pineslog | (catch-all) the storm & the st. paddy's day festival

(catch-all) the storm & the st. paddy's day festival

CATCH-ALL: 16TH & 17TH

march 16

THE THUNDER ROLLS

The day starts off atmospherically heavy. The clouds are low, and the temperature is unusually warm, settling in the mid to high 50s (teens in Celsius). Townies are wandering around town in lightweight jackets and hoodies making small talk about the unusual weather, but for the most part they're pleased with the warmth, even if the clouds off in the distance look rather ominous. As the day goes on, the clouds creep closer and the residents seem more inclined to get a roof over their heads and stay there. The midmorning news predicts heavy rainfall by the late afternoon, but the savvier townsfolk say it’s going to be worse than that.

They’re not wrong. The sun drops low, and the winds start to pick up, howling through the trees, bringing with them nickel-size chunks of hail and torrential rains. The darker the night gets, the worse the storm hits Wayward Pines; by the time the sun has set, the sky is obscured with opaque, swirling clouds, the winds snapping trees in half, rattling the power lines, causing electricity to flicker and sometimes go out. The hail pings against the cars not safely parked inside garages, leaving the more exposed with significant damage to paint and windows, and anyone brave (or stupid) enough to step outside is instantly soaked to the skin in cold rain.

The most chilling thing of all isn’t the rain. Anyone trying to wait the weather out on Main Street will hear three wrenching cries coming from the woods, almost like the exact moment a person shreds their vocal cords in a scream. The townies claim not to hear anything unusual. It’s just the wind, they say, and they may be right. The sound as it shrieks through the trees and between buildings is similar enough to cast doubt, and combined with the rain even the most experienced camper would likely get lost trying to find it.

march 17

THERE’S WHISKEY IN THE JAR, OH

Whatever damage was caused by the previous night’s storm has mostly been cleared from Main Street by the early morning of St Patrick's Day. The streets are still a little wet, with plenty of puddles for the more adventurous children (and adults) to splash around in. The air is still a little chilly, but nothing a sweatshirt can’t fix. Nothing’s fully set up until about nine in the morning, but when it is, the St. Patty’s Day celebration gets under way. It’s small, more of a farmers' market or small festival than anything major. There’s food stalls and tables for eating, as well as a few booths where townsfolk are plying their crafts and non-food wares, as well as live music. The festivities during the daylight hours are pretty tame, a PG-rated good time for all.

When the sun sets, the party gets a little more rowdy. Someone busts out the booze and someone else busts out the Mardi Gras beads, and the music gets louder. While many food stalls are still open, the rest have shut down as the street fills with revelers, many of them holding cups half-filled with beer or something a little stronger. This part of the party isn’t for kids, and if anyone underage is spotted they'll quickly get escorted back home by the police — so try not to get caught, yes?

MOD NOTES

This is a catch-all for any and all threads pertaining to the storm (March 16th) and the St. Patrick's Day festival (March 17th)! Details on both of these happenings can be found in the March Newsletter.

PLEASE INCLUDE IN SUBJECT LINE: Character Name, which Day(s) your top-level takes place in, and Open or Closed, to help keep things a bit more organized. (For example: "Joe Biden | 16th & 17th | Open!")

Should you choose to participate in both mini-events, you're welcome to make separate top-level posts for each day or to combine them both into one.

If you have any questions regarding this event, feel free to ask them here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The festive atmosphere doesn't seem to have lifted Jefferson's spirits any, so though he's drinking, he's not really mingling. He just watches people with something of a sour expression on his face, like he's judging everything. St. Patrick's Day, it seems, is just not his holiday. Or perhaps it's more that today is just not his day in general. He looks a little tired, a little scruffy, and (notable to anyone with false or real memories of him:) hasn't even bothered to dress up the way he typically does. He's got a scarf to cover his scar, and a light, tailored coat, both of which are normal for him. But the rest of his outfit is casual in a way that Jefferson never is. He's even got a hoodie on, dear god.

