cacophonish | COME SAIL AWAY: IC INBOX

There's a bit of a pause. He honestly considers lying for a moment.

"I died during the Halloween party. Woke up this morning. But other than that, I'm okay, now. You had a lot longer in the Nothing, you don't need to worry about me, I've got me. And I've got you, alright? I've got you."

His stomach twists at hearing that. But, for the first time, Jeff seems to actually relax a little against Bash. He never doubted Bash would hold him and keep him from drowning, but having that assurance spoken aloud is like... Permission, in a way. He practically goes boneless against Bash, spent from emotional exhaustion.

"I've got you, too," he says softly. Even if he isn't in any state to be anyone's rock right now, it still feels important, and necessary, to say it. "I didn't, um... kill you, did I?" And though he doesn't ask, there are more questions swimming around his head. Who killed me? How did I die?

“One, it was not you, so stop talking like it was. You don’t hold any guilt for his actions. Two, no, it wasn’t the guy riding you who killed me.”

Riding. Bash used to talk about Duplicity riding them, when it wasn’t chemical aphro but just the city taking over, possessing them and making the fuck happen.

Oh, he definitely still feels guilt for what the ghost did while piloting his body. Maybe Jeff isn't responsible for his possessor's actions, but as far as he figures, he's responsible for that thing getting into him in the first place. If he hadn't been so fucking naive...

"Okay." He doesn't sound entirely convinced, but he's not going to argue it. "Do you know anything about him?" He doesn't know if he wants to know, but it seems... better, right? To put a name to whoever was using his body?

"Yeah, some. I thought there was a chance I could talk him out of you. I thought if I was nice enough, maybe he might let you go. Stupid, right? Even had some sympathy for him, after he killed Crichton, because he'd never asked to be on this fucking ship in the first place."

There's room for self-loathing for everyone here!

"That's not-- Kindness isn't stupid." Now it's Jeff's turn to reach for Bash's hair, stroking his fingers through it, seeking sensation and familiarity just as much as he's offering comfort. "I would've tried the same thing. If it was you--" He grimaces at the thought. "I would've tried anything to convince 'em."

Anything short of violence, anyway. He knows he wouldn't have the stomach for it. Maybe it's for the best that he was possessed for this whole nightmare... If it'd been up to Jeff to save anyone, they'd all be fucked.

"His name was Chase. He had magic, but it was more like Quentin's than yours. His taste in music was rancid and he hated having to sing to do things. He's gone now, but he asked me to remember someone who was kind to him, a girl from his voyage who didn't end up possessing no one. He seemed like an asshole, but the self-defensive kind of asshole. He wanted power and freedom. He wanted power to get freedom."

Bash sighs heavily. "So. Yeah."

Bad taste in music, hated having to sing... Does that mean he did use Jeff's magic? How's that even possible without years, years of practice, and learning, and building an understanding with the Gift? How could he even cast a single spell if he couldn't stand the music?

Every question answered just brings a hundred more, and it's hard enough keeping a breakdown at bay as it is. The stretch of nothing in his memory is unsettling, the knowledge that his body was just moving around, doing, saying, casting things he'll never remember makes him want to scream until his throat's raw, and no matter how many answers Bash can give him, it won't be enough.

Jeff's breath hitches, and he reaches for Bash's hand, lacing their fingers together with the faintest squeeze.

"What was her name?"

Fuck Chase, whoever he was. Jeff will process his feelings about the ghost later. But he'll do his part to help Bash fulfill that request and remember the girl, if he can. It's some small kindness to focus on, at least.

But that's the last he'll ask about the past month. He takes another breath, trying to take it slow, and calm.

"Do you... um. Do you still have your sharpies?"

Because right now, he just wants to be with Bash. Exist. Just the two of them, with no homicidal ghosts haunting the room.

Edited 2022-10-31 08:36 (UTC)

"Her name was Kenzi."

He pauses at that last question. Moves to disentangle slightly, a slow smile coming to his lips. "Are you going to undress for me like a good boy, so I can write wherever I want on you?"

Old patterns. Familiar rhythms. They're going to grope for something comfortable. Even as he stands to grab the markers, he finds himself humming quietly.

Edited 2022-10-31 08:43 (UTC)

"Uh huh." Jeff smiles (is this the first time he's smiled since waking up?), a little light coming back to his eyes as he moves to start peeling off his shirt, followed by the pants. "I'd rather wear your words than Tommy Bahama."

This is familiar. This is safe. Comforting. When his body doesn't feel like it's his anymore (just a thing, a meat puppet, an object to take and use and discard--) at least he can hand the reins over to Bash.

He even remembers to fold his clothes neatly, smiling, singing along to Bash's humming. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..."

Edited 2022-10-31 08:52 (UTC)

"You make me happy, when skies are grey..." Bash gestures for Jeff to lie on his belly. He wants to start on the back this time. He wants a large, mostly flat surface to begin. Red marker, one of the hardest colors to get off. Lasts near the longest.

