[Jesse starts his day off like any other (aside from the waking up in a weird hammock thing, which he's totally over): late, groggy, and in desperate need of a smoke. Sure, he could have stayed inside- in either his room or his lounge- but a bleary-eyed glance at the window and the blessedly snow-free grounds are more than enough of a push to get him to hop into his jeans and a hoodie and shuffle outside for some nice above freezing fresh air.
And it's just business as usual- fishing his cigarettes out as he walks, realizing that he'd left his lighter in his other jeans, wandering back inside for his friggin' lighter, marveling at how the friggin' mansion's all different again- right up until the point when it ceases to be normal and careens into WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME territory. The universe is at least kind enough to let him finish his cigarette, but it all goes to hell on his way back to his room- If there's a threshold it's not a marked one, but he steps over it just the same, and even before pulling out his phone to check his reflection, he knows something's up, and the feeling is confirmed when he swears and his own (?) voice sounds... Different. Not gravelly-smokey different, but...]
Shit. [Beat.] Oh come on, really? [He whips around, phone in hand.] Seriously? Oh my god--
[There will be some initial (and blatant) self-groping, so feel free to walk in on that stupidity... But after that Jesse's only actual option is to light up another cigarette... And then spend the next three days or so wandering around trying his very best to not lose his shit until it goes away. He can be found pretty much anywhere at any time, but the places he'll be frequenting the most are the same as usual: his lounge, the kitchen (or diner), etc, with some periodic, semi-frantic pacing around the gazebo in the hopes that it'll turn him back into himself. His male, junk-having self.
...No seriously, where's his junk? This is his main concern.]
Jesse | Gazebo
And it's just business as usual- fishing his cigarettes out as he walks, realizing that he'd left his lighter in his other jeans, wandering back inside for his friggin' lighter, marveling at how the friggin' mansion's all different again- right up until the point when it ceases to be normal and careens into WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME territory. The universe is at least kind enough to let him finish his cigarette, but it all goes to hell on his way back to his room- If there's a threshold it's not a marked one, but he steps over it just the same, and even before pulling out his phone to check his reflection, he knows something's up, and the feeling is confirmed when he swears and his own (?) voice sounds... Different. Not gravelly-smokey different, but...]
Shit. [Beat.] Oh come on, really? [He whips around, phone in hand.] Seriously? Oh my god--
[There will be some initial (and blatant) self-groping, so feel free to walk in on that stupidity... But after that Jesse's only actual option is to light up another cigarette... And then spend the next three days or so wandering around trying his very best to not lose his shit until it goes away. He can be found pretty much anywhere at any time, but the places he'll be frequenting the most are the same as usual: his lounge, the kitchen (or diner), etc, with some periodic, semi-frantic pacing around the gazebo in the hopes that it'll turn him back into himself. His male, junk-having self.
...No seriously, where's his junk? This is his main concern.]