OPEN | The further I fall the less I falter

[failedparenting]

WHO: John and YOU
WHERE: Around the porter cities, mostly Maurtia Falls
WHEN: the 7th to the 14th
WHAT: John gets acclimated to this new universe and does not have a fun time
WARNINGS: A swears, probably violence.


Baby's Day Out, Heropa
[It's hard not to think all of this shit is some sort of djinn-induced hallucination, but it's not nice enough to be one variety and not horrifying enough to be the other. He can't imagine a djinn trapping poor bastards with something like purgatory, but with a lot of people pestering him for autographs.

It might be Hell?

Everyone sees him, knows his name and that he isn't from here instantly and it's definitely a nightmare for a man who values his privacy from the feds. Everywhere he goes it's the same, and at one point it gets bad enough that he lays out some asshole outside an ice cream store. He's got to get out of here.]

Dive Bar, Nonah or De Chima
[By the time John hits Dixie, he's gotten smart. Thank whoever is up there that he's got his wallet on him from back home with his fake IDs, becaus e his real name is burned for now. He starts going by Bert Aframian, gives himself a new haircut in a motel bathroom and stops shaving. He doesn't even need shades to hide most of his face, and it's good too. In this bar, a disguise like that would be too obvious.

He finds a dive easily enough, tucks himself right up at the bar and orders whatever the cheapest whiskey they've got is. He notices some girls giving him an eye, but it's not worrying. At least no one's asking for "elfies", or whatever the hell.]

Settling Down, Maurtia Falls
[Maurtia Falls is the end of the line, it looks like, and it becomes clear real quick that it may be his best option for the time being. He doesn't have any money to get a shitty car, can't figure out how to steal one with all this bizzare technology, and credit card fraud takes time. He finds a job in a garage easy enough, and they're more than happy to pay under the table considering it's a front for a chop shop.

These people here are his kind of people. No one's bugging him for pictures even though he's fairly certian they know he's an imPort. The motel he settles in at ain't half bad either, and the bars lent themselves easily to some back room poker or pool hustling. For now? It could be worse.]

Dealer's Choice
[You got a prompt idea of your own? SHOOT!]

Comments

Dive Bar!

[governorkang]

[Kang definitely prefers dive bars and this one is one of his favorites, enough so that when he walks through the door in his normal winged, scaled, and seven foot tall form, none of the regulars give him a second glance and the barkeep already knows to hand him a glass of whiskey.]

Thanks, Mac.

[John gets a brief, curious look only because he's a new face.]

[failedparenting]

[ John has absolutely seen some shit in his too-long life. Once, he was in a hunt in a house that was its own goddamn poltergeist. Like, the whole thing was going after them while they were trying to exorcise it. Hell of a thing. One time he saw some nightmare, college urban legend come to life and then he chain sawed in half. He thinks he saw Elvis in a diner in Des Moines, in '98.

Point is, he's seen a lot.

So when, days into the biggest nightmare of his goddamn life, he's faced with a giant fuck-off lizard dude like it's a normal thing, he actually has it within himself to stay calm, and he keeps his composure.]

Oh, fuck this!

[Mostly. He mostly keeps his composure.]

[governorkang]

[That gets another look, with a raised eye ridge. He keeps his voice neutral, though, as Mac just shakes his head and goes to help another customer.]

Is there something I can help you with?

Heropa!

[ghoulking]

[ imPorts being surrounded by natives wanting an autograph isn't anything new. It happens all the time, specially as new faces start showing up, like how it always is every month. Usually Kaneki doesn't intervene unless the imPort is in trouble or looks like they want to punch someone.

John doesn't look like he's handling things well, so Kaneki decides to give the man a hand, or at least spot him from doing any damage any further. ]

That will be enough- [ you don't want to get arrested on your first day, John. ] If you tell them to leave, they will. [ there is no need to go further than that ]

Re: Heropa!

[failedparenting]

[John's never really been one for unsolicited advice. Sure, maybe I'm the army, but only because talking back would get you court marshaled or worse. But here and now, surrounded by an uncomfortable amount of teen girls, it's the least opportune time to tell John what to do.

He doesn't even hear Kaneki at first, just pegs him as more of the crowd, but after a second glance something about the guy stands out in an uncomfortable way. And then he actually hears the words and, you know, he's tried everything else so why not?

John takes a deep breath in, and closes his eyes for a moment. Summoning every scrap of parental disapproval he can muster, he turns to pin down the crowd with a Look™ he's usually reserved for discipline and shitty report cards.]

