Jay Merrick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
burntvideocassette) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2018-04-07 10:55 pm
burntvideocassette) wrote in entrancelogs2018-04-07 10:55 pm
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 branchesclawed scraped against his arms. He's tracking mud across the carpet.
The camera's rolling. He just changed thetape. 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
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
The camera's rolling. He just changed the
He's going to find Tim. He's going to find the others.
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
no subject
He props his chin on his hand as Jay eats the fries. They shouldn't end up tasting any different at all. If anything, the real fry will just feel heavier going down. And the magic fry will probably heal up any minor injuries Jay has. Sans hopes that counts as a bonus.
"so?"
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Is that weird, or does it just feel weird because the first one set his baseline?
He nibbles on the first one again.
"Okay, yeah, this one's the weird one."
He kinda likes it, though, if he's honest. Fries are supposed to some crispiness to them, but this whole melt-in-your-mouth thing is nice.
"How'd you get the whole...texture like that? Like, magic, or...?"
A snack must've been what he needed, because he can feel his headache start to ease up. Wasn't really paying attention to it before, but yeah, must not've taken an Advil.
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Not that he'd really know. Trying to eat a real human fry would do jack all shit for him, except make a mess.
He's grinning though. This is nice. This is a good distraction from everything else going on. And from their previous discussion about broken bones.
"it's the magic that does it. it's designed to match the taste and texture as close to the real thing as close as possible. that's how we can have burgers in the underground despite not having, uh...yanno, cows."
Frankly, that was kind of a weird moment, realizing how much human food comes from animals. Specifically dead animals. Ah, well. Not something he really has to think about.
"anyway, it's cool to find out they taste the same. thanks for indulging me."
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"Wait." Jay sits up straighter, struck with a realization. "If you can't eat human food, how'd you all figure out how to match the taste?"
He can feel himself slurring the you-all together, but nope. Not today. He's not y'alling in front of a skeleton monster from another dimension. He's being careful.
i hate myself for this tag
Though Sans honestly has no idea how, or how they deal with the...aftermath, and it's not something he is ever going to think about, at all.
"i figure some monsters ate human food and described it to the others. or passed it down from when we were on the surface. i don't cook often enough to have the best idea of how it all works. magic cooking is like regular cooking--it's a skill you gotta hone."
He thinks by now he's pretty good at pancakes and pies, but that's about it.
He grins suddenly.
"plus, dunno if you've heard, but cooking and laziness don't mesh well. if you're gonna do the cooking by the book, you know you can't be lazy."
Never
Then, Sans drops that reference, and all is forgotten.
"Wait, wait. Hold on." Jay sets the remnants of both fries on the table. "Are you telling me your world has...has monsters, and magic, and--and people stealing each other's souls or whatever, but it also has...like...LazyTown?"
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"pfft, hehe, i mean, i guess that must be what it's from, but i just know the meme. oh man. no one in wonderland ever gets my references."
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A meme skeleton. A goddamn meme-quoting skeleton who eats french fries.
Looking through his fingers, he asks, muffled, "You ever see the pirate one?"
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"oh man, yes. it's so catchy. what about the villain song? 'we are number one' or something? oh my god. they're all so good."
the real tragedy: jay died too young for "we are number one except"
"Not sure I saw that one, actually." He grabs another fry from the 'human' tray. "But yeah, that show is...like, weirdly made for the internet."
noooooo
It kinda seems like a show geared toward kids, but when has that ever really stopped anybody.
"that's right, though, you're an internet sorta guy. you must know a bunch of memes that i don't."
Share your meme wisdom, Jay.
he's a little sliver of 2009 internet, preserved in amber
"You don't really--" Jay winces. "Like, hearing 'meme' said out loud feels kinda weird, to be honest."
Wonderland, giving new meaning to Eternal September.
"Like..." Think, birdbrain. You basically grew up here. You can remember a meme for this skeleton. One of the good ones, not this recycled advice animal image macro crap. "Wait, I got...lemme just..."
He fidgets with his communicator for a disproportionately long time. He still has this loaded on there, right? Because he's a piece of shit who still laughs at this stuff?
Yes. Yes, he does. And yes, he is.
"Here."
He starts to hold it out, before yanking it back.
"I swear, it's not what you think it's gonna be."
He holds it out again. Press play, Sans. You know you want to.
i'm literally dying
Hell, that's pretty much how he and Alphys survived as long as they did. And why they got along so well. They managed themselves in the same way--with distractions.