When Damon sidles up to him to point out his lack of green, Jefferson shoots him a dark look that says don't you dare pinch me. The man's a friend of Howard's, after all. ] Neither are you. [ He takes a sip of his drink-- more of a chug. It goes on a little too long. ] Green's not my color.

[ Needling Jefferson like that comes from more than just a playful place it seems, as his picture of Jefferson comes into focus. One of his best friend's significant other. Howard. Whom he hasn't - seen and can't really picture, but Jefferson is clear. ] I thought everything is your color. [ The hoodie, while anti-Jefferson, is also just sad. Hoodies are not fashionable. Ever. No matter the cost or the material. ] Your looking -- warm. Jefferson.

[ He does tip his cup in Jefferson's direction. ]

Is Howard around here somewhere?

[ Because, he'd like to put a face to an abstract name he can't quite picture, the fuzziness he still hasn't gotten used to. ]

Edited 2017-03-17 15:50 (UTC)

[ That's how you know Jefferson's going through rough times: hoodies. Yuck. Jefferson scoffs and rolls his eyes, the alcohol making him especially prone to petulance tonight. ] Then perhaps I just don't like green.

[ He frowns and drinks from his cup, nearly empty now. ]

How should I know? [ He lets out a little huff. ] He's your friend, not mine. [ It's safe to say, in fact, that Jefferson wants absolutely nothing to do with Howard Stark. ]

[ Jefferson's testy tonight. ]

Problems in paradise?

[ Last he's heard, you two live happily in sin. How he knows this, again, who in hell knows. But, he knows. ]

[ Oh, Damon, you have no idea. It's bad enough that Jefferson's head is a scrambled mess. Bringing up Howard seems to put his sourness into overdrive. ]

Was it ever paradise? [ Honestly, he doesn't know. He can't seem to conjure up any happy memories about that relationship, but he's certain it couldn't have been all bad. Jefferson finishes off his drink, then frowns at the cup for daring to be empty. With an exaggerated, dismissive wave of his hand, he adds: ] I moved out a couple weeks ago.

[ Maybe not paradise, but he's sure as shit that they were better than at least this. Or, last he checked. Which would've been before the accident, and everyone knows he wasn't here before the accident. Fabricated or not, the ending of any relationship is difficult, as he and Elena went through several starts and stops. (If you ask him more starts than stops.)

When he replies, it isn't with his signature attitude, it's with a level of growth he exudes since Elena was plunged into her coma. ]

From what I barely remember, you two had something good. So. Sorry.

[ Is that... sincerity? It seems to throw Jefferson for a loop. He looks at Damon for a prolonged moment, uncertain how to respond, so he just nods. ]

Thanks... [ And then he shrugs. ] It's for the best. [ He's certainly happier being out of that house, even if he's in such a gloomy state right now. That has nothing to do with the end of the relationship, though, and everything to do with the way his mind's been since his accident. Still, since Damon sets his attitude aside for a moment, Jefferson tries to offer him the same courtesy. ]

How's... [ He's married, isn't he? What's her name again... ] Katherine?

[ Damon is capable of it, even if you may not remember that. He does think the him that "lives" here is more sincere.

Ugh. Right. ] We're going through a rough patch, but, fingers crossed. [ They decided for the cameras they're working on things, but, it can't be that easy. Maybe they would see that as insincerity. ]

[ It's more the 'friends with Howard' thing that had Jefferson expecting the worst, really. But he seems to be a little less combative now. He tosses his cup in a nearby trashcan and proceeds to shove his hands in his pockets, only a little sullen at his lack of any more alcohol. ]

Rough patches seem to be going around. [ Oh. Wait. He should offer something supportive. That's what people do in polite society, when they're not antisocial recluses. ] I'm sure it'll go better for you two than... [ You know. Him and his ex. Jefferson shrugs as if there's nothing more to say on that. ]

It ain't over till it's over. [ Take him and Elena, but he can't exactly cite that relationship, now can he? She's from his life before. ]

You need another drink. [ He finishes his own and tosses the cup away. ] Come on. [ Instead of returning to the piss poor green beer and run of the mill Irish whiskey, Damon leads Jefferson past the tables with the provided alcohol, preferring instead to step away from the festival all together, leading Jefferson not too far away to his and his brother's garage. He and his brother probably drink more at work than anybody in this town. But it's not like they drive the cars. They fix them.

