[whatever sharon was doing gets interrupted by something bizarre. or at least it doesn't seem strange for the first few seconds, as she hears someone singing.
the voice is familiar, but if there's a rare probability that she is questioning who it belong to, she will spot jinx dancing to her own song. it's a... strange way to dance but at least she is in better spirits? it's hard to tell, really. ]
[ It's like a new frequency tunes in, and Sharon stills, holding the mask a little more tightly to her face as if that would strengthen whatever connection is being formed. And then—singing. A familiar voice, a familiar face.
There's a spark of joy, hot and bright, as she recognizes Jinx. The other will get flashes of a notebook, the lines of the pages filled with Sharon's sharp, angled writing. It's hard to make out the words, but sketches of faces line the margins. There are some faces she might recognize, but hers is the one that comes in most clearly. ]
Dancer, singer, and demolition diva. [ The words appear in her angled writing, tilted, messy, but readable. ] What can't you do?
[the writing comes just as chicken scratchy, messy, but more thick-lined.]
I'm the symbol of Zaun, the new Janna, Toots. I can do just about anything.
[there's a cheeky sensation radiating in those words, but then it eases and smooths its way to be playful yet a coy little energy.]
Missing me?
[or, at least, that's how she's reading that excited moment just now when they "connected" with each other. and to add entertainment to their interactions (at least to herself), a silly thought blinks by—it lingers long enough for counterpart to see its glory before it vanishes entirely.]
[ The past few days have been overcast and windy, gusts making the older window panes rattle. There's a light dusting of snow on the ground, barely enough to leave a shoe print in, let alone make it hard to travel through. But, between the freeze and the wind, he hasn't set serious foot outside in at least a few days. It makes him feel cooped up, his usual inability to handle idleness mixed in with the restlessness that's been flaring under his skin in small jolts.
Today, though, the weak winter sun is peeking through a haze of clouds and there's no wind. While it isn't warm, it's pleasant enough to be out in for a decent amount of time. Which he intends to do, a plan forming.
Poking his head into the study, he finds Sharon cozied up in one of the squashy armchairs. ]
[ She perks up at the question, a quick grin tugging at her lips. With the cold keeping them holed up, she’s spent the past few days buried in books—sketching, journaling, reading—just trying to keep her mind busy. ]
Hell yeah. [ She's already shedding the blanket as she gets to her feet, dropping her journal and pencil onto the growing pile of worn books and papers. Like him, she’s been on edge. Restless. And after weeks of this, it’s hard not to feel like she should be doing something. ]
Been thinking about going outside anyway. [ she adds as she grab her coat, gloves still tucked in the pockets. The idea of freezing doesn’t bother her. Not right now. She just needs to move. ] Even just to retread places we've already searched.
[ Sharon perks up and elicits an enthusiastic hell yeah as she unravels herself from the blanket nest, which he flashes a smile over. Good to know he'd been reading the restless energy right. ]
Any more days indoors and I'd be doing something drastic. [ Maybe nothing totally ill-advised, but something. Anything.
He shrugs into his own coat, looping a scarf around his neck, and checks the pockets for his gloves. Slinging a backpack over one shoulder—which rattles noisily—he tosses an extra scarf towards Sharon. ]
Keep your neck warm at least, you heathen. [ The last thing any of them needs is to deal with a cold on top of everything else. He picks up the rifle case then, nodding to the matching one for the pistol. ]
Grab that, would you?
[ Once sufficiently packed up and winterized, with a brief stop to leave Freddie a note of where they went and when they'll be back, it's out into the chill mid-morning. At the first visible clouded breath, he's practically beaming. Understated, but beaming all the same. ] The handles are gonna be fucking freezing.
[ the next time sharon puts on her mask, or perhaps gets the feeling to pick it up like a ringing phone, she'll get— a feeling, like someone has knocked on her door, thought twice about being a little louder, then left. ]
Sharon?
[ and that's it. jayce did not feel welcomed enough to intrude or even insist. ]
[ it's such a strange feeling, like he's trying not to intrude. she finds herself appreciating it. that sense of consideration. ]
Everything okay, Jayce? [ his connection is recognizable, instantly familiar in how he tries to make himself smaller—to be less imposing than he could be. ]
Hey, [ despite sharing a blooming sense of relief, jayce is significantly watered down, a tired sort of response that braids within the words he sends, even if he's not necessarily saying anything outloud. ] are you busy?
