[OPEN] i'm taking back the crown

[cacophonish]

Who: "Jeff" & anyone who wants to visit
What: Jail :(
When: Mid-month (immediately after this post) til... end of month? What's time anymore, I don't know
Where: The Brig :(
Warnings: Possible references to violence, possession, character death

Notes: it's pretty likely that there's somebody guarding the brig at any given time, even if they're not explicitly mentioned, so things aren't likely to go off the rails here. hit me up at weeyotch / weeyotch#8200 if you want to plot anything specific!

I see what's mine and take it
Ughhhhhhh. The brig! Is! So! Boring!! How is it, after two-and-whatever years trapped in this hellhole (plus or minus a year, decade, century, whatever, who knows how long it's been since he shuffled off to the great Nothing), this is his first time seeing the inside of the brig? Back on his cruise, if he acted up too much, and someone had to put him down? They went ahead and did it.

But not this time. No, now he's just sitting in a cell, dying of boredom, because the passengers don't have the balls to kill him.

But hey, you know what? Silver linings, looking at the bright side, turning lemons into lemonade, whatever: At least he doesn't have to pretend to be Jeff anymore.

Anyone who comes and visits (interrogates?) him will find that while he may look like sweet, simple, stupid Jeff, everything about him-- the way he moves, the way he speaks, the expressions on this face-- he's all Chase Collins.

Not that... not that anyone knows who Chase Collins is. But, well, if you want to find out, now's your chance.

Comments

[cacophonish]

Those memories fill him with warmth, all right. Or, rather, fire, envy and spite burning hot inside him. But Bash's assumption is right: Chase fears the Nothing just as much as Ginger does.

That fear only adds fuel to his rage.

He stands abruptly, though it's hard to feel particularly intimidating in this body. Still, it doesn't stop him from snarling out, "I'm never going back to the Nothing! And you're never getting him back. Ever. He's gone. There's nothing left. You're wasting your time."

[midnightroads]

"None of this is a waste. Trying, for him, is worth it. Effort, for him, is worth it. Now shut up, scrap."

Right, it's time to get serious. He raises the bells (cowbell and jester scepter) in one hand, the book in the other, and takes a deep breath.

"I abjure, banish and cast you hence, scatter your pieces to the wind and burn your spirit in the flame. By bell, book and candle I unbind you, I unwind you, I destroy you, you who lie in my Purviews, as Passenger and Hidden thing and Ghost. Begone from this body, be gone from this world. You are not wanted here!"

[cacophonish]

Excuse you, he will not shut up. Especially not when his fate is on the line here! Screw Jeff and his wasted attempt at a life. He's not going to sit back in silence while Bash tries to banish him back into nothing.

And there is a part of him, not that he'll admit it, that's terrified of this working. If it does, he can only hope for absolute oblivion. Unbind him from this goddamn ship, and let his soul move on beyond the nothing already.

But he won't show that fear, even if the humor in his voice begins to sound a little... forced.

"Nice speech." He claps his hands. "Can't say it's working, but I really admire the effort."

[midnightroads]

"Well. If I can't get you out, maybe I can call him back." It's a desperate act, an attempt to connect with the soul of his boy, his bard, his love.

He dashes out the candle and begins a sacred chant.*

Now, better learned men may have tried a religious chant, something in Latin or Haitian Creole. But Bash doesn't know either language. Hell, he's not even so good at English, but that's okay because his bard isn't even so good at math ("Um, I get a little lost after three."). But it's what's in the heart that counts.

Right?

*"You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine away"

[cacophonish]

There's something about the song that feels like a gut punch. He springs forward like a wild animal, hands gripping the bars until his knuckles go white, snarling. "Just give up! Jeff's not home! He's not coming back!"

He should be above this. He's the one who pokes and prods and gets reactions out of people, not the other way around.

"I did him and you a favor," he hisses, wild, wrathful eyes looking right at Bash. "You have no idea how much worse it could be."

Because he'd had his own sunshine, too. He'd made the mistake of friendship, of caring for at least one other person on that miserable voyage, and all that did was make everything hurt more, watching helplessly as their light dimmed until there was nothing left.

