standless | IC INBOX

Oh goodness!

[Queenie, by the time he's following upstairs, is already toddling across Jonathan's hands, going back and forth as he does his best to keep her from simply falling down. Once they are upstairs, he finally relents- and the tiny singapura is quick to meow-meow-meow her way over to greet a new friend.]

I could never be so rude- ! I do apologize if anything I said gave reason for doubt. It is so much more difficult to determine one's tone over the laptop devices than with a handwritten missive. With handwriting, one can feel the very soul through the manner one has held their pen after all! Though it is certainly not at all as convenient... [the demon admits, taking a seat with his glass of water.]

But you're right!

[Concedes Maya immediately, staring intensely at Jonathan though her hands are outreached for Queenie to sniff.]

Writing letters is way better! It's the way to show someone your heart! And it's a lost art!

I love talking to people on the internet, but nothing beats a handwritten letter. But no one really sends them around here!

Oh-!

[While Queenie sniffs and quickly goes right for the head-bonks, Jonathan looks more like he's been told he's to be showered in ten more of the cats. After the initial shock, the sheer happiness of having someone who seems to understand (most) of what he's saying wins out in spades.] It still feels so strange to hear it spoken of as a lost art, but I'm so happy to hear such a thing from someone ahead of my own era! ...Or at the very least I assume you are? I should perhaps not take such a guess, but in complete honesty it is very rare that I encounter any from even as early as '1950', let alone my own year of 1890.

Perhaps I should offer a chance to others to restart the tradition if you feel this way yourself however! There is nothing quite like the anticipation of waiting for a missive!

[...Particularly when half of them go missing before one gets them, Dio.

Queenie, uncaring of all these complicated matters, gives a demanding meow. She's done enough head-bonks, she requires the scritches now.]

[Delightedly, Maya digs her clawed fingers into Queenie's fur, giving just the right amount of scritches. If monsters are good for anything when it comes to cats, it's scritches.

At the same time, she nods adamantly to Jonathan's ideas. As it turns out, he's quite easy to get along with.]

Right?? I mean, it's not like the postal system doesn't work here. We could all be taking advantage of it!

Writing letters is part of the fun and all, but you're right; there's nothing like getting something in the mail.

Quite right! In fact, I find that there is quite a lot of lovely stationary now available that simply wasn't in existence in my time!

[Extremely easy, especially when they apparently have very strong positive feelings about the same thing. And well, it looks like he really meant it when he said they could talk about 'anything'. Sometimes it doesn't have to be spilling trauma everywhere to get to a root or something. Sometimes it's just letters, and also cats.]

Perhaps we could start a small lettering chain? I'm not entirely certain how I'd go about it, but it would be quite lovely to receive surprise mail I should think!

I do wonder if it would be good to make some sort of quill for the occasion...

Yes!

[Maya lets Queenie still have one hand's worth of claws for scritches, but the other forms an adamant fist.]

Totally! Like a little club!

[It's good though— it would seem that Maya's really feeling more herself, acting the way she is, as if she and the sad sorry shade talking on the network weren't even the same person.]

Ugh, I never have enough time to use all the cute stationary I find here. And I go through a lot of trouble not to let it get wet, too!

Oh! A letter writing club? There certainly weren't any clubs of the sort in my time but, considering how prevalent the art was, I suppose that's the very reason for it...

Well! To begin such a thing would be the perfect way with which to make certain that stationary sees some use then! If you need, I could even show you how best to handle a quill for the 'traditional' method!

[A beaming smile, before he chuckles and rubs his head.] ...Not to say of course that there is anything improper about a 'ballpoint'- quite the contrary, I found them to be quite ingenious little things. A self-inking pen! One which can't even break the paper with any ease! But it does lack a certain aesthetic I've found.

Totally! It sounds all dreamy and old-timey! Like a samurai story.

[Is that it, Maya...?]

Well, if you teach me to use a quill, I'll have to teach you to use a calligraphy brush. Being good with one of those is pretty much a requirement of being a medium where I come from.