[Kalmiya greets her with the enthusiasm of a dog whose person has come home unexpectedly early from work, wiggles and all. At...what she hopes is a decent time of day, but that's sort of hard to discern when the concepts of both day and time have gotten so loose.]
[ There is something so positively overwhelming about the way Kalmiya greets her—excitable in a way that almost feels good. It pulls an immediate grin from her. ]
I mean... for lack of a better word, yeah. [ She knows for a fact that is not the word Arthur used. ] Why? [ A hint of playful suspicion. ] Did he do something stupid?
[ Is she already willing to say something on Kalmiya's behalf? Yes. Yes, she is. Congratulations, girl. ]
[There's a snort of laughter at lack of a better word.] He didn't say "friend," but it's incredibly difficult to bullshit me.
[Subdued though it was, he had seemed happy when she brought up Sharon's name.]
Nothing stupid yet, though! [Yet, just as teasing in response. She's very pleased at how eagerly Sharon comes up to bat.] Actually, he was showing me a few places to get supplies. He's awfully helpful, isn't he?
[ There's a deep, pulsing ache that comes from her end of the Murmur, but there's an additional hint of surprised appreciation at the sound of Toki's voice. ]
I mean—I'm alive now, but I'm pretty sure it killed me last night. [ Not pretty sure. She's confident it did. ] You—you got away, right?
[It doesn't seem as bad a fate as it could be, seeing as she's clearly alive now, but she definitely doesn't sound great.]
It didn't get me... but I guess I got lucky. Kept trying to go after it. [It feels more stupid now that he's not in the throes of whatever was compelling him towards the thing.]
[It's vague and hard to make out but with some effort a voice can heard whispering across tethered connection between Sharon and Ash. It's a low gravely voice that certainly isn't something Ash could mimic.]
[ The voice that whispers across the tether sets Sharon's teeth on edge, a single chill racing down her spine. Following the thread leads her right back to— ] Ash?
[ That... can't be right. ] Hey, hey, tell me you're there.
[it's only been an hour since her conversation with sharon, even though it feels longer without any real concept of time on their side. and as promised, she is making her way to the townhouse, her gaze lingering at the building while she chews on her lower lip. 'this is stupid', she thinks, contemplating just telling sharon she feels all better now and dipping off elsewhere. except the problem is, her friend can already hear her "this is stupid" comment and is possibly on her way to the door.
her nails comb through her locks with a sigh, then she kicks a rusted can out of her walkway as she paces onward. when she's at the door, she doesn't knock... probably doesn't need to; her side of the thread is fluttering with nerves for so many different reasons balled into one big cluck. it'd be silly to notice it. it'll take her (them) hours just to smooth it out, and she exhales an exasperating sigh about that, too. because here she is again... causing trouble, being more work than helpful. another kick to the dirt, and jinx shoves her fists in her pockets with her head tilting back and nose in the air.]
[ Sharon pays close attention to the tether between them as she waits. The closer Jinx draws, the sharper that awareness becomes. A faint thought flickers through from the other end: this is stupid. Sharon exhales softly, her lips twitching. She doesn't think it's stupid to need someone. Everyone does. To be held, to be seen, to feel safe... It's human.
She opens the door just as the other girl reaches it, leaning casually against the frame. Her gray pajamas are loose and smeared with dried paint in uneven streaks and spatters, her hair a frizzy halo of bleach blonde. The scent of smoke and paint cling faintly to her skin. ]
It's not stupid. [ Sharon says quietly, reaching to tug her inside, leading her toward the stairs. ] It's normal.
[ Her room is a bit of a mess. The bed is piled with blankets and pillows and looks like it's never once been made. True to her word, no weapons are visible, though there's a knife beneath the mattress and a baseball bat hidden in the closet. An easel stands off to the side with a painting still damp and red. A nearby desk is crowded with paint-stained glasses, brushes, and palettes, their colors hardened into tiny mountains.
There's a pile of dirty clothes next to the hamper in one corner—she's no Kobe!—and a plush chair covered in uneven stacks of books in another. Only the nightstand seems spared from the mess, and on it rests a single flickering candle, a worn sketchbook, and her golden mask. As she closes the bedroom door behind them, she says: ] Welcome to chez Sharon. [ Look, she knows a French word. ] Maybe I should've done a blanket fort instead of a... [ She glances at the pile.
