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pineslog2017-03-01 11:18 pm
royalpassport) wrote in pineslog2017-03-01 11:18 pm
support a local business!
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.
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.
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"Yeah." He thinks so, anyway. Maybe not way busier, but certainly not empty. How else would this place stay in business?
Jefferson draws in a breath when Kenzi starts to unload on him, his eyes betraying some nervousness. What she's describing, after all, is about identical to his own experience, one month ago.
"I--" he starts, then shuts his mouth, his brow knitted with worry. "My name's Jefferson." An easy enough place to start. He chooses his next words carefully. "The... fog in your head. It'll pass. Just give it some time." His hands wring together in his lap, and he glances down at them for a moment. "The same thing happened to me. I was hit by a car a month ago."
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"Jefferson." She repeats, feeling a little lighter already after getting that out of the way and off her chest. Despite the weight being lifted, worry starts to creep in when he talks about going through the exact same thing that's happening to him now.
"Dude!" She leans forward, both hands on the table, staring at him in disbelief. "Seriously? You aren't enacting vengeance right now for earlier, are you? What are the chances?"
Two cases of incredibly similar head trauma with subsequent memory loss a month apart? Not to mention the girl at the police station. Shit, that's three. Kenzi frowns, looking down at the cookie on her plate. That creepy, sinking feeling she felt in the hospital is coming back, but when she looks at the teacup and the shop and Jefferson, it manages to calm her a little with that sense of familiarity.
"My name's Kenzi, right?" Kenzi Adams? Kenzi Rogers? At one point she thought it was Toni Soprano, but that was definitely an alias. She can't seem to pin the last name down.
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"You're Kenzi," he nods. That was the first thing he knew about her when she walked in. Her last name, though... That's a mystery to him. "It's probably normal to be so disoriented after an accident." It sounds as if he's assuring himself of that, though, not Kenzi. He doesn't even know what her accident was, after all.
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"I still don't know what happened. I kinda... freaked and bailed before the doctor showed up." She breaks another piece of cookie off to pop in her mouth. After a second, she breaks off half of it and offers it to Jefferson.
"Did you sue the guy that hit you?"
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(Look, he owns a tea shop. HE TAKES TEA SERIOUSLY.)
So he accepts the offered bit of cookie with a small, thankful smile.
"I did the same," he admits. "I grabbed the first robe I could find and wandered out into the streets." And looked positively... eccentric.
He looks a little chagrined at Kenzi's question, and stalls for a moment by popping the cookie into his mouth.
"Um. No. It was my fault. Apparently."
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"Seriously? Great minds think alike I guess. I stole some scrubs and slippers and a mask and busted outta there as soon as I could. I mean, I wasn't hooked up to anything so I'm probably fine. It's not like they have memory loss pills." If they did, she would have stolen those, too.
Now she feels even more at ease with him, sharing things she would have otherwise kept to herself. He seems like a kindred spirit or something. Someone that gets her. Someone that knows what she's going through.
"Your fault? How is getting hit by a car your fault? Did you put it in neutral, walk away, and get hit when it rolled out of the driveway?" Because that... would be hilarious.
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"Stealing as a first resort. I wonder what that says about us," he teases. Jefferson wonders, too, if she had the same knee-jerk feelings of aversion to the whole hospital setting. At first, he didn't quite understand it, but as he started to recover from his accident, it started to make sense. With his... unfortunate history, he'd spent some time in hospitals.
Jefferson stares at her for a moment, but then he can't help but laugh. "No! But it's about as embarrassing. I was... drunk and jaywalking. At night."
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"It says we are skilled, resourceful people that don't wait around for stuff to happen. Pretty sure that's called being proactive." She smirks, pleased with herself for that response. At least she knows she's a thief. It's about the only solid thing she's got as far as a sense of self.
.......And then he fesses up about the accident and she laughs, too, almost spitting tea out all over herself in the process. Better set that cup down before something happens to it. "Are you freakin' kidding me? DUDE! Now I know we're friends."
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Jefferson lets out an amused snort as she very nearly sprays her tea out with laughter. This is quite possibly the most relaxed he's felt since his accident, and there's this brief spike of resentment that he has to hide out at work to find any measure of contentment, when he should by all rights have it at home, too.
"Why? Do you get drunk and jump in front of cars often?"
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...
Does she?
The joy slowly seeps out of her as she retreats into herself to think about it and gets lost in that fog, that void where memories should be. She's quiet as she thinks about it, staring down at a particular spot of nothing on the table. She doesn't know if she does anything often. She doesn't know anything about herself, save for a few pieces that fit together but leave the rest of the puzzle so blank and empty.
She presses her lips together in a thin line, avoiding his gaze so he can't see the way her eyes start to water.
"I don't know." Her voice is quiet and unsteady, nothing like it was before.
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"I'm sorry," he says, in a softer voice than usual, trying to temper the usual edge he speaks with. "You'll remember again. I did."
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She's not fine, but she's going to eat the rest of her cookie and maybe the chocolate chips will help her go back to pretending everything's fine so she can carry on a conversation with the nice man like a normal person. He's actually making an effort here, she can't fault him for that. She can't fault him for anything, really.
"You've been... really sweet. Like, legit trying to help me and stuff. So... thanks."
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His own gloominess is more than enough to deal with, okay?
"I don't think that's a word people usually use to describe me." He offers a wry smile. "But I'll take it."
