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[royalpassport]

Who: Jefferson and OPEN
Where: Jefferson's tea shop, Go Ask Alice
When: Anytime from March 1 - 10 (barring events, in which case I'll edit this)
What: Just a catch-all now that Jefferson's F I N A L L Y not hiding inside his house 24/7
Warnings: References to mental illness, at most. Will update as necessary.

[Open]

When the snow cleared enough for businesses to open again, Jefferson decided it was time to finally venture into the shop he owns. His mind being as muddled as it is, he couldn't remember actually running this place. It was like... his ownership of the tea shop was a fact that he knew, intellectually, but he couldn't muster any feelings or impressions associated with it.

Not until he set foot inside, anyway. Then it came to him, scattered recollections of setting up shop and managing day-to-day operations worming their way back into his head. Yes, he realized, as he made his way through the shop, from the front room to the back, this is mine. And yet, even then... Certain things were jarring, at odds with his sense of self, such as it is, fragmented and quite possibly deluded.

The decor, it's all wrong. Not to his tastes, even if he can recall picking out this thing and that. And besides, there's something about the mere idea of teatime that sets him on edge, though he can't quite place the why of it.

But at least this little tea shop is something of a sanctuary. If he's here, then he doesn't have to be in that hostile, unpleasant place he's forced to call home. So he opened the shop back up and, with much of the staff having moved on during those weeks he kept the business closed with no word of ever reopening, he's left operating with a skeleton crew. It keeps him busy, if nothing else, and distracted from the mad, impossible fantasies swimming in his head.

By now, he practically lives at the tea shop. Sometimes, he even sleeps in the office here. It's not the healthiest way of going about his life, but a reliance on unhealthy coping mechanisms, too, is familiar. At least there's a strange comfort in that.

Comments

Vague sometime after the events of the intro log

[onteamdyson]

The tea shop might not be to his particular tastes, but there's something that catches the eye of a young, slightly dazed, really confused young woman passing by on her way down the street. She stops at the window, peering in, a faint smile briefly ghosting across her face. It looks cute. Nice and bright. The vintage charm makes her think of some elegant lady with her pinky up, sipping from a china teacup with some little sandwiches.

Don't these places usually have desserts? Little cakes and cookies and stuff? Kenzi's stomach seems to growl an answer along the lines of probably, just go in. Who is she to argue with her stomach? It's not like she has anywhere else to be or anyone to meet. Well, she might, but she can't remember anyone else or anywhere else except for the house she apparently lives in with that ... guy... and--

Her brows furrow and she reaches for the door, swinging it open with determination, frustration, and sugar deprivation! Oh no, it's even cuter when you're actually inside! She picks at the hem of her hoodie absently feeling all kinds of out of place among the cheery interior in her gothic garb. There's so much to look at that she kind of gets lost staring at the walls before she can even get near the dessert case.

[royalpassport]

When the bell jingles, Jefferson looks up from the book he's reading-- some fantasy story about knights and magic, which he knows is fiction, even if some parts seem to ring true-- looking at the young woman as if she's a stranger. But then, as she looks about the shop with a dazed and lost sort of expression, he starts to feel this odd tug of familiarity in his mind, and he shakes off the initial assumption that he doesn't know her.

It's Kenzi. She lives here, just like he lives here. No, he's not sure when he met her or what she even does-- trying to pin down any specifics only has him feeling that now-familiar (and entirely frustrating) haziness that's been fogging over much of his mind since his accident.

"Earl grey tea. Lots of milk and sugar. And the biggest cookie I've got," he finds himself saying, as if he's said this a thousand times before. But just as he finishes reciting an order he hasn't even been given, Jefferson blinks, brow furrowed, nose wrinkled slightly, and shakes his head. "That's... what you want, right?" he adds, uncertainty leaking into his voice.

[onteamdyson]

Kenzi turns veeeeeery sloooooowly, wide-eyed like a deer in the forest standing on two legs that just realised it could understand people-words.

Is he talking to her? He's talking to her. Oh god, he's talking to her. How does he know that's totally her fave tea and the right amount of sugar and milk and big cookies are the best cookies, why even waste time with tiny cookies? They're pointless!