Taking out his key ring, Damon unlocks the door to the reception area, walking through and around the desk, back to his office door, which he then unlocks as well.

Flicking the light on, Damon moves around the desk and crouches, using yet another, smaller key in the bottom left drawer. He pulls out a fine aged bourbon, closing the drawer with his foot. ]

I don't break out the good stuff for the townies.

[ But they aren't townies, now how the drones and their smiles act. No, they're different. Even if they do live here.

Walking back out into the reception area, he grabs two of the cone-shaped paper cups, holding one out to Jefferson, before popping the top of the bottle, pouring some for his best friend's (?) ex and himself, setting the bottle aside. ]

[ He holds one finger up with his left hand. ] Sip it.

[ Jefferson actually laughs, a nice break from his usual high-strung demeanor. ] You read my mind. [ For more booze, he'll happily follow Damon. He doesn't bother with a lot of small talk as they head to the garage, since it's hardly his forte most days, anyway.

His interest is drawn to the bourbon the moment the bottle's out. He knows he has a taste for finer things, after all, and he's pretty sure he comes from money. Hard to say. There are contradictory memories on that.

He lifts his brow a little and chuckles, somewhat nervously, when Damon mentions townies. He knows he doesn't belong here; there's a constant refrain in his head telling him what a misfit he is. To hear Damon voice it, in his own way, like they both belong somewhere else is... He's not sure if it's a relief, really. But he tries to push those anxieties aside as he's handed a cup, flashing a brief, grateful smile at the other man. ]

You don't have to tell me that. [ He sounds relaxed, a little teasing, as he says that. Jefferson takes a moment to smell the bourbon, and it's certainly got this inviting quality to it. He takes a sip of the bourbon and sighs a little. ] You certainly have good taste.

Always have.

[ He lifts his small paper cup and sips, settling against the counter. ]

What was the final straw? What ended Howard and Jefferson? If you, don't mind me asking.

[ It's not a question Jefferson can readily answer-- which is frustrating, since he ought to know. Unfortunately, the accident knocked the specific incident, the straw that broke the camel's back, out of his head. All he knows is they were already over and done with when he came home from the hospital.

So, rather than admit he doesn't know, Jefferson opts for a vague answer: ]

It wasn't any one thing. He was just intolerable to live with. [ He gets a sour look on his face, thinking back to those few awful weeks between the accident and his decision to just leave the house to that man. ] And after the accident, it was obvious we couldn't amicably share the house. Him threatening me with a baseball bat made it clear enough.

[ Not to mention everything else. Jefferson sneers a little and takes another sip of his drink-- more than he should have in one go. The burn of the bourbon has him coughing a little, much to his chagrin. ]

He threatened you with a baseball bat?

[ It's inherent concern, and care that crops up. Damon's life is operatic and moving from one extreme to the next, but hearing a reaction like that in the mundane life of someone who he calls a friend strikes the wrong cord. ]

Easy. Smaller sips. [ It may go down smooth, but not to an avid tea drinker. ] Howard threatened you?

