entrancelogs | burns my ears when they sing

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burns my ears when they sing

Who: Jay and you
Where: The Mansion + The Grounds
When: April 8th-10th
Rating: PG-13; the usual Marble Hornets mental health talk, made worse by the event
Summary: Jay's Gradual Relapse: the Rock Opera

Day 2 - Open - The Library - The Lonely Life of the UFO Researcher

He's finally, finally teased a decent laptop out of the closet, one with enough power to render ten minutes of video without taking a day and a half before crashing and requiring a restart. It's an improvement. Hell, it's an improvement over his old machine.

Is that still in his car?

He doesn't think about that. Instead, he sinks into a plush, red couch in one of the reading rooms, laptop open, and focuses on the screen. No entries anymore, so no real use in editing the footage he's taken, but it keeps his mind occupied, and when an event's just crested the horizon and George has seriously just started singing, publicly, on Wonderland's sorry excuse for the internet, a distraction is what he needs. Behind the editing software, he's got a document open for brainstorming, and there's a tall stack of books on the table next to him -- regional American folklore, Germanic folklore, true crime, medical journals, anything that might give him a better understanding of the situation back home. Inside the pocket of his sweatshirt, there's a bottle of pills.

He doesn't notice when he starts humming, and he very nearly doesn't notice when the tune develops lyrics.

Antenna towers and distant hopes
I’ve measured happiness with telescopes
Well, I’ve been face to face with what my future brings
The reels they turn, recording blips and pings
Through the white noise and distortion
There’s a message I can feel
Just give me one sign that you’re real

An orange glow, some blinking lights
Don’t know how most folks spend their Friday nights
Well I’ve seen evidence no one would dare dispute
Witness accounts make up my life’s pursuit
And in those photos, there’s a sadness
And a message I can feel
Just give me one sign that you’re real
Please give me one sign that you’re real

His voice is soft and unpracticed, wavering off-key when it comes to the higher notes, but it's not as bad as he dreaded. And hell, it's not like anyone's listening.

Day 3 - Open - Near the Woods - Lost Like This

It's getting worse--he's getting worse. What was that Tim warned him about? Mood swings? He read the name of the compound, something generic, something he could track down and look up and read about. Psychopharmacology -- modern marvel, right? Throw something at the human brain and see what sticks. Flies then mice then rats then monkeys then human beings, and they throw so many out on the way up, but they don't test long enough, do they? Don't take into account the long-term effects. Sample size is too small, time's too short, and what was that Alex told him? About corruption and big business and copyright and all that?

He's not sure if it makes sense. He's not sure if he's making sense, but he's stopped for now. No dose tonight, no dose tomorrow, and if Tim gets pissed off that's on him, because what works on him won't work for everyone, clearly.

Clearly.

The Gryphon said something (he can wind back the tape if he really wants to remember), and maybe that's it. Maybe that's all this is. Maybe it's fine, maybe the pills Tim shoved down his throat are fine, really, and maybe he shouldn't skip doses because maybe that'll make it worse. Maybe that's why he felt so off so quickly. Maybe this is his fault.

Focus.

Rethink your doubts, it said. Find a place within yourself. And that's what he's doing, right? It's not a place within himself, exactly, it's a place outside, where it's wet and dark and the crickets are buzzing, but that's fine. It's the doubts part he's dealing with first, since the other part's either a metaphor or disturbingly literal. If it's literal, it should be fine. He's been hollowed out enough. Should be room.

Focus.

It's not here, Tim told him, except when there's an event. Hasn't seen the real thing since he showed up, but that doesn't mean anything for sure. It's not the same woods, here, not even remotely. Different biome, different trees, different everything. It's dangerous for different reasons. But there's nowhere else he can really think of to go. He's gotten antsy, looking through books and poring through footage with nothing, no bars of static, no blips of audio distortion, no shadows moving along the walls, no leads. The only way this stops is if he figures out what's going on -- not just now, here, in this event, but everything. Back home, here -- even if it's not all connected, there should be something. There must be something he can do.