She stares at him for another minute, looking five times more uncertain than he just sounded. "Ye...eees? But how did you know that? DUDE! ..." She finally approaches the counter and looks around nervously before looking back to him. "Are you psychic? Some kind of tea-and-cookies warlock? ... Did you read it in some tea leaves?"

[royalpassport]

"A warlock? I don't--" Jefferson stops himself, because he can tell he's about to say something ridiculous. Something like 'I don't have the training for that or any other kind of magic' instead of the obvious and correct response: warlocks aren't real.

He scrubs a hand over his mouth and shakes his head, trying to push any nonsense out of his mind. Because if he starts to think about magic too much, then the vivid delusions of a fantasy world will start clawing their way back to the surface. Jefferson's gaze flickers to the book he'd been reading, momentarily. That damn story already set him on this train of thought, didn't it? Next time, he'll have to find something more grounded in realism to read.

"It's... what you always order when you come here," he says slowly, as if he's not quite certain he believes himself.

[onteamdyson]

They could be real! She thinks... Maybe... it's weird knowing the names for things without any context to pull from. A thought just floats in and then it's gone before she can catch it and make it stick. She knows warlocks are a thing, but she doesn't remember watching TV or reading stupid books like the one this guy just glanced at. She also knows what stop signs are and how to read and, thankfully, her own name, though she's having trouble remembering a last name that sticks. Still, everything is just a fleeting sense of that's what this is with no memory to anchor it.

Except this. This is different. He tells her that this is her regular order and something about it just feels right. It's got substance. Kenzi looks puzzled at first, but slowly the pieces of that puzzle float by in a translucent, intangible hint of a memory. She can almost see herself at this very counter, making that order, and smiling at the man she's talking to right now. It's got more of a hold than most of the things people have been telling her lately. He suddenly seems familiar...

"I come here a lot? I mean, I've been here before?" She sounds skeptical, cautious, but also... hopeful. Like maybe he knows her and maybe he can tell her what happened or why she's here or where the hell she's supposed to be.

[royalpassport]

Does she come here a lot? Jefferson can't rightly say. If he tries to think on it, he doesn't really come up with any answer in any direction. His fingers seem to try to dig into the counter, knuckles straining and going white as he thinks, however briefly, that he'd like to hit something out of sheer frustration. As if striking the counter or bashing his head against the wall will shake everything loose.

It takes some effort, but his fingers relax and he drops his hands down to his sides and moves towards the case of desserts and pastries, to get a look at the cookies and pick out whichever one's the biggest. Working keeps the aggravation at bay, he reminds himself.

"Enough that I know your usual order." He puts on a perfectly concerned expression, as if this is his first time coming across somebody with a faulty memory in Wayward Pines. "Everything okay?"

[onteamdyson]

Kenzi frowns, dropping her gaze and shoving her hands in the pockets of her hoodie when he looks at her like there's something seriously wrong with her. No, she thinks, everything's not okay. There was an accident she can't remember and she doesn't even know who she is aside from a few basic facts that kind of add up to a potentially shitty person. The only cash she has on her at the moment is money she stole and she's got a key to a house that she's never seen before as far as she knows.

"Yeah, fine. I'm just... messing with you." Nice cover, Kenz, real fucking believable. You don't even know the guy's name. You barely know your OWN name! She chews on her lower lip, still not feeling up to looking him in the eye because then he'll know she's lying through her teeth.

"Do you mind if I get it for here? I kinda wanna sit today..." Assuming she usually gets it to go. Fuck. She has no idea what she usually does! Well... no solid idea. Faintly, she can see herself getting a little, paper bag for her cookie and a lid for her tea and heading out the door.

[royalpassport]

Jefferson's expression softens, just a little, when she starts to frown and look uncomfortable, because it isn't as if he doesn't know what it's like to experience gaps in his memory, like he's not living it right now. He grabs a little plate for the cookie (floral, like practically everything here), and picks out the largest one for her. Chocolate chip, still fresh from the bakery's morning delivery.

Her quick save has Jefferson snorting. "Yeah, that seems to be a popular pastime," he mutters, almost in a knee-jerk sort of way. It's followed by a little wince, because really, he doesn't need to vent at a customer.

