[ Fourth of July doesn't really conjure up any emotions in Jefferson any which way, beyond some vague sense that he should, perhaps, care a little bit, as somebody with not one, but two sets of false memories telling him that he's an American and therefore should give a damn about the holiday. That vague sense isn't all that convincing, though, so he's really just here to drop off some food for the potluck (little sandwiches and little fruit tarts, courtesy of Go Ask Alice) and engage in some people watching.
He supposes this is his community now. His home, with his neighbors and his makeshift family of Eliot and Kenzi. It's odd, how easily he accepts it. Or perhaps it isn't. After all, he had no attachment to Storybrooke, and even in the best of times, he never really had much of a sense of home in the Enchanted Forest, either. (That's wrong. He did, once, but he can't remember why, and trying to chase that notion always turns into a dead end.) Perhaps that's why he took so well to portal jumping, once upon a time. But that's in the past-- over 1,000 years in the past, apparently. Sometimes he wonders, idly, if the curse is still in effect. If he trekked all the way to Maine, would he find Storybrooke, still suspended in time? He can't imagine Regina would be anything short of completely mad by now.
(Good. He hopes she is.)
As somebody who's spent far too long observing his small slice of the world, rather than participating in it, Jefferson has a tendency to zero in on people who seem similarly out of sorts, even in this patchwork town of misfits. So maybe that's why he finds himself watching the young woman who wanders around the celebratory gathering with a sort of... detachment that doesn't seem to shake, even through attempts at conversations. Playing at normal when you know you're out of sync with everything and everyone around you. It's not unfamiliar to Jefferson. Or maybe he's projecting. In any case, he finally approaches-- overdressed for the celebration, because really, who the hell wears a scarf in July?-- after the incident with the sparkler. ]
I hate those things, too. [ A wry half-smile. Look at him, trying for normal and casual. ]
July 4th (lmk if I should change anything!)
He supposes this is his community now. His home, with his neighbors and his makeshift family of Eliot and Kenzi. It's odd, how easily he accepts it. Or perhaps it isn't. After all, he had no attachment to Storybrooke, and even in the best of times, he never really had much of a sense of home in the Enchanted Forest, either. (That's wrong. He did, once, but he can't remember why, and trying to chase that notion always turns into a dead end.) Perhaps that's why he took so well to portal jumping, once upon a time. But that's in the past-- over 1,000 years in the past, apparently. Sometimes he wonders, idly, if the curse is still in effect. If he trekked all the way to Maine, would he find Storybrooke, still suspended in time? He can't imagine Regina would be anything short of completely mad by now.
(Good. He hopes she is.)
As somebody who's spent far too long observing his small slice of the world, rather than participating in it, Jefferson has a tendency to zero in on people who seem similarly out of sorts, even in this patchwork town of misfits. So maybe that's why he finds himself watching the young woman who wanders around the celebratory gathering with a sort of... detachment that doesn't seem to shake, even through attempts at conversations. Playing at normal when you know you're out of sync with everything and everyone around you. It's not unfamiliar to Jefferson. Or maybe he's projecting. In any case, he finally approaches-- overdressed for the celebration, because really, who the hell wears a scarf in July?-- after the incident with the sparkler. ]
I hate those things, too. [ A wry half-smile. Look at him, trying for normal and casual. ]