[midnightroads]

Bash isn't done singing yet. He's not stopping yet.

(Besides, the second verse feels thematic.)

"The other night, dear
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you
In my arms
When I awoke, dear
I was mistaken
So I hung my head and I cried"

Somewhere in the middle of the verse, he drops to his knees, he folds in on himself. It's not working, it's not working, it's not working and he doesn't know what to do.

[cacophonish]

He can see the defeat in the other man, it's screaming from head to toe as Bash sinks down and... He should gloat. Normally, he would gloat. But as Chase watches, he just... doesn't feel like it. For once.

His grip loosens on the bars, and Chase takes a step back, looking down at the demigod.

"Why won't you just let go of him?" There's no malice in his voice, for once. He sounds genuinely confused, and curious. "What makes him so special?"

Why should Jeff get everything that Chase doesn't have?

[midnightroads]

"He's my love. He's my heart. He and I have already been through hell together, and I would suffer a three-fold death to see him happy. How...how can you have his memories and not see what he means to me? Every sleepy morning, every late night, every kiss--under the influence or not. Our hearts beat as one, our lungs share air. Our minds ain't perfect, but we vibe."

He glances up with watery dark eyes. "Take the memory of the Scarlet Room, for example."

[cacophonish]

Yes, Chase has those memories, but the truth is he's refused to look into them much. It feels weird and voyeuristic, and not even in a pervy way, just... He can't stand seeing it, knowing he's never had anything like that, and he never will.

It's like every sweet, tender memory is just rubbing his own short, lonely life and abrupt death in his face. Jeff had everything. He had his magical community, he had parents who could teach him, he had real friends who knew who and what he was, and he has a lover who feels so much, who would do all this for him.

Chase lived his life pretending to be somebody he wasn't, was pulled into an addiction he had no way of knowing about, and he died at 18 with no family, and no friends.

It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. It's not--

His mouth twists in a frown, but still, for once, there's no spite in his words.

"What about it?"

CW: discussion of oral sex and object insertion. I'm sorry.

[midnightroads]

"The most important moment of that night wasn't when I had Jeff pressed up against that table with my mouth on his cock and a knob of ginger up his ass, his face bright fucking red. It was after, when he was warm and heavy and we were just cuddling it out. Singing, my hand in his hair. That, dear scrap, that's what magic really is."

And if this ghost, this specter, this revenant, this...poor, poor boy...has never felt that kind of intimacy?

Bash pities him.

[cacophonish]

No, he's never had that kind of intimacy, not with anyone. The closest he ever came was here, in fact. A platonic version of it, lazing around on those rare, quiet days with the first real friend he'd ever made. Another passenger, somebody who came to know every ugly, vicious thing about him, and still treated him like...

Well. Like a normal teenager.

And he had to watch her get ripped apart, body and soul, by the Captain and his games.

There's a stretch of silence. He glowers at some neutral spot, not looking at Bash, but rather, beyond him.

"My name's Chase." He doesn't say it because he owes Bash his name or anything. It's just... It's better than being thought of as Not-Jeff, or some anonymous, vengeful spirit. He doesn't want to his identity to exist solely in relation to this body.

"Be happy you've got those memories. It beats holding him while he's bleeding to death in a battle royale."

[midnightroads]

"I'm not going to say 'it's nice to meet you', Chase. It's not. But I acknowledge you. I recognize you for yourself."

Instead of just as a scrap.

There's a pause. He offers the thermos of coffee through the bars. It's good, dark roast. Of course he'd choose a good coffee for this.

[cacophonish]

With a sigh, he moves to sit across from Bash, on the other side of the bars. Coffee accepted.

"I didn't pick this body," he says, as if that helps anything. "It was just pure, dumb luck."

[midnightroads]

"There's no body that would have been okay. Obviously I'm attached to this one, but...these people are mine to take care of. We're a community."

He pauses, moving so he's right up against the bars.

"Do me a favor, Chase, and turn around here. I want to hold you for a bit. You, uh. Clearly never had that, have you?"

[cacophonish]

For a moment, he wonders if it's a trap. Bash gets his guard down, then chokes him out from the other side of the bars... But no, all the memories floating around Jeff's head pretty much immediately disprove that as a possibility.

