totally miserable about it, even though no one's making him do this but himself. This is the worst part about trying new things: sucking at them. Why can't he just, like, start out as an expert!
If he spots some company, he'll flash a grimace of a smile. He's trying, really. "This is--" GASP GASP. "--soooo boring." Ugh. Hang on. He's gotta stop running and take a breather. "I feel like a hamster in a wheel! How does anyone do this without going nuts from boredom?"
At least when he's at the pool, Jeff seems to be in his element. Swimming! That's easy. Like, he grew up in a beach city, so he's practically part fish. Here's hoping no one trashes the pool while Friday or the janitor ghosts or whatever are on strike.
II. juke box hero
Well, it's Jeff. He's a bard. Any day, at any given time, there's a good chance he's doing something musical. Lately, like just about every night, you can find him at Chatterbox for karaoke hour. He's really trying to expand his horizons here, picking unfamiliar songs from the future and just going with it.
Is it time for Jeff to discover Britney Spears? You know it.
Come up and sing with him! It's bound to be a magical experience.
No. Really. It's magical. He's going to be doing some magic. Nothing big, just little tricks while he sings. Some light, playful telekinesis, a bit of conjuring of fairy lights, little things like that. Those who can sense magic may notice a constant buzz of it when he sings, subtler spells being cast-- or attempted, anyway, as Jeff toys with some magic he hasn't had as much opportunity to feel out on the ship. (Clairvoyance and related magic, mostly.)
Feel free to ask him about it!
Other times, you can catch Jeff alternating between singing and jotting down notes (and lyrics) in just about any public space on the ship. If you're not busy, he may come up to you, practically bouncing with Golden Retriever energy.
"Hey! What's up? How's it going-- you busy? I'm trying to work on a new spell, but, uh..." Well, this is awkward. "I kinda need a guinea pig." He wrinkles his nose. "Sorry. That sounded bad, didn't it. I just mean-- if you don't mind-- I could use someone to test this spell on. Respectfully and responsibly."
III. feed my frankenstein
Since the buffet is the only place left with an endless supply of food, Jeff's obviously going to be stopping by there for his meals (along with everybody else???). All this new physical activity's really done a number on his appetite, okay, and he feels like a bottomless pit.
So this is the 'Jeff is going to invite himself to your table' prompt. Hope you weren't hoping to eat in silence, because here he comes with a plate piled high with grilled chicken salad and bread rolls.
Prepare for small talk and idle chitchat! Especially if you're a loner type. Jeff loves being friendly at loners.
Anyway, here's some examples of conversation starters.
"You ever wonder if the Captain's just really, really lost but too stubborn to ask for directions?"
Or:
"Do you think the ghosts are on strike? Or maybe the Captain decided to stop being a dick and sent them on vacation..."
Or:
"So... Who do you think's going to be the first one to, like, go all psycho cannibal if we completely run out of food here?"
Or:
"Man, I was gonna go for a swim today, but some asshole threw a bunch of deck chairs in the water." He folds his arms on the table and drops his head with a whine. "Why would someone do that?"
And wildcard, and so on. Choose your own conversational adventure.
IV. wildcard
[ hit me with whatever you want, i'm open to everything. you can reach me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
weeyotch / weeyotch#8200 to hash out any specifics! ]
What: October catch-all!
When: Any time in October (lmk if you want things set on a specific day for like idk timeline purposes)
Where: Calgona, Sports Deck, Chatterbox, Windjammer, and various places!
Warnings: A splash of existential dread and potential references to past drug use and intoxication.
Notes: Just some slice of life here as Jeff tries to adopt a new, healthy routine amidst ALL THE DESTRUCTION
I. let's get physical
Okay, so: they're trapped. They can't go home. They're... snapshots or bad copies or fragments of their true, original, whole selves... right? That's what Jeff thinks he gathered from all the info smarter, cleverer people dumped on everyone's laps.
Unless-- until they can find someplace else to go, this is all they've got. There's no going back. Jeff's been plucked from his shitty, fucked up life, and whatever happens in that shitty, fucked up life isn't his problem anymore. Which means this is... kind of a second chance. The circumstances might suck, but it's still a precious thing, right?
He'll be damned if he's going to piss it all away.
As the month unfolds, those who've seen Jeff on (or in the aftermath of) one of his benders may notice he's been staying away from the dwindling liquor supply. In its place, the bard's taken up some new hobbies, namely: exercise! It's finally time to put some muscle on that skinny frame.