Jay Merrick stares into the darkness between the trees, camera clutched in a white-knuckle grip, and freezes.

What the hell is he doing?

Mumbled and near-hysterical, a song winds its way out of him.

I'm standing all alone, out in the pouring rain
And though it really isn't like me to complain
I think I'm getting used to it

I feel happy, and I also feel bad
I've never been here, but somehow I think I have
But I'm getting used to it

He sways, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Nobody's watching. It's fine. It's fine.

I've never been lost like this
I've never been lost like this
But I wouldn't be happy anywhere else
Nobody to tell us what to do, all by ourselves

He's at the treeline now, not quite stepping in, but just close enough to get a better look.

Don't know how I got here
And I don't know why I stay
The poets all around are laughing in their graves
Must be something I said

This place is not like anything I've seen before
The spirits move around; the houses have no doors
But I'm getting used to it

I've never been lost like this
I've never been lost like this
But I wouldn't be happy anywhere else
Nobody to tell us what to do, all by ourselves

They're not looking for him, are they? Shouldn't be. Wouldn't make sense for them to be. Tim worries about him, sure, but he's not watching, not close enough. He won't even look at the footage.

Even his parents stopped calling, after a while.

Still, he leans back and looks back at the mansion, feeling rough bark press against his spine through his shirt. He watches silhouettes move behind yellow-lit windows.

The others wouldn't be too thrilled, if they saw him out here. They wouldn't admit it makes sense. They wouldn't admit it's the right thing to do, because if they did, they'd have to admit they're hiding. As tempting--god, as tempting as it is to hide, everything stalls out when he tries. You don't get information by being a coward.

Isn't this a fine hello?
I wish I hadn't seen you go
It's always been a bitter pill
The broken mirror's broken still
The letters never made the post
A thousand more I never wrote
And here, on the dark, unfriendly streets
I find the comfort that I seek
And I'm happy, and I've been happy

I've never been lost like this
I've never been lost like this
But I wouldn't be happy anywhere else
Nobody to tell us what to do, all by ourselves

Day 4 - CLOSED to Clem and Tim - The Entrance Hall - Woke up afraid of my own shadow -- like, genuinely afraid

He knew it. He fucking knew it. Worse, he's positive they all did, too. Tim, both of them, but not just him. Georgia and Shaun and Clementine and Shepard and Sans and Dan and the Queen and everyone. They kept quiet, just long enough for Jay to get complacent enough for Tim to weave a lie convincing enough that it'd make him think it was okay. He's fine. Everything's fine. This place isn't like back home.

Bullshit.

He never left. He never left, and now he can see this place for what it is. He can see the cracks. Streaks of red-orange-yellow-black-white tug at the edges of his vision, and even if he can't see it, he knows the configuration changes when he looks away. Buffers just fast enough to load when he looks, but he's not fooled. The room's changing. Doesn't work like a real thing should, but it's real. It's there, and maybe if he wasn't so gullible, if he wasn't so stupid, he would've noticed sooner.

Jay rubs at the handle of the knife with his thumb, adjusting his grip. He can feel the dirt caked under his nails, can feel the sting left when the branches ~~clawed~~ scraped against his arms. He's tracking mud across the carpet.

The camera's rolling. He just changed the ~~tape.~~ There's a couple spares in his pocket, still wrapped in plastic, if this runs long.

He's going to find Tim. He's going to find the others.

~~He's going to find Jessica.~~

He's going to get his answers, before the static covers his eyes completely.

His chest seizes, and he loses his balance, gripping the railing of the staircase. His head is buzzing, but he's going to get his answers. He's going to get his answers. He's going to get

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Clementine reaches out when Jay moves forward into the both of them. She lets out a relieved breath again, because it happened again. She helped save someone again from that hellish static- from drowning in darkness. No violence needed.

No knives or blades from her. None of it.

She winds an arm around his back to hold on to him too, to- to hug him back because they're practically hugging now ( the three of them, tangled up in the aftermath of static and darkness and pain ). The tension in her shoulders finally leaves at least briefly. Her eyes burn but she nods as she finally finds her voice again.

