howtheyshine | Pumpkin Hollow IC Contact Post

Sir, sir you are making all the worst possible communication choices with him.

There's a strained moment of silence, where he manages NOT to snap an answer at Crichton, not at all for productive reasons.

"Don't fucking ignore me when I say things."

Edited 2024-10-18 19:27 (UTC)

Through the stone comes the sound of him sucking in a biiiiiig breath through his nose. Fine. Fine. He'll try to play nice.

"Okay. I'm sorry. You're right. I don't want to ask you but I have to because I don't know if there is anyone else who can help. It's not about what I want, it's about helping everyone. We think that book might have something to do with the barrier around this island and we need answers. If you don't want to do it for me, will you do it for yourself? The sooner we beat Nyarlathotep the sooner all of us can go home."

There's another silence.

"What if I don't want to go home?"

"Y-you..." What? It never occurred to him that John wouldn't want to. That's... unexpected.

"You wouldn't be the only one. There's a lot of people in town that are hoping to stay once the barrier goes down. But no one is going to get to live safely until we stop whatever plot these demons are cooking up. Please. I'll owe you a favor in return."

So it would help Sally. It would help Gwen.

He grunts.

“Nyarlathotep, who is that?”

Look he’s had so much to get used to being people-shaped that he hasn’t paid that much attention to The Lore yet.

"He's the god of chaos, apparently. Met him, briefly, in a dream. We don't know what he's plotting but it can't be good. He's already had people killed."

This time the quality of Yellow's silence is a little different. He's remembering Arthur's declaration that he wasn't a murderer, his later confession about how much of a lie that was. How angry it made Yellow for reasons he still doesn't really understand.

At the same time, he's thinking what kind of question would Arthur ask?

"What do you know?"

Now it's Crichton's turn to pause in silence. So far everything he's said is mostly common knowledge, excluding the information about the book.

"I'll tell you, but I'd rather not do it over these stones."

Well that's baffling.

"...Okay." If he sounds wary it's because he super is. "How then?"

"Face to face." Yes, he is absolutely groaning internally at his own suggestion. "Do you like hot dogs? I got some I could grill if you want to come around to my place."

"Hot dogs?" What the fuck are-- "Uh, yes. Where are you?"

He still sounds like someone waiting for the axe to fall.

"Yeah. Do you know what a sausage is? Like that. Meat tubes you heat up and eat on some bread." Is that actually helpful? Well, at least Yellow knows it's food being offered now.

"Here's my address." Crichton proceeds to recite that address (and we will pretend the player remembers what it is.)

And, because he can hear that, he adds. "Dude, I'm not going to bite your head off, okay? I'm sorry for being a jerk. I got some leftover bad feelings to work on but I shouldn't be taking them out on you." Fuck, trying to be the bigger person really sucks sometimes.

Well this pause is like twice as long as the other ones.

"You're sorry?"

A quiet, scornful noise.

"So was Arthur, until he wasn't."

AND HE HANGS UP. And then dithers for a few minutes trying to decide what to do, if he should actually go, if he actually cares about helping Crichton. He doesn't. But he wants to know things, and he wants to help Sally and Gwen.

Ugh.

He probably still takes Crichton by surprise at least in terms of how quickly he arrives. He can teleport, albeit only as far as he can see. He found that out by accident which was alarming, but it's been useful since.

His appearance is largely as it was on the night of the gala, except now his clothes are tidy and basic and he has a thick coat someone gave him. His Arthur-but-not eyes fix on Crichton when he answers the door, full of pure wariness and hostility.

Crichton is left staring at the deactivated sending stone vibrating in his trembling hand. So... guess that's something they both have in common, when it comes to living with the memory of Arthur.

He's barely finished digesting this entire turn of events when Yellow appears way too quickly at his door. How did he get here so fast? Crichton didn't think he was coming at all. He's too busy trying to calm his frayed nerves to even conceal his surprise when he does open the door.

"H-hey. Come on in..." He's trying very hard not to notice those eyes on him as he steps aside and gestures for his guest to enter. "Take a seat on the sofa and make yourself at home. Did you uh... still want a hot dog?"

He skirts around Crichton as much as possible as he enters, figures out the sofa by process of elimination and goes over to it. When he sits he's still got his coat on (overlarge, clearly made for someone bigger).

"...Yes." He frowns. "It's not made from dogs is it?"

He has one now, after all. Or a creature very much like a dog. It's even named Dog.

