INTO THE ENDLESS: It's pure dumb luck, rather than any navigational skills, that sends Jeff on the right path, towards civilization. And not a moment too soon, because he is so not dressed for the cold. Even after spending so many years in Virginia, there's still too much of Southern California in his blood to ever get used to snow.
He's just glad he wasn't wearing his birkenstocks when he... blacked out, disassociated, wandered into some woods? In... Canada. (There's no reason to assume this is Canada, other than it's the first place that comes to mind when confronted with this much fucking snow.) Anyway. Considering the very likely alternative, socks and closed-toed shoes are a total lifesaver right now. Jeff just wishes he'd thought to put a fucking jacket on before, apparently, losing his fucking mind.
God. How far from home is he?
The thing is, this isn't the first time he's done something like this. Maybe that's why Jeff's not totally fucking hysterical as he trudges into the town. There's a numb sort of familiarity to being so lost and unmoored, old and buried under twenty years of therapy and totally healthy coping mechanisms. It keeps him... somewhat level. Calm. Chill. Copacetic.
OH THANK GOD THERE'S A HUMAN BEING. Jeff picks up his pace, waving an arm to catch their attention.
"Oh-- Hey! Hello! Can you help, I'm-- Jesus fuck!"
Okay, maybe he's not so level and calm and chill and copacetic, after all. And it's not exactly the first impression he wants to give: shrill and flailing as he stumbles into a deceptively deep snowbank.
BODIES WITHOUT SOULS: There's something in the corner of his eye. Just as Jeff walks by the shop, it's there, in the window. Someone, something, a figure moving and watching... until he turns his head to look directly at it. Then there's nothing.
Could be his imagination. Should be his imagination. But god, it pulls a ball of dread up from the pit of his stomach, nauseatingly intimate, because that's how it started, all those years ago. Something in the corner of his eye. A figment in reflections. A whisper in airwaves. Then the next thing he knows, he can't watch TV without the actors looking right at him. He can't listen to the radio without the DJ talking to him. He can't look in the mirror without seeing some kind of something, and he sees music all around him, and hears chords instead of words and he blacks out for days and wakes up in fucking Fresno or something. This is how it starts. He's twenty years old and going crazy, all over again.
Jeff closes his eyes, hissing under his breath: "You're not here."
There's no response, which is, of course, the response he wants, and after a moment of silence, Jeff's ready to open his eyes, look at the window to confirm there's nothing there but sweet, blissful (weird, scary, fucked up, because seriously, where the hell is he and what's going on?) reality... and move on.
It's just an abandoned shop. One of many in this creepy wasteland of a town. Totally mundane, totally empty. He starts to walk away.
Tap tap tap from the shop window. Jeff whirls to face it, and he could swear, just before he focuses, that there's somebody there, even if he can't see any life inside the store.
"Oh, fuck you, dude!"
He's just a totally ordinary middle aged man, yelling at a window. Nothing to see here!
THE END APPROACHES: Jeff scours the bulletin board, a cocktail of hope and dread swirling in his guts as he looks for any familiar names. It doesn't take long before he spots some familiar handwriting, confirmed with a helpful signature. Thanks, Athena! Just under her message, Jeff scrawls out:
ATHENA!! WHERE ARE YOU?
Wait, as far as she knows, he could be any random weirdo asking for her location. So he quickly adds:
THIS IS JEFF BTW
That should do it.
...
No, wait. Just in case it needs to be said, he scribbles further clarification:
JEFF CALHOUN☺
Okay, good. Now all he has to do is wait for her to find this note, and then come back later to see if she wrote some helpful note back and then they can play bulletin board tag until they find each other again-- oh fuck it. He's a bard; he's got a shortcut at his disposal. Yanking Athena's note off the bulletin board, he holds it in his hand, closes his eyes, annnnd...
Well, as far as any bystander can see, he's singing softly to a piece of paper. But it's totally more than that. It's magic.
(Normally.)
"The light in me will guide you home. All I want is to be your harbor..."
It's a song that means something to Athena, a song he probably never would have heard if she hadn't introduced it to him. And that significance should help give the spell an extra boost and guide him to her...
Aaaany second now...