"It's gone."

The static. It's gone.

It's okay.

The static's gone.

And hell if that isn't enough to set off another suppressed wave of tears, throttled down into humiliating, jerky breaths and the sting of salt water. "You're--" Jay starts, but the choked sound of his own voice is enough to make him want to shut down that whole plan immediately. He's not even sure where that sentence was going, but it wasn't anywhere good.

You're not gonna leave?

You're the only ones I can remember saying that kind of stuff.

You're my friends, and I guess this is what that means.

This is stupid. It looks stupid, he's sure. They're just putting up with him until he can pull himself together.

And then Clem reaches across his back, giving him something that passes for a side-hug, and Jay just...sighs, letting the tension in his shoulders loosen a notch or two. His breath starts to even out (not fast enough for his liking).

"Thanks," he mutters into Tim's shoulder.

That's what Clem told him - family. And the word's harder for him to work out, like a lump of iron in his throat, because friend had been one hurdle that had been impossible enough to clear, and this is something else entirely, something he can't ever remember being applied to him in any genuine, significant sense.

Until now.

He isn't strong for that. When has he ever been? His life is always about other people, far stronger than himself, stepping in and pulling him out of the fire when they really should just let him burn. It's for the best that the static cling over his features has dispersed, and won't return; it's thoughts like those that would send him spiraling down again, otherwise.

So right now, the most he can manage in this awkward...collapse of a group hug that they're doing here is an equally uncertain question that feels like an especially stupid one:

"You doing okay there, buddy?"

Clementine stays quiet, but she doesn't go anywhere. Her arm's still slung across Jay's back in an awkward side-hug as they all hold on to each other. If she weren't so good at categorizing her own emotions, it might overwhelm her to come to the realization.

She has people here. Having people, it means risking the possibility of losing them all the time. There's always that risk. She has them, and two of them are right here, and they were just saved from the static and the dark.

She helped with that. She actually helped. It feels like a miracle- it feels like- She doesn't have words for what it feels like to be able to do something good for two people she cares so much about.

She waits to hear Jay's answer, but she's also kind of muttering under her breath, "This Event's really shitty. Knew it wouldn't have stayed just on the singing."

Jay catches Clem's quiet complaint. It so perfectly understates the terror and pain and bullshit they just dragged him out of that he snorts, the sound muffled by mucus or whatever builds up in your sinuses when you've just spent the past several minutes trying not to break down crying.

...Trying not to break down crying any worse than he already has.

You doing okay there, buddy?

And yeah, it's not like he's never been called buddy before. It's not like Tim hasn't called him that before, even if the memory's patchy. But right here, right now, after all this? It's like an extra reminder. It's like something an old friend would say, or a relative.

In Wonderland, being from the same place does make them a little like family, doesn't it?

~~Jay doesn't think he was an only child, but he can't remember for sure.~~

He doesn't think about that. Instead, he thinks about Clem's comment, and about the innate weirdness of asking a guy having a mental breakdown into your flannel lumberjack shirt if he's okay. (He'd do the same, if he's honest. He'd probably do worse.) There's some screwy sort of humor in all this.

Jay finally pulls away, so he can look at Tim. He's still got tear-tracks down his face, he's pretty sure. His face is still flushed and blotchy. He's still got one hand wound around Tim's own, and the other, still carrying the camera, is resting on Clem's shoulder. (Good thing his new camera's a couple pounds lighter.)

"Yeah." He's not quite smiling, but there's some audible sarcasm there. Self-deprecation, even. "I'm fine."

His eyebrows quirk up. Get it?

"You?"

Har har.

It's a stupid fucking in-joke. Eyeroll-worthy at at best, even with the way the words are heavy with irony, that kind of self-referential bullshit they could always allow for. The kind of thing they get away with because it's the closest they get to actually taking care of their damn selves - the awareness that ninety percent of what they do is a bad idea, and there's no getting away from it.