Or like, being any kind of traditionalist, actually.

Oh, I should very much love to read such tales..!

[They're going to quickly get the other lost if left in a room like this for too long, that much is becoming clear.] And I would absolutely love to learn such a technique in return, thank you! I've occasionally tried my hand with a painting brush, but that's undoubtedly a very different matter from one for ink!

I take it it becomes replaced by pens in a similar manner? [Jonathan asks, a bit of sympathy in his tone. Pens are wonderful, yes, but it's a shame that certain traditions falling out of favor is apparently universal.]

Oh, you know it. That and typing. I gotta admit, typing is faster and neater and all, but it's just not the same!

But I can see you're a man of taste. You totally understand.

[Still smiling, Maya leans her chin against her hand.]

Is that why you were so nice to everyone? I mean, not because of letters or anything.

[She sees herself, in Jonathan.]

But because you wanna understand.

Well I thank you for such a glowing compliment! [he easily returns.] I do my very best to be a gentleman!

[The levity does not quite disappear with Maya's question, but he does find himself pausing to consider the matter at least. Because he wants to understand...

Jonathan brings a clawed hand to his chin, looking down in thought.] ...Indeed, to understand is important to me I feel, [he begins, carefully considering where his feelings do in fact lie.] ...In coming here after all I have come to understand quite a lot more about those around me, than I could have ever understood in my own home. There is so much which brings a person to where they stand in the world, and so little had been considered in my past.

...But were it mere understanding, I do not feel I would reach so far, perhaps. It is not so important I think, to truly understand- there will indeed be matters I cannot understand I know now, no matter how hard I so desire it. Thus I cannot claim to pursue such understanding when I reach out to those around me. Rather instead...it is a desire to see that which is 'good' within each of us flourish. We are all, a great many of us, doing our best to live our lives in this place. To seek company in others, and seek what we enjoy despite any tragedy upon us.

Perhaps as well I cannot even say it is precisely to encourage good in others, but rather to provide it, [he laughs, though the sound is soft, and quiet.] For even without understanding, and without knowing what may lie within another's heart, I cannot imagine it enjoyable for anyone to experience added pain and suffering without pause.

I should like to at least provide some reprieve, perhaps. At minimum, to contribute in the opposing manner is an unnecessary, unfeeling thing for me to consider.

...Wow. You say it so fancy and romantic!

[Maya chimes in adoration, grinning ear to ear as she scritches Queenie's ears in turn.]

I think I get what you mean, though. Like, everyone's lives can already be so bad here— why do your best to be part of the problem, right?

Even the meanest people here, there's a part of them meant to be cared about by someone.

[She'd forgotten that, a little, in her anger as a Shade— but Rachel and Daniel had reminded her that even Aunamee was fit for someone to love.]

...That's really nice.

Oh my! I hope that it isn't inappropriate to accept such a compliment whilst married... [So many words seem to have changed in their meaning and intent these days that he can't be too certain of what is or isn't crossing a line now. It at least sounds like things are fine though, so he simply nods- and smiles quite warmly.]

I could not have put it any better. You have quite a kind heart yourself miss, that much is quite clear, [he adds, looking down to Queenie as the cat gives a pleased 'meow'.]

Oh, is it?

[Maya seems genuinely confused— but altogether fairly unbothered— about whether or not it's inappropriate. But the conversation carries on, and Maya's gaze instead turns to Queenie and her cute little meow.

She gives a half-smile, shrugging, and rubs Queenie's ear.]

I hope so. I think I do.

[She admits, then—]

That's why... I'm trying to stand behind those kids, no matter what, even if they make a mistake.

Everyone who was a part of that broadcast... they're younger than me. They don't have people they can count on to protect them a every moment, and even if they did... Well, I know from experience, if you can't protect yourself? Then sometimes it doesn't matter how much someone else wants to protect you.

[She knows how hard Dandy looked for her when she was poached. She doesn't believe for a second he wouldn't. But finding her wasn't up to him.]