[ Once his little coughing fit passes, Jefferson clears his throat and looks at Damon with visible discomfort. It's not really something he likes to talk about, the way the hostility in his house ratcheted up to absurd proportions after their respective accidents, but he has no reason to lie when people ask. What, like he's going to protect Howard's good name after how miserable that prick made him? ]

He was convinced I was an intruder, no matter how many times I told him it was our house. [ Jefferson rolls his eyes. ] Because the first thing any burglar does is draw a bath. Anyway, after that it was like he made it his mission to drive me out of the house. So. [ He smiles bitterly. ] Now it's his house, and I live in a motel. [ Yeah, he's going to need some more alcohol now. ]

[ Damon remembers his first two weeks, but with memories that were kept, and other small things learned, it's hard for him to see why Howard might act like that. ]

You weren't one of the memories he woke up with. [ Which only cements that, perhaps, they aren't a real memory. Like S & D Automotive. Like marrying Katherine Pierce.

Damon has the bottle in hand, ready to pour more for Jefferson before taking a swig from the bottle himself. He brings it down from his lips letting the slight burn settle. ] I don't know what he looks like. I hear about him, I know he's a friend of mine, but I can't picture anything about it. [ Just his name. ] What do you know about him? Actually know about him?

[ He makes sure to take another sip before getting a refill, this time bracing himself for the burn. When Damon starts talking about his own memory issues, Jefferson looks at him, a concerned frown tugging at his lips as he furrows his brow. He knows all too well what that's like, knowing but not knowing, having incomplete memories, though he never voiced it with anyone before. Always wrote it off as 'the accident' and didn't get much more into it. ]

I don't-- He... He has an electronics shop. He's good with machines... [ Anything else, the details he ought to know about somebody he once had a long-term relationship with, lingers on the tip of his tongue, but vanishes the moment he tries to articulate it. Jefferson takes another gulp of bourbon and squeezes his eyes shut, because he doesn't want to think about how many holes are in his mind. Rabbit holes, portals, going down into other worlds, other lives he couldn't have lived, because it's all madness. ]

I can't-- It's just... hard to think straight. [ After the admission, his voice lowers. ] And it's not because of the accident.

I don't know that. And he's my best friend. [ He sets his bottle down with a thud.

He nods. He knows exactly what Jefferson is talking about. Kenzi and he talked about it the night before, albeit, less like he's about to.

Damon's taken the week to start a consortium of sorts, people he's found as worthy allies, Jiaying; unwitting but pleasant and Malia; aware. Kenzi falls into a gray area, but he will follow up with her. Jefferson could be a good in between candidate. Damon moves from against the desk, taking a step forward, gaze up, establishing eye contact. He doesn't know if Stefan would approve of his various, if questionable methods. They haven't exactly shared everything. They're the ones having a rough patch, if he's being honest. But, with the cameras, there are only several safe options. ]

Whatever I say next stays here. Here's Vegas. If you come back here and it's just me, all those memories get to return, [ because this would be useless if he couldn't follow up ] if I call you and invite you down to the garage to kick your tires, come. We're now in a secret club. [ His finger comes to his lips, as if to shush him. ] Got it? [ A smile, as he brings a hand to his shoulder.

He's picked the beach, and a pizza shop, and with only minimal knowledge of Jefferson but a vivid depiction of the things he tends to like, he's taken Jefferson and him to high tea at a nice hotel in New York, complete with a piano straight out of a Nordstrom's. They're sitting opposite one another as a hostess pours their tea and Damon smiles, thanking her.

Jefferson can proceed to freak out, if he'd like. ]

[ Jefferson's gaze locks with Damon's, and though the other man's words are a bit strange, they sound perfectly reasonable in this moment. Perhaps it's the alcohol that has Jefferson finding himself so agreeable (it isn't, but he's none the wiser), and he nods and returns the smile as if everything's fine. And for one moment, it is.

In the next, he's somewhere that's both familiar and isn't. One of the lives in his head spent some time in New York, and he enjoyed places like this. Another life is telling him that this is all wrong. The table's too small for a proper tea party, and several guests are missing. He shoots the hostess a nervous glance and a weak, faltering smile before she leaves, and then he looks around once again, taking everything in. ]

This is all wrong. [ He pulls his gaze down to his teacup, then drops his head down in his hands, fingers curling into his hair. His voice comes out strained with distress. ] It isn't tea time.