He grins in excitement at the prospect of a potentially brand new meme, leaning forward across the table and munching a few more ketchup-drenched fries. When Jay holds out the device, he wipes his hand on his shorts before reaching forward.
"really? because when someone sends you an unmarked link it's usually one of three things."
He presses play and blinks when the song starts, because yeah, that's not what he was expecting. Then he just grins in delight.
"oh my god. this is amazing. what is this, rick quacksly?"
Then he starts giggling at his own stupid joke.
no subject
Still, the least he can do is educate the masses.
"Duckroll," he says, simply. "It's pretty classic."
...Oh god, he's sounding like Alex, isn't he? The Alex Kralie of fucking memes.
no subject
"duckroll. i love it. although the lingo these days for classic memes is dank. no idea why, but it's fun to say. 'dank memes.'"
Someone please stop this madman.
no subject
Jay ponders this a moment.
"Wait, like weed?"
Jay immediately sinks his face into his hands. Cool. Great. Nice filter, you piece of shit stoner.
(He hasn't been a piece of shit stoner for a long time, but his head's in meme mode now. It's inescapable.)
no subject
Now he's going to have to think long and hard about meme lingo.
"gotta admit, i really don't know too much about the stuff."
no subject
Jay stuffs another couple fries in his mouth. He'll need the energy.
"I, uh..." He swallows the fries. "I...I mean, I haven't for a few years."
He clears his throat, because he actually did not wait long enough after swallowing those fries.
"Like, when you're...uh, when you're checking under the seat of your car to see if there's enough for a bag of trail mix, you don't..." Again, he clears his throat. "And, I mean, when there's somebody actually out to get you, it's not...like, you don't want to be...more paranoid, but you don't wanna not be paranoid, either. If that makes...sense."
It's That Natural High.
i literally did not know until this moment that danny elfman was in oingo boingo what the literal fu
"well hey, i'm not judging."
For once he's not even being hypocritical. Monsters have very little context for human drugs, and even less understanding of what they are or what they do. As far as Sans knows, "drugs" means weed and a couple other things that he forgets the name of, and it's just sort of a thing humans do to...have fun? Or something?
He doesn't even entirely understand what Jay is saying, but at least he can put two and two together. Drugs are expensive, and it's better to use money for food--makes sense. And they affect mood, which also makes sense.
It's also a somewhat stark reminder of what Jay--and probably also Tim--have gone through.
"fair enough. survival generally takes precedent over--"
He was about to say "feeling good" but that's pretty damn grim.
"uh--recreation."
That's...the right word, right?
W E L C O M E T O H E L L
Can a talking skeleton get high? Like, not judging or anything, but he seems like the kind of guy who would if he could.
"Yeah, that's kinda...that's basically it, yeah."
He scratches at the back of his head, not bothering to wipe the grease off his fingers. It's the middle of the night. Nobody cares.
"Do you, uh...like, there's monster food, right? So are there...y'know."
Monster drugs?
i cannot believe this
"what, like monster drugs? not really, no. i mean, we got alcohol, but the jury's sorta constantly out on whether or not that counts."
At least alcoholism probably isn't as big a problem for monsters as it is for humans. Sans isn't even sure how the mechanics of addition would work for a monster. He got a C in Biology.
"if you're asking whether i can get stoned or not, i have no idea."
His grin turns a bit sly, and he manages to refrain from saying the next thought that runs through his head, which is: looks like that's gonna be experiment number two.
no subject
"Might be worth finding out." Jay catches himself, stuttering. "Or--or not, it's whatever."
Jay's not sure he'd want to partake, even it weren't during an event. Oh god, no. Wait. Jay absolutely will not partake, because with Wonderland being what it is, he's about ninety-nine percent sure he'd end up singing again. It'd probably come out Sublime or something.
He covers his face with his hands for a second, like shutting out the view'll be enough to scrape that image out of his head.
no subject
"either way, an event is probably the worst time to try. we got that war coming up, too. maybe after all the bullshit is over. might be worth it."
no subject
D.A.R.E. was right. Somebody give him a leather jacket and an alleyway.
"Might, yeah."
Horrible influence that he is, he's not really committing to it either. Not sure how well he'll take it, at this point. Given that the new meds don't mix well with alcohol, he's got his doubts.
"Not that the bullshit's ever really over."
no subject
"no, but at least we get a bit of downtime. it never stops, but at least we get breaks. imagine if we didn't get any at all, ever."
It'd be like back home. Sans doesn't want to go back down that path, ever.
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