Or, well. Make an attempt.
So lately, Jeff's been spending a lot of time at Calgona, attempting to lift the (remaining) weights, or work at some of the machines. He moves like he knows what he's supposed to be doing, like, in theory, but his body's too noodly to do what he wants.
In fact, there his arms go, giving out on him as he tries to bench a very modest amount of weight.
"Shit-- shit! Spotter, please!"
Ugh. Help.
Alternately, you can find him at the sports deck, running the track and looking totally miserable about it, even though no one's making him do this but himself. This is the worst part about trying new things: sucking at them. Why can't he just, like, start out as an expert!
If he spots some company, he'll flash a grimace of a smile. He's trying, really. "This is--" GASP GASP. "--soooo boring." Ugh. Hang on. He's gotta stop running and take a breather. "I feel like a hamster in a wheel! How does anyone do this without going nuts from boredom?"
At least when he's at the pool, Jeff seems to be in his element. Swimming! That's easy. Like, he grew up in a beach city, so he's practically part fish. Here's hoping no one trashes the pool while Friday or the janitor ghosts or whatever are on strike.
II. juke box hero
Well, it's Jeff. He's a bard. Any day, at any given time, there's a good chance he's doing something musical. Lately, like just about every night, you can find him at Chatterbox for karaoke hour. He's really trying to expand his horizons here, picking unfamiliar songs from the future and just going with it.
Is it time for Jeff to discover Britney Spears? You know it.
Come up and sing with him! It's bound to be a magical experience.
No. Really. It's magical. He's going to be doing some magic. Nothing big, just little tricks while he sings. Some light, playful telekinesis, a bit of conjuring of fairy lights, little things like that. Those who can sense magic may notice a constant buzz of it when he sings, subtler spells being cast-- or attempted, anyway, as Jeff toys with some magic he hasn't had as much opportunity to feel out on the ship. (Clairvoyance and related magic, mostly.)
Feel free to ask him about it!
Other times, you can catch Jeff alternating between singing and jotting down notes (and lyrics) in just about any public space on the ship. If you're not busy, he may come up to you, practically bouncing with Golden Retriever energy.
"Hey! What's up? How's it going-- you busy? I'm trying to work on a new spell, but, uh..." Well, this is awkward. "I kinda need a guinea pig." He wrinkles his nose. "Sorry. That sounded bad, didn't it. I just mean-- if you don't mind-- I could use someone to test this spell on. Respectfully and responsibly."
III. feed my frankenstein
Since the buffet is the only place left with an endless supply of food, Jeff's obviously going to be stopping by there for his meals (along with everybody else???). All this new physical activity's really done a number on his appetite, okay, and he feels like a bottomless pit.
So this is the 'Jeff is going to invite himself to your table' prompt. Hope you weren't hoping to eat in silence, because here he comes with a plate piled high with grilled chicken salad and bread rolls.
Prepare for small talk and idle chitchat! Especially if you're a loner type. Jeff loves being friendly at loners.
Anyway, here's some examples of conversation starters.
"You ever wonder if the Captain's just really, really lost but too stubborn to ask for directions?"
Or:
"Do you think the ghosts are on strike? Or maybe the Captain decided to stop being a dick and sent them on vacation..."
Or:
"So... Who do you think's going to be the first one to, like, go all psycho cannibal if we completely run out of food here?"
Or:
"Man, I was gonna go for a swim today, but some asshole threw a bunch of deck chairs in the water." He folds his arms on the table and drops his head with a whine. "Why would someone do that?"
And wildcard, and so on. Choose your own conversational adventure.
IV. wildcard
[ hit me with whatever you want, i'm open to everything. you can reach me at
no subject
"And I really want to eat those crab legs. They look so fucking good, and the not-fish seafood in Montana where I'm from suuuuucks. But like.. even that kinda skeeves me out." A huff. Man he just wants to eat bbq ribs again, this sucks. "Lame that the dining room isn't doing food anymore though. They did this real fancy vegetarian minestrone soup with these little noodles in it. It was great."
Been a week and he's already missing other foods.
no subject
...is there a note of interest in his voice? Maybe. He's not going to ask, because that'd be rude and he already started this conversation off on a bad note, but... He is a little curious, okay? Who wouldn't be?
"Yeah, crab legs are pretty morbid even when you don't have that kind of, uh... trauma. If you think about it. Cracking them open and everything..." He shudders.