Hey, hey. It's okay. It's not real.

[ And that's more chastising than it should sound, it's definitely not him trying to comfort Jefferson. ] Do I look like a guy who's set foot in any tea rooms. [ Other than to seduce a PYT. ] I'm in your mind. Here, we talk freely. About the accident. [ He leans in. ] About before the accident.

[ Jefferson scoffs and shakes his head. That's not particularly encouraging, hearing they're in his mind right now. ]

The last place I want to be... [ It's a frustrated murmur, but he at least seems to calm down enough to lower his hands and lift his gaze to look at Damon. With his hands wringing in his lap, he speaks carefully, trying to explain as clearly as he can. ]

I was sick, before the accident. It's only gotten worse since. I should be in a hospital with... padded walls.

[ Well, he judged this all wrong. Damon Salvatore makes mistakes. He leans back, then. ]

Points for me, scaring the psych patient. You can not be enjoying any of this. Does it help that you're not crazy here? Well, this isn't your crazy. It's all our crazy. If it helps. [ It probably doesn't. ] Did you admit yourself?

I'm pretty sure I'm still crazy here. [ He laughs, seeming genuinely-- if unpleasantly-- amused for a moment. ] A change of scenery doesn't change that.

[ The bitter smile falls from his face at Damon's question, and he has to think on it for a moment. A lot of his memories from around that time are pretty hazy. (A lot of his memories, in general are hazy, actually.) ]

I don't think so. I was... [ Off his meds? On a binge? Having an 'episode' of some kind? Jefferson furrows his brow and shakes his head. ] They said I was a danger to myself, so I was admitted for 72 hours. [ He scrubs a hand over his eyes, then looks down at his tea again. This may not be real, but maybe he can enjoy it all the same. He starts to add a bit of sugar. ] After that, my parents arranged for me to stay in a family home in Maine. [ Another scoff, even though he can scarcely remember the conversation or even his parents' faces. ] To recover.

[ At least his memories of life in Storybrooke-- what little of a life he had, anyway-- are clearer than the impressions he has of his life before. ]

That's where I was before I was here. And ever since the accident, all that madness is worse than ever.

Edited 2017-03-22 14:54 (UTC)

If you believe it.

[ He really does need to screen these people. ]

The 72 hour hold. [ He knows about it. ] Well, it would be. You went from your Maine sanctuary to whatever the hell this place is. Though, sanctuary might be a stretch. You know that you and Howard, whatever you were to each other, whatever he and I were, it can't be real.

[ Inside minds, Damon gets candid. It's the only way to get his point across. He does feel for Jefferson, and he thinks he could've used more tact. But, desperate times. ]

[ He's quiet for a moment, not protesting, just processing the blunt statement. It's not real. He and Howard weren't real. It makes about as much sense as anything else-- more, in fact. It would explain why he can't conjure up any feelings for the man beyond the loathing that was sparked in their first encounter after his accident. He can't remember ever loving Howard Stark, so why would he have ever chosen a life with him?

Especially since Jefferson is quite certain he's felt love before, for somebody, though everything about them-- name, face, age, even their gender-- completely eludes him.

But there's one little problem that complicates everything, and soon enough Jefferson grits out: ] I don't know what's real and what isn't. [ There. He said it. He finally admitted it to somebody. This is a problem that's bigger than he and Howard and that fake, broken relationship. His voice is rough with emotion as he continues, gesturing to his head. ] My head's full of... different worlds. Fantasies. Too many lives for one person to have lived. [ They can't all be real. Jefferson swallows, looking down at his tea. He reaches for it, his hand shaking somewhat, but can't bring himself to take a sip. ] I can't tell the delusions from reality.

Edited 2017-03-25 15:27 (UTC)

(catch-all) the storm & the st. paddy's day festival

17th

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