He slides the cookie over to Kenzi. "Have a seat. I'll bring you a pot."

BACKDATED: Around February 5th

[royalpassport]

(Continuing from this thread.)

[ Jefferson tries to put himself together before Jiaying arrives, reasoning that if he looks like he's fine, then she'll certainly believe that he hasn't lost his mind if he winds up spouting out some nonsense about imps who spin straw into gold and caterpillars who like to lounge about smoking hookahs. As promised, he puts a kettle on the stove, though he keeps the burners low until he hears a knock at the door.

He manages to return her smile, even though he isn't feeling particularly... smiley at the moment. At least her warmth is somewhat infectious, and her kindness disarming. Makes sense, he supposes, for a therapist. It's why he stuck with counseling for so long.

Right? ]

Hi. Um. [ He moves aside to let her into the house. ] Come in. Sorry about the mess.

[ There really isn't much of a mess, but he's become something of an obsessive neat freak since his accident (possibly before the accident, actually). Keeping a clean house is about the one thing he can try to control, even as the fantasies in his head start to get the better of him. ]

[oncekind]

[It was difficult remembering only bits and pieces of her sessions with her clients. It's hardly professional to have to profess you've forgotten what half of their issues were. But that's not the issue she's facing right now. Right now, Jefferson needs some help winding down.]

Thank you.

[She steps inside, giving the living area a polite cursory glance before saying]

The place looks lovely, Jefferson. Here, I brought some tea just in case.

[Something she doesn't remember buying but was in her office anyway.]

[royalpassport]

[ He huffs out a short laugh, as if she was only humoring him about how the place looks. But, he accepts the tea with a grateful smile, at least. ]

Thanks. Here, this way-- [ He nods towards the kitchen and starts to lead the way to the dining nook that adjoins it. Motioning to the table-- neat, with cups, saucers, cream, and sugar already laid out-- Jefferson lingers by the stove to take prepare the tea. There's a slight, anxious strain in his voice, though he's trying to mask it by playing the good host. ] I'll just get the kettle. Would you like anything to eat?

[oncekind]

[She follows, detouring to take a seat at the table when he gestures towards it. She quietly pulls the seat out as she does.]

No. Just tea for me.

[a pause, then:] Where's your roommate?

[royalpassport]

[ He comes back with a teapot, the leaves now steeping in the hot water. Setting it down, a dark look crosses Jefferson's face, and he sits across from Jiaying with a scowl. ]

I don't know. And I don't care, as long as he's not here. [ Good riddance, as far as he's concerned. It's easier to glower and snarl about Howard than to admit that he's a grown man who feels like he's being bullied and hazed by his ex. ]

[oncekind]

[Well. There sure is a lot of hidden resentment there.]

What happened?

[royalpassport]

What happened which time? The time he threatened me with a baseball bat for taking a bath in my own home? The numerous times he's gone through the house and stolen furniture for some reason? Or the nonstop insults? Not to mention the messes he leaves. Anyway, that's not the problem. [ That last sentence is an unintentional slip, and he seems to realize it just a second too late. Picking up the teapot, he makes a move to pour it into a cup. ] Tea?

[oncekind]

Please. [she nods. She does look concerned] What do you think is the problem?

Late to work for the first time ever ; a few days after intro log? like, 2 tops

[ouzel]

[ In his room, when he finally gets home and he and Junyoung do the awkward back and forth of 'do I know you? we live together? ok that's weird...' Cassian finds some interesting stuff.

Like a really colorful apron? And paperwork about ordering things for a bakery. Old paperwork, mind...nothing seems to have been directly from right before Cassian got into his accident, but there's also a set of keys. So early in the pre-dawn morning, he heads over to Go Ask Alice, unlocks the door, and looks around.

Okay. This is familiar. Nodding to himself, Cassian wanders through the store, the kitchens, the back rooms, finally reaching the office where he comes across a sleeping Jeff.

He's pretty sure he just woke the other man up so he gives a small wave. ]

Hey. Sorry I wasn't here, I got into some kind of an accident?

[ That probably shouldn't be a question, so Cassian shakes his head. ]

Anyway. Glad to see you, glad to see the shop open.