He just misses Jeff. It's just sentimental desperation. Normally, Chase would see that as a weakness to exploit, but...

Screw it. Even he could use a break from fighting and scheming right now.

"Cuddles for coffee? Weird price, but okay." As if he doesn't want to be held by a hot guy, come on. Chase shifts, turns around, and leans back against the bars. "Dating wasn't really a priority back home."

There. Answering the question without explicitly admitting that, no, he doesn't have much experience being held.

[midnightroads]

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." It...sounds sincere. And the way one of Bash's hands combs up through Jeff's hair, nails scratching gently against his scalp, that's entirely intentional, meant for Chase to feel, as his other arm snakes through the bars to...

Hold him. Just. Hold him. It is gentle and tender and kind, kind in that ruthless way Bash has chosen to always be.

[cacophonish]

This feels nice, so nice, and honestly Chase doesn't really know how to compute it. Bash is still his enemy here, and Chase's goals (to live, to avoid returning to Nothing, to take out the Captain somehow) aren't going to budge, so how's he supposed to take this kindness?

It's just a temporary ceasefire. It changes nothing. He can just exist in the moment, fine.

He can't remember the last time he's done that. Just... existed.

"Ugh. Don't pity me. The guys at my school were lame."

[midnightroads]

"I'm not pitying you, Chase." The chuckle on the back of his words isn't forced. "What's to pity, anyway? I mean...if you wanna talk about it, I'm here to listen."

[cacophonish]

"There's nothing." Nothing to pity, and nothing to talk about. Of course, for as much as he says that, the resentment's plain in his voice. But, magic and homicidal tendencies aside, Chase is a pretty typical teenager, simultaneously aggrieved and unwilling to communicate.

He takes a sip of the coffee-- it is good, even with the rum-- and looks down at the arm snaked around his-- Jeff's-- body.

"You really miss him, huh." Why else would Bash be holding him right now? "Must be nice." Like, not right now, maybe, but just ever having had this at all. "I can't relate."

Okay, that's not entirely truthful.

[midnightroads]

"This is not for him. He's not here, you've already mocked me about that. This is for you, Chase. This is the absolute tiniest piece of the kindness you should always have had in your life."

He laughs, breath soft along Chase's neck as he continues to play with his hair.

"I know, accepting it is hard. But this is my gift to you."

[cacophonish]

Nope. Does not compute. He does not get this. There's a catch, some kind of string attached. Does he think this is going to make Chase give up? Make him see the errors of his way and turn on Pickles, Ginger, and the others?

He clenches his teeth for a moment, takes a breath, then takes another sip.

"I have had this before, you know." He's not a total sad sack! "Not at home. Here." He snorts a little. "There were good people on my cruise, too." Chase wouldn't consider himself one of them, but hey: not everyone was a ruthless bastard.

[midnightroads]

"Yeah? Are any of the good people possessing someone, hiding and scared? I can reach out to them for you, if you want. You know I'm not gonna out them or fuck with them."

Or is it just the ruthless bastards who had the drive to possess a fucker?

[cacophonish]

"Nah." Chase shakes his head. It could mean no, there are no good people, or it could be that he's just refusing to tell. Or maybe Chase doesn't know at all. Regardless, he's definitely not going to be naming any names-- not of his fellow ghosts, anyway.

"But--" He looks over his shoulder with a scowl, just to show how serious he is. "--and don't tell anyone this. If the Captain wakes up or stops.... whatever the hell he's doing, and we end up getting kicked back into the nothing..." He looks ahead again, away from Bash. "Can you put a name on that stupid shrine for me?"

[midnightroads]

"What shrine? I mean, I absolutely will, but where did I miss a whole-ass shrine on this ship?"

The scowl is met with a bodhisattva smile.

[cacophonish]

"Some Ava girl made a shrine for all the dearly departed of your cruise. I don't know where it is." And he wouldn't add to it even if he did. It's too pathetic for him to try.

But outsourcing that sentimentality, that's fine. Chase can live with that.

Well. In a manner of speaking.

"That cannibal cop told me about it."