[somehow, the heat rushing across her freckled cheeks and ears still spiked when her friend decided to comment on her thoughts, and she wanted to shove her hands even further down her pockets, except sharon had other plans and hauled her inside. jinx lets her, pacing close behind as her eyes quickly scan around her home, taking in the decor and the like while they travel up the stairs.
the room is, indeed, a mess, but she shows no discomfort towards it. it's about the same as her own back in runeterra, except there are no tools, screws, or bolts to be stepped on. jinx does the courtesy thing and toes off her boots, placing them by the doorway, and maneuvers further in—particularly towards the easel. the teenager cocks her head to one side as she admires the artwork, not at all bothered with how the eyes stare back at her judgmentally or with an attempt to make her feel unsettled. she wonders if that's what her friend was going for with the painting—to see if anyone can withhold their gaze long enough until they need to tear away from it.]
It is way too early for that much pep. [ Her brain can't handle that before noon—and not without some shitty instant coffee first. ] Are all vets like this? [ Even in her sleepy haze, she recognizes the murmur signature. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
voice + projected but then later telepathic text
the voice is familiar, but if there's a rare probability that she is questioning who it belong to, she will spot jinx dancing to her own song. it's a... strange way to dance but at least she is in better spirits? it's hard to tell, really. ]
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There's a spark of joy, hot and bright, as she recognizes Jinx. The other will get flashes of a notebook, the lines of the pages filled with Sharon's sharp, angled writing. It's hard to make out the words, but sketches of faces line the margins. There are some faces she might recognize, but hers is the one that comes in most clearly. ]
Dancer, singer, and demolition diva. [ The words appear in her angled writing, tilted, messy, but readable. ] What can't you do?
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I'm the symbol of Zaun, the new Janna, Toots. I can do just about anything.
[there's a cheeky sensation radiating in those words, but then it eases and smooths its way to be playful yet a coy little energy.]
Missing me?
[or, at least, that's how she's reading that excited moment just now when they "connected" with each other. and to add entertainment to their interactions (at least to herself), a silly thought blinks by—it lingers long enough for counterpart to see its glory before it vanishes entirely.]
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action > some time in the 3rd week idk
Today, though, the weak winter sun is peeking through a haze of clouds and there's no wind. While it isn't warm, it's pleasant enough to be out in for a decent amount of time. Which he intends to do, a plan forming.
Poking his head into the study, he finds Sharon cozied up in one of the squashy armchairs. ]
Feel up for some target practice?
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Hell yeah. [ She's already shedding the blanket as she gets to her feet, dropping her journal and pencil onto the growing pile of worn books and papers. Like him, she’s been on edge. Restless. And after weeks of this, it’s hard not to feel like she should be doing something. ]
Been thinking about going outside anyway. [ she adds as she grab her coat, gloves still tucked in the pockets. The idea of freezing doesn’t bother her. Not right now. She just needs to move. ] Even just to retread places we've already searched.
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Any more days indoors and I'd be doing something drastic. [ Maybe nothing totally ill-advised, but something. Anything.
He shrugs into his own coat, looping a scarf around his neck, and checks the pockets for his gloves. Slinging a backpack over one shoulder—which rattles noisily—he tosses an extra scarf towards Sharon. ]
Keep your neck warm at least, you heathen. [ The last thing any of them needs is to deal with a cold on top of everything else. He picks up the rifle case then, nodding to the matching one for the pistol. ]
Grab that, would you?
[ Once sufficiently packed up and winterized, with a brief stop to leave Freddie a note of where they went and when they'll be back, it's out into the chill mid-morning. At the first visible clouded breath, he's practically beaming. Understated, but beaming all the same. ] The handles are gonna be fucking freezing.
[ And yet, he sounds delighted. ]
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some time during week 4
Sharon?
[ and that's it. jayce did not feel welcomed enough to intrude or even insist. ]
;;; jayceeee
Everything okay, Jayce? [ his connection is recognizable, instantly familiar in how he tries to make himself smaller—to be less imposing than he could be. ]
:')
Hey, [ despite sharing a blooming sense of relief, jayce is significantly watered down, a tired sort of response that braids within the words he sends, even if he's not necessarily saying anything outloud. ] are you busy?