...Are you okay?

[ Doesn't he have a home to sleep in? ]

[royalpassport]

[ The couch in the office isn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but it does the trick when Jefferson doesn't want to return to that place he's supposed to call home. The only downside to it (well, there are several) is that, well... he's not the only one with a key.

So, when he wakes to the sound of somebody else stepping into the office, Jefferson's not quite as put-together as he usually is. Sprawled out on the couch with a crochet blanket half on him and half on the floor, he's got on a New Kids on the Block shirt (which isn't his; some employee left it behind) and a pair of black boxer-briefs. And that's it. His hair's a mess, he's got some scruff on his face, and his neck's actually bare for once, revealing a thin, angry scar that goes all the way around.

He clearly isn't at his best.

With a groan, he rubs his eyes and sits up, looking at the man with bleary eyes, which suddenly widen with alarm. At first, he thinks it's an intruder, because who else even has a key to the shop? But then, as he tries to focus on the man before him, he remembers: Cassian. He works here, keeps the place from sinking. Relaxing, Jefferson offers a weary smile, feeling like a fool for even having a moment where he couldn't recognize the man. But then, he rarely feels as if his head's on straight these days. ]

Oh, it's fine. Business has been... [ Hang on, let him have a moment to yawn. ] slow lately. How're you feeling?

[ He sounds casual, curious, when he asks that, as if he doesn't find it alarming that several people have had accidents this week, just like he did a month ago...

More awake now and seeming to find some semblance of modesty, Jefferson belatedly reaches for the blanket and wraps it around himself. ]

And I'm fine. Why? Don't I look fine? [ DO YOU WANT TO ANSWER THAT HONESTLY, CASSIAN? ]

[ouzel]

Better. [ Is that true? Cassian has a lot of gaps in his head but that apparently doesn't mean he can sleep easily, but since he works...here, and things get started pretty early, maybe he's always been like this? It's hard to tell.

Plus it's not like he can. Ask. Anyone else if they're experiencing the same thing. He doesn't think the signs are just for show, even if he can't remember what happens when people break the rules.

Jefferson's sudden modesty doesn't even get blinked at. Inconsequential. Besides, he has to raise his eyebrows at Jeff as if asking "do you want the truth or what'll make you feel better?" ]

The hell did Howard do now? [ Because if Jeff is sleeping here then something happened with Howard and Cassian is like 80% sure that Howard is at fault. ]

[royalpassport]

[ That eyebrow raise is all the answer he needs, though there's not much Jefferson can do at the moment, what with his lack of access to a proper shower, fresh clothes (his outfit from yesterday, at least, is hanging on the office door), and however many hair products he normally uses. But he at least... tries to smooth down his hair with his hand in an attempt at taming it a little. ]

Oh, you know, the usual. Threatening me with a baseball bat, stealing my things, making messes. [ He rolls his eyes with a huff. ] I'm at my breaking point with that insufferable horse's ass. He can keep the house.

[ouzel]

[ Look Cassian isn't judging, because...Cassian is not a judgey person, really, but he has this nebulous idea that Jefferson puts a lot of effort into how he looks, and couch bedhead in a teenagers crop-top with several days past due shower needs is a good look for a select few. ]

Threatening you with... [ Cassian drifts off there, shaking his head and rolling his eyes before he crosses the office in order to squat down in front of Jefferson. ] You can do better. You will do better. But get out of that house, please. Let him rattle in it, alone. It won't be good for him but it'll be better for you.

[ And maybe Howard will get himself together but Cassian can think of better reasons to hold his breath. ]

Do you want to crash at my place for the day? My roommate is going to be asleep all day, he works night shifts at the hospital.

[royalpassport]

[ Cassian's getting down to couch level to speak to him? Oh... This is serious. He must look and sound like more of a mess than he thought. It's a nice pep talk, at least, and one that's appreciated, though he has to laugh a little at the notion that he can or will do better.