"Yeah," says Tim, a dry huff of air almost approximating a laugh. "Yeah, I'm fine. Clem helped me out."

Which would explain, partially, why she's here.

The other part being that her concern didn't extend solely to him.

Clementine lifts his eyebrows at both of them and the sarcasm. She tries to look disapproving, but in the end, she ultimately looks pretty amused. Her head quirks to the side with a smirk.

"Well, clearly, I'm doing the shittiest out of all three of us."

Nah, she's actually the most fine- the one who is probably closest to being good even given she was able to save both of them. It still feels like a miracle. She just wanted to join in on the sarcastic joking thing.

"...we should get somewhere else. I don't really think any place is safe, but sticking close to each other and anyone else we care about's probably the best prevention."

Jay's eyebrows furrow as he peers down at her.

"Watch your mouth." It's not really scolding; Jay couldn't manage 'stern authority' if his life depended on it, and it's more a joke than anything else. He mostly just sounds incredulous. "What are you now, like, twelve?"

One good thing: It means--or he hopes it means--she's she's the most actually fine out of all of them. If she was around to help Tim, and if Tim had to be helped in the first place, that holds up.

Knowing all Tim's been through--part, at least, knowing part of what Tim's been through, Jay doesn't want to think too hard about how that went. Getting dragged that deep into your own...insecurities or whatever, artificially and all at once, isn't something he'd wish on anybody. He could've gotten hurt if these two weren't around to pull him out. Hell, he could've hurt someone else. Would have.

(He squeezes Tim's hand a little tighter, like that'll do any good.)

"Makes sense." Not something he'd want to announce out loud, but the last thing he'd want to do right now is leave these two.

Blinking hard to clear his vision, Jay looks over the top of Clem's head, scanning the entrance hall for any other signs of life. Anyone else we care about.

"You two seen George or Shaun?"

Watch your mouth. Regardless of whatever impulse inspired that little outburst, it still prompts a wry lift of the eyebrows. He might be exhausted, worn to his fucking bones, feeling scraped up and hollowed out, even without the fresh-turned snowbank of memory recently wiped clean, but he can still manage to skewer Jay with a look of utter, withering disbelief.

"You're the last person to tell anyone to watch their fucking mouth," he says, trying to mild and landing somewhere in the realm between exhausted and relieved. A fucking pain, is what it is. Here he is, trying to be scathing, and all he can manage is something genuine. It's really defanging his image as an aloof, uncaring bastard.

His mouth tightens at the question, and he shakes his head.

"No," he says slowly. "You think either of 'em might need...?"

He lets the sentence trail away in the absence of anything coherent he can think of to refer to that whole...rescue deal. They probably get his drift.

Clementine snorts laughter quietly at Jay's Watch your mouth. "No fuckin' promises," she says pointedly, folding her arms over her chest now that things seem to be getting back on track again. She looks amused ultimately even if that amusement is already starting to fade some at who they mention next.

She kept moving through the mansion, looking for anyone she recognized. When she saw someone, she stopped. Tim is the first person she stopped at- the first person she cared enough about to stop and to try despite not knowing what the hell she was doing.

"I haven't seen them."

There's a pause.

"But maybe they need it. We can go to the office. Maybe that's where they are."

Jay makes a strangled, vaguely offended, stuttery noise in place of an actual response. Yeah, sure, Tim knows he's a hypocrite. He's heard how Jay talks when he gets pissed off and ruins any chance of the footage making it online. (He's heard Jay when he's speaking as himself, not @MarbleHornets.) But Clem's a kid, and kids aren't supposed to--well, they are, sort of, when there aren't any adults around, but despite all evidence to the contrary, he and Tim are adults. He'd parrot his mother (~~can't remember her face but can remember her voice~~) and ask if she was raised in a barn, but he already knows the answer. She was raised in the zombie apocalypse.

Still.

They're not in a zombie apocalypse now.

Manners aside, the Masons might be in trouble. Might being the operative word; if the three of them are any indication, the only people in any real danger this time are the ones who were wrecked in the first place.