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july event, week 4ish?? hand wobbling motion
[Kalmiya greets her with the enthusiasm of a dog whose person has come home unexpectedly early from work, wiggles and all. At...what she hopes is a decent time of day, but that's sort of hard to discern when the concepts of both day and time have gotten so loose.]
You're friends with Arthur, right?
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I mean... for lack of a better word, yeah. [ She knows for a fact that is not the word Arthur used. ] Why? [ A hint of playful suspicion. ] Did he do something stupid?
[ Is she already willing to say something on Kalmiya's behalf? Yes. Yes, she is. Congratulations, girl. ]
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[Subdued though it was, he had seemed happy when she brought up Sharon's name.]
Nothing stupid yet, though! [Yet, just as teasing in response. She's very pleased at how eagerly Sharon comes up to bat.] Actually, he was showing me a few places to get supplies. He's awfully helpful, isn't he?
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early week 1
That shit kinda sucked, huh? [An understatement.] You okay?
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I mean—I'm alive now, but I'm pretty sure it killed me last night. [ Not pretty sure. She's confident it did. ] You—you got away, right?
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[It doesn't seem as bad a fate as it could be, seeing as she's clearly alive now, but she definitely doesn't sound great.]
It didn't get me... but I guess I got lucky. Kept trying to go after it. [It feels more stupid now that he's not in the throes of whatever was compelling him towards the thing.]
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Sometime late at night through October
Let them all die, child, so all of us can live...
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[ That... can't be right. ] Hey, hey, tell me you're there.
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It takes a second or two before she answers. She sounds tired and bleary]
Ugh... Yeah?
I'm here.
Kind of late for a call, isn't it?
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action;
her nails comb through her locks with a sigh, then she kicks a rusted can out of her walkway as she paces onward. when she's at the door, she doesn't knock... probably doesn't need to; her side of the thread is fluttering with nerves for so many different reasons balled into one big cluck. it'd be silly to notice it. it'll take her (them) hours just to smooth it out, and she exhales an exasperating sigh about that, too. because here she is again... causing trouble, being more work than helpful. another kick to the dirt, and jinx shoves her fists in her pockets with her head tilting back and nose in the air.]
... Fuck.
action;
She opens the door just as the other girl reaches it, leaning casually against the frame. Her gray pajamas are loose and smeared with dried paint in uneven streaks and spatters, her hair a frizzy halo of bleach blonde. The scent of smoke and paint cling faintly to her skin. ]
It's not stupid. [ Sharon says quietly, reaching to tug her inside, leading her toward the stairs. ] It's normal.
[ Her room is a bit of a mess. The bed is piled with blankets and pillows and looks like it's never once been made. True to her word, no weapons are visible, though there's a knife beneath the mattress and a baseball bat hidden in the closet. An easel stands off to the side with a painting still damp and red. A nearby desk is crowded with paint-stained glasses, brushes, and palettes, their colors hardened into tiny mountains.
There's a pile of dirty clothes next to the hamper in one corner—she's no Kobe!—and a plush chair covered in uneven stacks of books in another. Only the nightstand seems spared from the mess, and on it rests a single flickering candle, a worn sketchbook, and her golden mask. As she closes the bedroom door behind them, she says: ] Welcome to chez Sharon. [ Look, she knows a French word. ] Maybe I should've done a blanket fort instead of a... [ She glances at the pile.
Well.
It's comfy, at least. ]
action;
the room is, indeed, a mess, but she shows no discomfort towards it. it's about the same as her own back in runeterra, except there are no tools, screws, or bolts to be stepped on. jinx does the courtesy thing and toes off her boots, placing them by the doorway, and maneuvers further in—particularly towards the easel. the teenager cocks her head to one side as she admires the artwork, not at all bothered with how the eyes stare back at her judgmentally or with an attempt to make her feel unsettled. she wonders if that's what her friend was going for with the painting—to see if anyone can withhold their gaze long enough until they need to tear away from it.]
Merci.
[she says finally, in french, of course.]
action;
action;
action;
action;
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laptop, please work with me here.
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This might sound crazy.
But I kind of organized a group to go into the subway.
...And it turns out it wasn't really a total waste of effort this time around.
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You weren't hurt, were you? [ She wants to clear that first before they discuss anything else. ]
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november, week 4;
Good morning.
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