I would have taken the fall if it meant they got the strength they needed out of it. But if I did, then Atem's plan wouldn't have worked.

[She already feels bad for defending him as harshly as she did; not because she regrets defending him, but because she'd known from the start they were trying to make Atem look like the villain on purpose. As a shade, she simply couldn't handle that level of negativity.]

[Jonathan dares not interrupt, not when he didn't expect to hear such a statement to begin with. He merely watches, and listens- occasionally nodding, however sadly.] T'was a bargain made with great cost, but a cost paid for with great intent all the same, [he speaks, bowing his head in understanding. Perhaps he cannot see how he could make such a choice himself- not along the road that was taken, at least.

But he can see now how others have taken it, particularly having spoken to the others himself. Atem and Ryou in particular wound up sitting with him over tea, and he does not regret that choice in the slightest.]

One can say many times that such grave payment should never be necessary, but that does not change the fact that it was- or at least that it appeared to be. As you said- there are times when one cannot be protected.

...if there appears but one option to gain such protection for oneself, how can I possibly lay true judgement?

[Even if he cannot agree with the actions they took-

He will never be unaware of how little choice they felt they had.]

...You did as best as you were able, [he adds with a small smile.] ...I feel they were quite fortunate to have your support, even with how things came about.

[No one expected, after all, for it to progress...Quite the way it did for Ryou, but for the same reason, she kept pretty remarkably steady he thinks.]

[Maya nods slowly, listening carefully as well. What he says doesn't sting or anything, and that's what's most surprising about it. There's just kindness, understanding.

She gives a half-hearted smile in return.]

I hope you're right.

[and once again returns to petting Queenie, smiling a little broader.]

In a place like this, we only get to find out if we've made the right choices by waiting and seeing, huh?

Just so, [he answers quietly, his own smile small but no less confident.] It would be quite foolish of anyone to expect perfection from us all- but for certain, if we but try our best, I expect the outcome to be more optimistic than not.

[A pause- and quietly, he adds a small joke to bring the mood up further.] ...I should certainly think some letter writing can only end well, at least.

[Somehow, it seems to restore Maya's spirits.]

Then I'll hold you to it.

So if your letters are boring, I'll make sure to complain a bunch!

[Teasing and playfulness are what she's best at, and the light seems to return to her face.]

Well! [Jonathan just laughs.] In that case, I shall endeavor to write the very best missives I have ever created!

Ho ho ho! Your Secret Santa giftee is ISABELA MADRIGAL, A.K.A. "HermosaFlor" on the network. Lovely young lady, I'm sure you'll find her something nice.

Buy or make Isabela a gift by December 26, or Santa will come down your chimney and box your ears.

If you need more information, contact me C/O Hawkeye Pierce at Crowe Clinic, and I'll delegate him to tell you to do your own research.

[ Jonathan receives a present from the Ring-Spirit! It's a hefty little wooden box with a latch lid and two drawers; and inside are a few art supplies. The attached note reads: merry Christmas/Nattensfest/whatever. I didn't know if you have a preference, so I got the one that seemed to have a bit of everything drawing/painting-related. (also, show up early for our next session, your birdtail's discovered something we need to go over before everyone else arrives.) -Richard ]

Edited 2022-12-12 09:38 (UTC)

[ Early in the evening, Eddie awkwardly finds himself outside the door of one Jonathan Joestar with a gift in hand. It takes him a while to figure out the best place to leave it so that it won't get stolen, but considering how many flights of stairs he had to climb to get up here in the first place, maybe that's not a concern.

From his brief conversing with the man at the cosmetics store, Eddie learned a surprising amount from him, actually, and so the wrapped box contains two things: a tin with a selection of cookies and biscuits, the kind you're supposed to serve with tea, or so he thinks. There's also a framed ink drawing, it's a cat that bears an uncanny resemblance to the one usually hitching a ride on the behemoth of a man's shoulders, hissing, or perhaps roaring at the viewer. She has scaled wings and horns not too dissimilar to Jonathan's, one of her paws raised with claws displayed. The only identifiers anywhere on the box is a gift tag that reads 'from your secret santa' in a messy and uneven scrawl. ]

[A fellow lover of archaeology also receives a gift from the local professor. Jojo gets an old book with old tales of Day and Night myths, along with more modern tales framing monsters as creatures to be cautious around.]