His smile brightens when Bash sings along, pure sunshine parting through the gloom. "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you..."

Jeff stretches out on the bed, sighing softly, breathing in Bash's familiar scent. It's something to latch on to, senses and sensations, being present in the physical. He focuses on the warmth of the bed, and Bash's presence over him, the sounds of singing, and breathing, and movement...

He's a person. He's alive. This is real.

"Please don't take my sunshine away."

The scent of sharpie joins Bash's own scent as he begins to draw his veve between Jeff's shoulders, centered on his spine. Reclaiming the symbol that had been used to hurt him by giving it to Jeff again. Silly, isn't it?

If there had been any trace of Jeff inside his own body while Chase had been taking it for a ride, this might spark some familiarity in him. The particular significance of the song, the importance of reclaiming the veve right now, all of it would have an extra weight to Jeff.

Unfortunately, he has no context. (But if he did, he'd tell Bash it isn't silly, it's important.)

He feels the lines drawn on his back, trying to piece them together in his head... Letters? No, it's not a word, he doesn't think... Maybe he should just stop trying to picture it, and just enjoy the brush of felt and ink against his skin. Jeff shivers pleasantly, lets out a soft hum, then tries to look over his shoulder at Bash. His expression's beginning to soften, going to a dreamy place.

"What's it say?"

"It's my veve. Which is just this side of writing 'property of Bash', but prettier than my handwriting. I know you know how to draw it, but I don't think I've ever drawn it on you before." His lips brush the back of Jeff's neck, and then he nips.

You know, a small way to remind Jeff to stay present.

That'll do it! He comes back to Earth (or wherever the fuck they are) with a little noise of... pleasant surprise? Nips are always welcome.

"Property of Bash," he repeats with a little smile. Coming from anyone else, he'd probably complain and throw in some kneejerk defiance, but from Bash? The words feel like a warm blanket, safe and welcome. "I like that. I mean, like, knowing your veve's there."

"Good. I'm almost done with it, then I'm going to start writing."

It's definitely a little dangerous, giving his veve to someone. Chase proved that someone knowing it could be a trap. But. Bash's core philosophy has always been recklessly kind. After this past month, he really wants to get back to that again.

"Stay with me, or I'm going to bite you again."

"Promises, promises," he teases. Jeff is all for a little bit of biting. But, he does sigh softly as he focuses again on the present, and Bash, and all his senses. "I'm staying. I want to stay." It feels important to say it out loud, like that'll help manifest it into reality. "I'm so scared," he admits. "Of... drifting away without you. Like..." He swallows, winces a little against Bash's pillow. "What if one day, I drift off and never come back?"

"Then I will do whatever it takes, to get you back. No matter the cost."

Bash broke his rules several times, in the past month:
- No zombies
- Don't get angry
- No violence
- You are not a killer, even if you're a death demigod

He may have held kindness in his heart for Chase, as much as he could, but he still broke his rules. For Jeff. And he doesn't regret it, honestly.

Even though he never doubted Bash, just hearing the promise settles over him like a warm, weighted blanket. He sniffles a little-- mostly happy tears, or maybe just general "overwhelmed by emotions" tears-- and nods.

"Me too." His voice cracks a little, but he tries to ignore that. "They ever take you, and I'll become a fucking... Ghostbuster. And exorcist. Ghostbuster exorcist..."

"Exorcisms didn't work. We tried them. I want you to know, we tried."

The marker works along Jeff's shoulders now. Block letters, slow and steady.

"In the end, the only way to end the possessions was to kill the body."

"Oh. Right." Bash can probably tell, from the way Jeff tenses up beneath him, and the particular hitch of his breath-- bracing himself-- what Jeff's going to ask next.

He shouldn't ask. He doesn't want to. But he has to know.

"How... how did I die?"

Edited 2022-11-02 10:47 (UTC)

"Decapitated. It was instantaneous. Your body would have felt almost no pain."

He isn't sure if he should say he did it. If that would make it better or much, much worse.

Decapitated. That's so... surreal. Everything about this is. Dying at all, dying when he wasn't even in his body, dying in that particular way. If he'd been shot, or stabbed, or strangled or something, he could wrap his mind around that, he thinks. Those are the sorts of things that don't always kill people; people can come back from that.

But there's something so final about this method, and it feels... wrong... that he's here, now, whole and alive.

Jeff hesitates. He takes another breath. It's clear that he's trying to choose his words very carefully as he speaks again.

"Do I... want to know who did it?"

Maybe it's not fair, leaving it to Bash's discretion. But Jeff wasn't there, and this is all so abstract, and it's difficult to even try and picture it, and even with the little bit of context he has, it's just--

Bash would know, better than him, if he should hear all the dirty details.

The way Bash tenses, his breath caught in his lungs, everything still and silent...

...that's answer enough, isn't it?

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