Go back to wherever you came from and leave me the hell alone.

[A stunned hush falls across the little crownd John managed to amass, and then, like someone gave a signal, they scatter like embarrassed roaches.

Well, hell.]

Huh.

[ghoulking]

[ kaneki smiles a little as he watches them leaving. Natives like imPorts, but they also know their limits while imPorts are walking on the street; if this was a social gathering or a Swear-In, it wouldn't be that easy for John ]

They are a lot more respectful than they seem at first. [ besides, - ] And threatening to punch someone will make some of them happy. They like to see imPorts in action.

Heropa

[itistolaugh]

[Harley applauds his punching form. Normally she would have no patience for a man who comes between her and a double scoop waffle cone with rainbow sprinkles, but she makes an exception for entertaining violence. But she's not the only one who saw it, and a fresh wave of bystanders starts moving in to raise objections and/or take selfies.]

Alright you guys had fun, but I think somebody is too grumpy to work the crowd until he gets a juice box and a nap.

[She waves off the crowd with one hand and leads John away by elbow, since she knows the natives won't actually leave them alone for long.]

Re: Heropa

[failedparenting]

[John's eyes are still focused in the guy and that puddle of red under him when suddenly he's being gently tugged away from he scene. The crowd sounds both disappointed and outraged, and he'd be inclined to bust some more heads if he weren't being dragged down the street by some...what, little blonde with an ice cream? It's so ridiculous that he doesn't even know what to do for a moment.

They're a block away before John finally manages something. Something?]

Who the hell are you?

[itistolaugh]

Harley Quinn, nice to meetcha! [She grins up at him and gives his elbow a squeeze.] You look like you want a drink, but you what you probably actually need is a meal. I know a diner nearby where they don't get all weird about imPorts, and they make a mean tuna melt.

[She tilts the ice cream toward him, accidentally getting some on the tip of his nose.] Wanna lick?

[morethan084]

[It was a pretty quiet time of day, which Daisy honestly preferred at times. There wasn't many people in here when some guy she had never seen before arrived. Taking a seat at the bar on the far end and ordering a simple drink, which she gets for him pretty quickly. She noticed the looks a few of the women patrons were giving him and Daisy had to bite back a smile.]

Here you go.

Would you like to look at our menu?

[Not everyone that came into the bar and grill took advantage of both, but most did.]

[failedparenting]

Thanks, sweetheart. [He laughs, taking the drink eagerly.] But, uh, only got enough cash for one or the other, and I need this pretty bad.

[He smiles then, a depriciative aw-shucks-caught-again kind of grin that isn't intentionally manipulative but does have a history of charming the hell out of unsuspecting women. He slides the food menu back at her apologetically and sips at his whiskey.

God, but that's good.

heropa

[sunlighter]

[Speaking of Hell.

Lucifer steps outside of Revīvēscere today, and lucky for him that he does. He's not paying attention to the clamor John is making, though; he could care less about that. What his new arrival may notice, however, is a well dressed man in white, with amber eyes that burn like the sun. He's making a deal, nothing fancy, with a dealer for an esoteric book of worn, ragged leather across the street.]

Re: heropa

[failedparenting]

[Boxers of briefs? Are you single? What are your powers?

The barrage of questions, initially just obnoxious, are grating at him now worse than hitting every red light for ten miles. He doesn't hit women, makes it a point not to unless they're witches, but god, this one radio deejay is really starting to test some life long values he holds dear.

The man in white appears from what seems like nowhere, out from behind a small throng of lookie-loos, and John's stomach immediately drops into his balls. There's something Wrong with that man, Wrong with capitals and vibration and a big underscore to drive the point home. He thinks he almost recognizes the vibe, but not quite. It's not demon but it's not....

Oh. Fuck.

Look, he doesn't normally just play his hand, but it's such a shock to see This that in his distraction he steps out unto the street, body following the thing before his brain can process the situation.]

baby's day out

[notgneiss]

[shale observes john punching the guy outside an ice cream store. he's an imPort, she's gathered that much. not like it's hard to tell now, anyway.

the punch delights her, honestly. she'd been about to wander back in the direction of de chima - maybe try and find some crime to watch and do something about, but john's action makes shale realise she could make her own fun.

he'll find another poor, screaming citizen come flying from the right, slamming into the wall near the ice cream store borders. if he looks to the source, he'll see shale, standing, reeling back from her toss.]