WILDCARD: [ Choose your own adventure! Character info can be found here. tldr he's a suburban wizard, a high school teacher, a single dad, and a former rock star bard, just trying to live a totally boring life after surviving a brush with demonic possession in his youth. ]
jeff calhoun | oc
It's pure dumb luck, rather than any navigational skills, that sends Jeff on the right path, towards civilization. And not a moment too soon, because he is so not dressed for the cold. Even after spending so many years in Virginia, there's still too much of Southern California in his blood to ever get used to snow.
He's just glad he wasn't wearing his birkenstocks when he... blacked out, disassociated, wandered into some woods? In... Canada. (There's no reason to assume this is Canada, other than it's the first place that comes to mind when confronted with this much fucking snow.) Anyway. Considering the very likely alternative, socks and closed-toed shoes are a total lifesaver right now. Jeff just wishes he'd thought to put a fucking jacket on before, apparently, losing his fucking mind.
God. How far from home is he?
The thing is, this isn't the first time he's done something like this. Maybe that's why Jeff's not totally fucking hysterical as he trudges into the town. There's a numb sort of familiarity to being so lost and unmoored, old and buried under twenty years of therapy and totally healthy coping mechanisms. It keeps him... somewhat level. Calm. Chill. Copacetic.
OH THANK GOD THERE'S A HUMAN BEING. Jeff picks up his pace, waving an arm to catch their attention.
"Oh-- Hey! Hello! Can you help, I'm-- Jesus fuck!"
Okay, maybe he's not so level and calm and chill and copacetic, after all. And it's not exactly the first impression he wants to give: shrill and flailing as he stumbles into a deceptively deep snowbank.
BODIES WITHOUT SOULS:
There's something in the corner of his eye. Just as Jeff walks by the shop, it's there, in the window. Someone, something, a figure moving and watching... until he turns his head to look directly at it. Then there's nothing.
Could be his imagination. Should be his imagination. But god, it pulls a ball of dread up from the pit of his stomach, nauseatingly intimate, because that's how it started, all those years ago. Something in the corner of his eye. A figment in reflections. A whisper in airwaves. Then the next thing he knows, he can't watch TV without the actors looking right at him. He can't listen to the radio without the DJ talking to him. He can't look in the mirror without seeing some kind of something, and he sees music all around him, and hears chords instead of words and he blacks out for days and wakes up in fucking Fresno or something. This is how it starts. He's twenty years old and going crazy, all over again.
Jeff closes his eyes, hissing under his breath: "You're not here."
There's no response, which is, of course, the response he wants, and after a moment of silence, Jeff's ready to open his eyes, look at the window to confirm there's nothing there but sweet, blissful (weird, scary, fucked up, because seriously, where the hell is he and what's going on?) reality... and move on.
It's just an abandoned shop. One of many in this creepy wasteland of a town. Totally mundane, totally empty. He starts to walk away.
Tap tap tap from the shop window. Jeff whirls to face it, and he could swear, just before he focuses, that there's somebody there, even if he can't see any life inside the store.
"Oh, fuck you, dude!"
He's just a totally ordinary middle aged man, yelling at a window. Nothing to see here!
THE END APPROACHES:
Jeff scours the bulletin board, a cocktail of hope and dread swirling in his guts as he looks for any familiar names. It doesn't take long before he spots some familiar handwriting, confirmed with a helpful signature. Thanks, Athena! Just under her message, Jeff scrawls out:
ATHENA!! WHERE ARE YOU?
Wait, as far as she knows, he could be any random weirdo asking for her location. So he quickly adds:
THIS IS JEFF BTW
That should do it.
...
No, wait. Just in case it needs to be said, he scribbles further clarification:
JEFF CALHOUN ☺
Okay, good. Now all he has to do is wait for her to find this note, and then come back later to see if she wrote some helpful note back and then they can play bulletin board tag until they find each other again-- oh fuck it. He's a bard; he's got a shortcut at his disposal. Yanking Athena's note off the bulletin board, he holds it in his hand, closes his eyes, annnnd...
Well, as far as any bystander can see, he's singing softly to a piece of paper. But it's totally more than that. It's magic.
(Normally.)
"The light in me will guide you home. All I want is to be your harbor..."
It's a song that means something to Athena, a song he probably never would have heard if she hadn't introduced it to him. And that significance should help give the spell an extra boost and guide him to her...
Aaaany second now...
WILDCARD:
[ Choose your own adventure! Character info can be found here. tldr he's a suburban wizard, a high school teacher, a single dad, and a former rock star bard, just trying to live a totally boring life after surviving a brush with demonic possession in his youth. ]