Happy learning, Mr. Joestar! I hope to see you in the new year. - Triffany

[The box is rather small, but it's wrapped in bright orange paper, and a card with Jonathon's name on it. Inside is a set of mahjong tiles carved out of wood-- probably from the Night Market, but it's an unusual pick nonetheless. Jonathon just seems like the type who'd enjoy a chill game?]

[ It's been a week since people began returning to normal, longer since his encounter with Sparkling, that's left partially healed gashes across his chest. Now more than ever he feels like this meetup with Jonathan, this tiny slice of normality they've carved out for themselves, in spite of all the things that are constantly happening around them, it's something he needs. They set a time and a place, and, when it eventually rolls around; Abbacchio isn't there.

He's not far, in fairness. Maybe three, four blocks away.

When he'd left that evening, he knew something was wrong. He took care to eat extra this week, still recovering from the injuries— it's been easier, to maintain certain needs when Fugo is so meticulous about feeding — and yet, something is still off. It's like an itch that crawls up his spine.

A commotion outside a corner store draws his attention, and when he reaches the scene it's to see two men, one of them palming off something to the other, this one in a clean, neatly pressed uniform. Something flashes in him, something irate that lingers just under the surface most days and reaches its boiling point. He diverts his route, following after the police officer, and it's like something switches on, and he's engaged, activated. He's no longer pursuing a dirty cop, he's hunting prey, and he kicks off the ground to swoop at the officer, adrenaline flooding into his system as an instinctual, hungering desire overtaking every conscious thought.

Claws sink deep into the man's shoulder blades, bone gives in under his pressure — he lets out the start of a scream, silenced in an instant by a sharp snap, head left turned at an unnatural angle. Just as fast as he'd lunged, he takes off again to the air, pupils nothing more than narrow slits as he searches across the city's skyline for somewhere to take his prize.

The scent of blood reaches him, and it's overwhelming, intoxicating in how sweet it smells. But it quickly turns saccharine, roils his stomach to the point it becomes nauseating as the adrenaline begins to fade. It's happening again — it's happening again, and he doesn't know why, because he's been careful — he's been so careful to make sure that something like this doesn't happen, that he doesn't lose his sense of self, that he doesn't lose control.

When the high wears off, he's left with shaking hands, coated in cooling blood, and the dawning horror of realisation at the sight of the officer with dark brown hair and a broken neck, his face contorted and frozen in fear, blood pooling beneath him and staining his crisp white dress shirt a deep red. It's an image that is so hauntingly familiar, one that's etched into his very bones, one that he sees when he closes his eyes. It knocks all the air from his lungs.

Abbacchio doesn't move, hasn't realised that in his pursuit, it led him closer to the kitschy café he and Jonathan had chosen this time, he's only a street away, tucked into a dingy alley. He's not easy to overlook, imposing as his figure is, but the way he's on the floor and backed himself up against the wall, knees tight against his chest, his wings curled around him; he blends in with the surroundings. The only indication there's anyone in the alley are low broken breaths and the occasional quiet, choked sob. ]

IC INBOX | RYSLIG

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

stares distantly at my attempts to use nib pens and cries

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

if this is hard to parse lmk bc sometimes Jonathan's Jonathanisms get Odd

NO YOU'RE GOOD

no subject

no subject

no subject

<KrisKringle>

sometime in December, before Dec-23

dec 24.

Nattenfest 2022!

Nattensfest

action, jan 30 | cw broken bones, murder, panic + trauma response

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, JOJO. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 336.66.256.63 * JOJO has joined 336.66.256.63 <JOJO...?>** Technically this message doesn't exist. Jonathan doesn't actually have a laptop. I just needed an Inbox.