"Good place to start," he concedes. "Still, I mean, I think those two've got their sh..."

He gives Tim one long, dead-eyed look.

"...They've got their act together better than we do."

Shut up.

"So they might be okay."

It's easy to hate it, is the thing. It's easy to hate the familiarity, the unrecognizable sensation that spools up in his guts and clenches tight, bitter as gasoline and just as liable to spring alight. He knows what this is, and he knows it because it's worked its way into his chest far too frequently, of late. It's fondness, and it's fucking toxic. He can't strip it out of himself fast enough. He never learned how.

It's fucked up that he can hate it as fiercely as he does - the preemptive dread sitting heavy in his chest, because he will lose them because it's statistically unavoidable and because of who and what he is, what he's capable of, what he does to people who work their way into his life.

Clem swears, and Jay adamantly doesn't swear. They're in this awkward three-person slumped-hug, arms around each other's shoulders, and that word's still a horrified burn in the back of his mind: we're family.

"We should check. Either way," he hears himself saying. Can track and categorize the cant of his eyebrows in Jay's direction, notes to himself that it is equally fucked up that he regards tear tracks and a red-blotched face as a good thing, because it's more emotion than he thinks he might've ever seen Jay express at any point back home, and it's that sick confirmation that there really is something kick-drum beating in that chest, and has been all this time.

Fucked up.

"You good to walk, buddy?"

Clementine nods in her agreement with Tim. They should still check even if they might be okay. It won't hurt to check. Some people seem like they have their shit together, but they also have a lot going on in their heads that no one else can see. She doesn't want to assume, and she doesn't want to leave them to that same static-y fate if- if that is the case.

It seemed like a prison. She still shudders to think about how Tim and Jay seemed caught in their own static.

"We can look in on them. If they're okay, we can all hold up together." For the most part, she still has some people to check in on, and she is trying to be better about it- about helping, about saving, about not being who she became in her own world. "If not, we can try to help them too."

She glances at Jay to see if he can... walk. Her gaze is drawn back to the area around them too, always on alert.

He's good to walk. Shaky, more so than he'd like to admit, but he's good to walk.

He nods, a minuscule jerk of the head. After a moment to collect himself, Jay leans harder on Clem's shoulder, levering himself fully upright.

With that, he loosens his grip on them both. It's awkward, gradual, and it pisses him off how hard it is. Like a kid, latched onto his parent's leg on the first day of school. It's clingy. The investigation, at least, had some distance. Maybe watching weeks of candid footage is a little creepy--at least he thought so for a little while at first--but it's not whatever this is. It's all intellectual; there's nothing physical about it.

~~There's been nobody worth clinging to for a long time.~~

He watches Tim watch him. He's not sure he recognizes the expression, but it seems fond enough. It's still odd, seeing it on his face.

He watches the two of them steel themselves for another round, this time with the Masons. He tries to do the same.

"Yeah." His voice cracks, and he can't help the wince that comes after. He takes a second to clear his throat. "Sounds good."

He points up the stairs, eyebrows raised. Going up?

Going up.

Clem's good at making things sound better, simpler, than they really are. Like this isn't intensely awkward in too many ways, like they're not circumnavigating what it is to regard each other as people associated with labels like friend or family, because it was always easier to simply think of Jay in terms of someone who needed protecting from just about everything, and mainly himself.

It was easy, until it stopped being easy and started being a liability.

He's always been a fucking liability.

"Okay, then."

But he can keep the words steady, and he can fake it like a champ.

Clementine takes the lead.

She figures she's the one most likely to be aware of her surroundings. It's the two of them who went through some shit with all that static, and they're both still recovering. She heads up the stairs in front of the two of them, keeping an eye out as she does so. Her muscles are tense still. This whole Event has her on edge.

She doesn't linger on the emotions it's brought out. Can't. She's in survival mode.

"Let's try to stay quiet in case anyone else is around."

Some of the people with static are violent, and they need to move quick.

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burns my ears when they sing

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