Re: baby's day out

[failedparenting]

[This is not a good day.It's- god, there isn't a word for it. It's shit. He's never had so many eyes on him before, not even in basic or in jail, and he's pretty sure he deserves to throw at least one punch. Maybe it's a dick move, but look, no one needs to know his life story.

But he doesn't have very long to ponder on that because there's a man hitting a wall at a good clip in front of him]

What the f-

[Now, John hasn't actually gone toe-to-toe with a rock monster before. Going through his mental rolodex of the supernatural, he's not even sure he can name any kinds of rock monsters back home. But there sure is a rock monster right there, and christ, he just wants to get out of here.

Goddamnit.]

Hey! You!

Herodotus Antiques

[cleptes]

[After bidding goodbye to her last customer, Bela was preparing to close up shop. She locked all of the cabinets containing the most priceless of items, wiped down the counters and fixed the shelves. Bela liked her shop to be in order and presentable - much like herself. It was evident to anyone who entered the store that it was well-kept and loved; Bela took a lot of pride in her work. Be it stealing or just a sales transaction.

If someone else were to come in right before closing she would of course do her best to treat them well, show them all of the best items and give good customer service. Especially if all of her effort ended up in a sale.]

[failedparenting]

[John doesn't look the type of person to be caught dead inside any antique stores, and it's glaringly obvious. He's far too rough around the edges, too typically male, more appropriate for a hardware store than a place peddling old junk. Except, what makes him unfitting means he's the exact kind of customer who visits with any kind of earnestness.

The shop is on his way to the motel, and by the third day of commuting John finally decides to take a look around. Usually he only finds old junk in these places, broken baby dolls or old sewing caddies, but on ocasion he'll strike cursed gold.

Oh, don't min him shopkeeper, he's just browsing.]

the chop shop

[peepeepants]

[It seems a normal day at work, probably. Then there's some louder than usual talk from the main room, and something about the voice responding may be uncomfortably familiar for John. Words are difficult to make out — Lost weight? Hell no. I don't work here unless you're giving me a job. You'll break the hearts of all those poor kiddos! — but the tones, the way this voice boomed...hmmm.

Until the door is opened and Negan is pushed through, leather jacket, red scarf, Lucille, and all. An angry finger is pointed...straight at John. Looks like someone wasn't lying after all!]

What! [His voice is larger in this space, the laughter not far behind it.] You think I'm this fat fuck? I should be insulted!

[A wave of Lucille makes it very clear who he's talking about. It you, John.]

[failedparenting]

[John's in the back, working on one of the legal jobs that he's come to learn are few and far between. It's one of those old, solid iron affairs, complete with wheels and an engine he understands. There's a commotion in the other room but he pays it no mind—easily done, considering the noise in here—focusing instead on the stripped bolts in front of him. It's infuriating-what dumbass before him was so inept at maintaining a truck that they did this? Goddamn, it's enough to make a guy wanna lay someone out with a wrench.

And then, very suddenly there's someone in the garage shouting, and it takes a second for the voice to click in his head. Doesn't sound like his, no, but it sounds like what his voice sounds like on a recording, all distorted and wrong. John whips around, wrench still in hand, to find....himself?

Well, no, not himself. The guy is far too thin and grey, looks like like chewed him up and spit him out before he went totalltgeriatric. He's been watching the news lately, he knows about the clone bullshit going down in the porter cities. Fuck, he thinks, they got my goddamn DNA and they couldn't even make it look right.]

Motherfucker.

Dealers choice, De Chima, night of the 10th

[bindsthedead]

[Sabriel's face has been on the news lately. Or someone who looks exactly like her, with somewhat different taste in clothes and makeup, with an arrogant demeanor who's not shy about demonstrating her necromantic prowess by resurrecting people. Or rather, shoving their spirits back into their corpses.

The young woman striding through the streets is far quieter, but no less conspicuous. Sabriel's pulled on her hauberk and surcoat, with her bell bandolier buckled around her chest and her sword at her hip. She's following a man who seems... almost normal, in the dim light, except for his slightly greyish skin and the faint stench of decay about him. He seems nervous, glancing over his shoulder and trying to lose her, but Sabriel's chasing him towards the less populated areas of town- at some points he tries to double back, or hide in crowds, but he never seems to escape her.]

[failedparenting]

[John isn't stopping in De Chima, but it's a good waypoint to gather his thoughts and make himself a gameplan. The haircut is already taken care of, the fake ids come next. But booze could take the wheel for tonight, before the illegal shit needs to start.

