[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]

"Well." He shrugs. "I'd tell you to ask my mom, but she's dead."

Cue sad trombone. Not that he seems particularly upset about the fact. It's not like he even knew his birth mom, anyway. She died before he was even old enough to commit her face to memory.

He leans forward on his cot, clasping his hands together. "You know, I do think I'm cute! That's one thing Jeff had going for him." A scoff, before he mutters, "Pretty much the only thing, really."

Moving on.

"Anyway. Think you can get away before I light you on fire again? We didn't start the fire--" He begins to sing, though there's no magical intention behind it. "Oops. Well. Guess I did start the fire."

[ss_buttcrack]

"Oh yeah? Mine's dead too, but at least I knew she loved me." You wanna trade sick burns, let's go little man.

"Jeff is cute. You don't wear it as well. Because part of his being cute is having a winning personality and that's not something some cheap replacement like you can manage."

And yet, despite his bravado, he does flinch slightly when the singing starts, before he's filled with rage anew. Now he's back on his feet, rushing forward to point a finger through the bars.

"Hey, asshole, you still owe me a new vest after that shit you pulled. Don't give me a reason to come in there and make you pay for it. I'm not running."

[cacophonish]

He brings a hand to his chest in true, genuine suffering!

"Ouch! You're comparing me to a knock-off Gucci bag? I'm the one who comes from money here." Because truly, that's the biggest offense here! Screw the digs at his dead mom, what does he care?

(Okay, fine, he cares a little, and his retort is nothing more than a "LOOK OVER THERE!" Look, Chase is pretty sensitive about parents and bloodline and all that crap.)

In any case, since he is a teenager and all, Chase has an uncanny sense for spotting weakness. He catches that flinch, and lets out a (probably familiar, probably very annoying by now) gleeful laugh.

"Try it." Seriously, give the door a go! It's locked from the inside, buddy. "Besiiiides, I'm sure you can find a new vest at--" He wiggles his fingers. "Spirit. They've got a Leather Daddy Han Solo costume back there, right?"

[ss_buttcrack]

"Yeah, well, look where all that money got you, huh? Have you ever had someone love you the way Jeff is loved? I don't see anyone crossing universes to come find you." He's full of low blows today. He told Bash, he's not the same kind of man. Choosing kindness is hard. Especially when you have to listen to your murderer laughing like that.

"See, but I took the last one I got off a dead guy. Feel like I should replace it in the same way. Don't you think?"

[cacophonish]

His expression darkens for a moment. Looks like that low blow hit its mark.

"Big deal," he spits back. "I've seen what all that love did to Bash. The guy's hurting."

Make the mistake of falling in love, and that person's doomed to become a pawn in someone else's game. Pass. (Really. He's fine. He's totally fine never dating or falling in love, you have no idea--)

"Mm." He squints, holds his fingers apart like he's trying to measure Crichton from afar-- his chest, specifically. "I don't know if you'd fit in Jeff's clothes. Unless you're going for the skin tight look. Wait..." Cue a look of mock concern. "What... what would Bash think about you killing his lover and wearing his clothes?"

[ss_buttcrack]

Bullseye. A self-satisfied smirk works its way onto the cupid bow of his lips. Then it spreads into a much meaner smile.

"Of course, he's hurting, you idiot. We all are. Aren't you supposed to have Jeff's memories or something? You should know that poor bastard's been hurting all his damn life. What does he choose to do about it? He became a better man than you or me. If something happens to him, people will care. Can you say the same?"

Unfortunately, Chase has once more called his bluff. He couldn't shoot when his life depended on it before. He's not really going to do anything here either.

"Jeff would be disappointed if I stretched his clothes, so out of respect for him, I'm not going to."