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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

[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. ]