He leaves the bar at last call, a little uneasy with all the whiskey zipping through his veins. He's not drunk but he's definitely feeling it, enough that he takes a break halfway to his motel to have a smoke. The street is still buzzing with barflies stumbling their own ways home, so he doesn't pay much mind to the odd greyish man making his way down the street. What does stick out is a sober woman, purposefully making her way through the throngs of bar patrons like she's on a mission.

Hmm.

The grey man passes him again, giving John a nervous look before ducking into the alley next to him. John gives him another good look-and oh, there's that familiar stench of decay. Could be a dead rat, of course, but it also could not be.

Quietly, slowly, John eases out the .45 tucked into the back of his jeans and ducks into the alley after him.]

wildcard; Heropa

[112ounces]

John's day with Heropa are becoming worst, for if wasn't the natives bothering him it's imPorts with a huge grudge against certain ... individuals.

Carl noticed the tussle outside the ice cream shop and recognized the man by the sheer hatred and coldness in his gut. He followed the man, but further back as his eyesight allows him to see perfectly clear from a further distance.

As the sun went down and night closing in, Carl closed in on his tracking. He had his gun, his fatal bites, and his hatred to back himself up. He will not allow Negan to strike first when Carl had the home advantage.

Maybe Negan already noticed Carl stalking him. Maybe not. Carl didn't care - Negan was alone and that was enough for Carl.

Re: wildcard; Heropa

[failedparenting]

Normally John would pick out a tail almost immediately, so good (and paranoid) is he for picking up on irregularities like it. Unfortunately, the constant stream of lookie-loos and selfie seekers and just obnoxious assholes serve to give Carl the perfect camouflage until later in the night. It's about 8, when the sun is setting earnest and the shadows are beginning to disappear in favor of the blue hour. It's a comforting time of day for John, one he lives and makes his trade in and he lets the dark meet him like an old buddy. It's them, his senses hones and finally on alert, that he pins the tail.

A kid. It's a just a kid.

Except he's been around long enough to know that there's nothing "just" about anything. Could be a fan, sure, but it could be a shifter too. A small vampire. Ghoul, even. John waits until his trek down this side street leads him to a streetlight then he stops. Doesn't turn, not yet, just stops.

"Listen, kid, I've had a long damn day. Just go home alright?"

WILD CARD

[hombrenuevo]

[ Chico's spending his lunch hour out on the patio of a popular cafe in the heart of Heropa. It's close to all the big tourist traps which means plenty of people to flag down for information. Currently he's meeting up with a fan of his WhoTube show who says she's got some good Florida legends for him. So far, none of them involve tangible cryptids.

"There's a bridge where blood flows under it, I've heard. Isn't that sick?" the girl explains, leaning over the table like they're sharing a conspiracy. Chico, on the other hand, is doing his best to be polite about his time being wasted. ]

That sounds pretty amazing, but I'm a hunter. I go after UMAs. Cryptids.

[ "Oh. Well, what about the huge sewer alligators in Florida? Have you seen one of those yet?" ]

No, but I've heard of them. And it's not technically an unknown species. Alligator mississippiensis is already classified. It's just, you know, bigger.

[ "Oh." The rest of her information is just as poor. And it doesn't seem like she's got a bottom to all this information, so Chico clutches on to one story and promises her he will follow up on it. That seems to satisfy the woman, and after an autograph, she takes off. That leaves him with a half eaten lunch and some peace and quiet for now. He adjusts his canvas cap, the one everyone comments on as Communist paraphernalia, but that's not going to stop him. It's a good hat. ]

Florida has to have something besides the Skunk Ape to hunt...

[failedparenting]

[For the moment, the crowds have thinned around him, in no small part due to the motherfucker whose nose he broke a few blocks away. It's a blessed respite, enough that he can wind himself down at least half a notch and take a breath.

Alright. So, the identity thing is gonna be a problem. Okay. First thing he needs to do is-

His thoughts are abruptly cut off there when he hears a voice to his right, coming out of a patio to his right. He slows, looks and sees a kid there. Light brown hair, a little on the shrimpy side, maybe 12 or 13. Christ, it's Sammy.]

Jesus.

[He has an accent, but that doesn't mean anything. Something they'd done tens of times on hunts. Sam back home is just 22, but they told him when he woke up about how time sometimes works differently for people. Holy shit. Holy shit.]

Sammy! [John shoves past a few tables, mindless of the yelps or curses of restaurant patrons. His kid is here, who gives a crap about strangers?] Jesus, Sammy, how long have you been here?