"Do you think that's just the start? First the dining room, and the bars, then..." He looks around the buffet with a grimace, just considering the possibilities. What can they even do if all the food just... stops?
no subject
"I try to not think about the fact that crabs and lobsters are basically bugs. They're just ocean spiders really, and eating spiders is fucking... gross." Granted he's eaten grosser things. Not even just the cannibalism, but he's eaten rotten food, stuff that he picked maggots out of, drunk water out of puddles on the floor of a slaughterhouse. But he'd been literally starved, if he had a choice about it he wasn't going to eat bugs.
"Think things are shutting down one by one? The bars still have alcohol it's just that Brad is gone." A pause, "That's the bartender according to Sharky. Felt weird having an invisible no named guy serving drinks you know?"
But that's not really what Jeff means and he knows it. He considers his words, speaking slowly. "I don't think we really have to worry until people stop coming back after they die. I can go a longass time without food. Weeks. So if we do run out of food -- everyone should ration it without me. Dying of starvation fucking sucks so if we need someone to put them out of their misery near the end. I can.. I can do that."
That's what he's good at. That's his purpose.
no subject
Spiders, though. Kind of a funny example, because it just reminds Jeff of a very specific urban legend.
"You know, they say we eat up to eight spiders a year. In our sleep, I mean, so... Technically we're already eating spiders..."
Which, okay, doesn't really have anything to do with anything. Especially considering the very serious, and troubling possibilities lying ahead here. Jeff grimaces, looking a bit squeamish at what Pratt's saying. It's pragmatic, yeah, but totally fucked up.
"Shit... I hope it doesn't go down like that." A beat, then softly, "Where do you think Brad and the others went?"
no subject
As for Brad, "I hope they're on a nice vacation. Like they're on the island drinking and sitting around a campfire telling stories about us. Comparing who has the messiest room, who's fucking who, which people put chocolate syrup on their steak or whatever. Just gossip and good times."
That's what he hopes anyway. And not that it's anything more nefarious.
no subject
Spiders. They're so cool. He'd happily keep talking about them, really, but this is good, too. Just... hearing what this batch of passengers think about the ship's ghost. There's a passing cloud in his expression as Pratt talks about islands and campfires.
"That'd be nice. For them." He scoffs. "But I don't think the Captain ever does 'nice.' He probably dumped in... whatever powers the ship, like a bunch of ectoplasmic coal."
no subject
He's expecting it to abruptly swap from Pokémon to Hostel.
"Don't we power the ship? Our emotions or something?"
no subject
no subject
"There can't be nothing, I mean.. they're there. They exist. That's something." Well, he pauses because he's not actually sure about that since it's not like they can see them or anything. "And they stopped doing what they normally do so they're doing things. I dunno, I just kinda hope they're aware of stuff. Like Ava's little shrine she made with all the paper flowers - be kinda sad if they didn't get to see that."
no subject
Well. Something besides his flimsy attempt at being Jeff.
"There's a shrine?" What a bunch of stupid, sappy crap. None of these people ever cared about the ghosts. Nobody ever has. He sure as hell never paid attention to them.
...
But it does get him thinking. He frowns a little, then looks at Pratt.
"Do you ever... notice anything in them? Besides what they do for you. Like does one ghost have a heavier pour than the other, or... sucks at folding shirts right?"
no subject
He pauses thoughtfully, wondering, "Well the one in Mikabo was throwing knives at people for a while so there's that but. Not really I guess. Brad isn't actually that much different than the others. I'm not even sure how Sharky can tell which one is Brad, probably just fucking with me. That's the uh, bartender. Sharky named him."
no subject
But no, they're not even an imprint, they're something less, and it's not even surprising to have that confirmed. It's just annoying, and disappointing, in some way he doesn't feel like examining.
That shrine is cute and all, but it doesn't have any of the (admittedly few) names that matter to him. Give it a few years, and all those soft, kind-hearted people will be too tired and numb to maintain it. It'll get tossed in the trash, and everyone will be forgotten as a new crop of passengers take their place.
"He's probably just fucking with you." He shrugs. "I guess it's nice to think there's a Brad out there, and the ghosts are on vacation, and they're all having a great time. Like a bedtime story we tell ourselves so we don't go insane thinking about the alternative."
no subject
"I'm dead back home. And when you die there's just.. nothing. There's no heaven or hell or any of that shit people believe in. There's just my corpse rotting away and I don't even fucking exist anymore."