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a bitter half-smile. ]

I'm not so sure that I can. [ And he's not saying that because Howard's so great that he couldn't possibly do better. It's more that he's pretty sure he's damaged goods with a mountain of baggage. He must be, with his history, and with the delusions floating around in his head, not to mention that scar that he still can't remember how he got. (Because the story in his mind, about a Queen having her executioner take an ax to his neck, can't possibly be real.) He may not know whether he's even sane or not, but he does know that scars like his don't happen without violent trauma the likes of which nobody could survive and still be considered normal afterwards. ] But I am working on finding a new place. [ Jefferson snorts. ] And he can rot for all I care.

[ The offer, at least, he mulls over for a few moments. He doesn't want to be some town charity case, but the alternative is... what, he attempts to bathe himself with nothing but some paper towels, hand soap, and the bathroom sink? (Again.) With a sigh, Jefferson nods. ] Yeah. I mean-- if your roommate wouldn't mind.

[ Which he doesn't say because he's super considerate or anything. He'd just rather not find himself in another situation where he's being threatened with a baseball bat. ]

March 7th

[comic_relief]

It's been a week since Jack joined the latest batch of accident survivors at the hospital (and isn't that weird half the town seems like they've conked themselves over the head in a show of solidarity?), but Jack still gingerly creeps around the town like an intruder, like one wrong glance at a townsperson might bring the full might of the Sheriff's Department down on his head.

... Which it could. He might barely recognize his own reflection in the mirror, but he can say one thing for certain--stranger things have happened than the police shushing people like nitpicky librarians in this town. The sheriff sure seems to come down on people who ask too many questions, and there are plenty of questions that need answering. Like why do they have to stay within town limits? Why can't they talk about what happened before the accident?

And why does he remember things he can't find any trace of in Wayward Pines?

It always comes back to the children in red. Five boys, six girls. A brunette piping on a flute. A shrimpy boy roped with muscle. They're important, he can feel it like a word on the tip of his tongue that he's forgotten but knows is there, somewhere, in the back of his mind. Where are you?

Curiosity, aimless pacing down main street, and the lure of comfort food eventually see Jack entering Jefferson's shop. He doesn't get the theme--he can't remember reading Alice in Wonderland, or if he did, what it's about--but the teacup decor is attention-grabbing if nothing else.

Don't mind this wayward teen if he stands around staring at a menu for a good solid five minutes. When you don't remember what you like or don't like (or perhaps are deathly allergic to), indecision is your new best friend.

[royalpassport]

With Cassian back to work, the shop's running much more smoothly now-- which means Jefferson's not quite as stressed as he had been before. And, since he started staying at the local (dirty, run-down, possible front for the criminal underbelly-- does Wayward Pines even have a criminal underbelly?) motel while looking for a new house, he's at least gotten regular sleep and showers. All in all, Jefferson's looking put together and reasonably rested today.

Determined to keep his mind distracted from any strange fantasies that might try to sneak into his head (definitely a normal, sane fear, right?), Jefferson's got a magazine to keep himself busy during the slow periods. Specifically, he's got an issue of Cosmo, and he's in the middle of doing a quiz when the bell jingles, alerting him to a customer. Damn, now he'll never know if he's 'good-girl hot' or 'bad-girl hot.'

The boy's familiar, in that vague sort of way that many people in town are, pinging some recognition, like Jefferson must have seen him around town before, though he'll be damned if he can remember anything beyond that. At first, he's content enough to leave him be, give him a chance to look over the menu... But that can only go for so long before he has to ask:

"Do you have any questions about the menu?"

There. See, he can do this customer service thing. Well, he'd better be able to, anyway, considering he runs a tea shop.

[comic_relief]

With the iron cast sky looking like it's about to spit something nasty down on the town, finding some escapism in the shops had seemed like a good idea when he first set out. But now that he's here, even the simplest decision feels on the paralyzing side, like being tested for an exam without knowing the material. What's the right answer to pass?

He looks up into the eyes of the store employee behind the counter and gives a small, sheepish upturn of lips as an apology for the obvious loitering. "Uh, no. Sorry, I just... I mean, I'm just trying to see if anything jumps out at me."

That still sounds weird, doesn't it? Most people have so far been understanding about the ball of tangled yarn that is his head, but Jack hastens to clarify.

"I have this feeling like I should recognize all of this, but I don't. They said I cracked my head pretty good at the hospital." Hence the world record attempt at blank staring.