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"What words do they usually use?" She smirks, even going so far as to turn her hand over under his so that her palm is up and pressed against his. It might be a little forward, slightly inappropriate for a tea shop owner and a customer, but Kenzi is so far from caring about proper at this point that she's gonna just go with her gut.
"Since I can't remember anything about myself, maybe it might help if you just tell me about you?"
no subject
Make a hat, get it to work.
Jefferson's smile becomes strained, and he finds himself blinking somewhat rapidly, not sure if he's trying to keep his eyes from tearing up because the thoughts running through his head hit him with a familiar sense of futility, despair, frustration... (Madness.)
He shakes his head, trying to play it off as nothing. "Unfriendly ones," is all he can answer without getting into it. After all, it's in the rules. Don't discuss the past. Don't discuss your life before. And he knows, the woman he sees in his head, blonde and deeply disturbed by him, calling him 'insane' in a voice laced with pity, is from 'before.'
And the masked queen, the one who called him Hatter... She couldn't possibly exist. Another delusion.
"There..." He swallows. "There isn't much to tell. I moved here a few years back, opened this shop, got into a bad relationship, left the bad relationship..." He shrugs. "Now I basically live here."
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"You live in the shop?" She sounds concerned. She is concerned. If Jefferson was in some kind of shitty relationship, he might have lost everything because of it. Kenzi can't remember living on the streets, but she knows not having a place to go must be difficult. What she does remember is coming here and seeing Jefferson and eating baked goods that make her happy and she doesn't like knowing that the man behind that happiness and familiarity is suffering. That's bullshit. Fuck that!
"I wish there was something I could do. Do you need money? Is it financial or...?"
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"What? No! No, I don't actually live here!" Jefferson actually looks a bit mortified at the thought. It's more that it's hostile and endlessly irritating at the house, and he's happier being away from it. So, he pauses, then amends, "I mean, I've slept here a few times. We got a house together before we broke up, so it's... tense. I'm looking to move. He can keep the damn house."
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That makes sense though, buying a house together was a dumb move on his part. Financial, legal, all that junk. At least he didn't get married! Gross. It would have been even more paperwork and suffering. She can't imagine having to live with an ex after the relationship went belly-up, though. That's gotta be hard. Especially if he's sleeping in his shop.
... And now his outfit makes sense, too. He's gaaaay. That's actually kind of disappointing, but now she doesn't have to worry about awkwardly crossing the friendship line.
"His loss. Sucks that you're just giving the house up, though." Kenzi gives Jefferson's hand a sympathetic pat before letting it go and picking her cup of tea back up to sip. Her mind drifts back to the key in her pocket. "I think... I have a house? But I haven't seen it yet."
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"Well, if you ever have a spare room you're looking to rent out..." He trails off with a laugh. Clearly joking! Definitely a joke! He definitely... wouldn't take her up in a heartbeat... if she had a room for him...
"By the way, when you go home... If you find that you have a partner you don't quite remember yet, do yourselves both a favor and try not to escalate to random acts of violence."
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She can't get too depressed at her memory gaps this time, because Jefferson is too busy saying something ridiculous and it makes her laugh. Thankfully, no tea is spat out or spilled. "Yeah, sure, I totes have a partner. Right." That is definitely something she would remember. You don't just forget someone you care about! Right?
... Then ... why can't she remember if she has a family? Or friends? Or if she likes certain foods?
"Please tell me you're not speaking from experience, because that's fucked up."
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Jefferson lets out a scoff and rolls his eyes. "I am speaking from experience. That's another reason I try to avoid that place as much as possible." Jefferson stands, speaking as he goes back to the counter to grab another teacup. Look, if he's going to sit and chat, then he's going to get some tea, too. He'll just... comp her tea. There. "If this shop had a shower, I'd never have to go back there," he murmurs, sitting back down with a teacup in hand. "I didn't actually get hit, don't worry," he adds as he pours himself a cup, with just a little bit of cream.
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"What exactly makes me seem like I'd have someone waiting for me? Is it the fact that I order a giant cookie every time I come in here or the fact that I remember basically nothing?" Seriously, please tell her. All she knows about herself so far is that she's a criminal with a million last names and a sugar addiction. Not exactly qualities to write home about.
Kenzi frowns when he talks about his home life. It's clearly not a pleasant topic for him and she doesn't want to get driven out of his shop. Especially not when he's sitting down to have tea with her. She watches as he adds cream to his cup and wonders how someone could make him feel that uncomfortable in his own home. There are definitely ways to hurt someone without hitting them and she doesn't like the idea of Jefferson experiencing any of them.
Time to change the topic.
"You know, this is the first time since I woke up that I actually feel normal."
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The smile that's been lingering on Jefferson's face since she made him laugh fades into something a little more bittersweet at her admission, and he nods, glancing at the door, as if he wants to be certain nobody's about to step inside. It's just nice, to be alone with her right now, and he'd like for it to stay that way.
"Me too," he murmurs.
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His smile is infectious. Much nicer than the expression he had on when she walked in and interrupted his reading. Kenzi leans back in her chair, all the tension draining out of her. "Good. No wonder I come here all the time. I mean, besides the decor and steady supply of sugar."
She likes to see him smile. A lot.
"I'm gonna have to tip you something serious for the mini therapy session."
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'Therapy session.' That makes him laugh a little, softly, as he shakes his head. Oh no, he knows all about therapy, and this is a whole lot more pleasant. "Don't. It's on the house." Jefferson points a finger at her and adds: "This time."
You won't be getting free tea and cookies every day, missy!
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