Crichton chuckles to himself at the question. This is like the early days of being on Moya all over again. He can't take anything for granted here the same way he couldn't be sure his crew on Moya would understand anything he said at first. Hell, none of them had even heard of a toothbrush. (They used teeth-cleaning bugs instead.)

"No. It's not made of actual dogs." He hopes. No one knows where these specific infinite box brand of hot dogs came from, but no one has dared to ask, either.

"Usually, they're made of pork or beef, or a little bit of both. They're safe, I promise. I'll have one too; it's about lunch time."

Crichton uses the pause to go retrieve his skillet to help school his expression and posture into something less stunned and more in control. By the time he sets the pan over his wood stove to heat up, he has his baseline back.

The sitting room is a straight shot from the kitchen, so Crichton leans in the doorway to face Yellow as he says, "I'm going to answer your question, but I think it might be smarter for me to ask you the same thing first. How much do you know, right now? About anything that's going on here."

He gives a quiet little grunt. "Good. I like dogs."

He's not sure what pork or beef are-- wait, no, he does know, the knowledge drifting to the top of his mind like bubbles breaking the surface.

...Hmm, not sure how he feels about eating pigs or cows either.

That is a later him problem.

He shrugs slowly, imitating the motion he's seen others make. He's afraid to admit how little he knows, how preoccupied he's been with things that have little to do with the Big Issue of why they're here.

"I know about... the ferry. I know there's a barrier. That people are stuck, that no one can die." He scratches his head, another imitative gesture. "I was at the party when that weird... person showed up and turned everything sideways, and when he made the woman turn into something else."

Which as far as he can tell didn't deserve that much fanfare, but, well, what does he know.

"I know there's someone in the water who knew what I was."

"Good. So do I. Don't trust guys that don't like dogs. Even better, don't trust guys that dogs don't like." Just some free (mostly good?) advice.

"Correction," Crichton says, holding his finger up like a teacher making a point, "No one stays dead here. You can die, it just won't stick. Still gonna hurt." Ask him how he knows.

"The weird person was one of the demons that's been wreaking havoc on the island, named Mendel. The party was a birthday party for Dahlia Leeds, she's the one you saw transform. Turns out, she's been doing night shifts as a monster called the Pine Devil and eating people. Makes sense when you think about it, now we know that she's actually the daughter of Aster--that would be another of the demons causing trouble around here."

That's already a lot to take in, so he pauses a moment to give Yellow some air before he asks his next question.

"Someone in the water? That one is new to me. What do you mean?"

He's going to go back to his room and write all of this down and then ask Sally if he has it right, because like hell he's going to ask Crichton to repeat anything.

As for his water associate, well. Yellow scowls.

"I tried to leave across the water when I got here. It... he... they... it was in the water, black, the darkest black I've ever seen, but I could feel it moving, like it was folding over and over on itself, swirling without stopping, and it had more eyes than I could count."

The scowl deepens. "It asked if I forgot it."

"You tried to... swim?" Crichton doesn't have to say how foolish he thinks that is because his eyebrows jumping up and down do it for him.

"Something dark and full of eyes asked you... Jesus..." Was Nyarlathotep himself? God, he hopes not. If it was, then they might have confirmation that the asshole really is snooping around the island keeping tabs.

"I... hate to ask but... Arthur did mention that John, his John, didn't have complete memories. Did it seem at all familiar to you? Could it be right about knowing you? I mean, you are uh... kind of cut from the same cloth, aren't you?"

The thing about being people-shaped is that sometimes his body does things when he's feeling A Lot. Like right now, for example. He's on his feet without intending to stand up, temper all at once incandescent.

"That's not my fucking fault, he asked for me that way! He wanted me without memories of the King. He took them and trapped me and then blamed me for not knowing--"

He verbally stumbles to a halt, not so much gathering his temper as realizing he's yelling things he doesn't want Crichton to know.

Yellow looks at the floor to try and keep from seeing Crichton's face and maybe keep Crichton from seeing the dismay on his own. He's breathing hard. He doesn't even need lungs. This is stupid. Bodies are stupid. Being here, coming here, that was also stupid. The little British voice in his head says Well, the choice suits you then, doesn't it.

Yeah he's gonna try and bolt for the door.

Edited 2024-10-23 19:42 (UTC)

See, this is why he didn't want to ask. He ain't even here and Arthur is still causing problems.

Wait. Arthur did what? So the son of a bitch has no qualms about manipulating other people's memories and he still had the fucking nerve to get onto Crichton for what he did in one?? Crichton can't believe it. He's actually starting to side with John...

"H-ey! Where are you--?" Shit, we got a runner.

"No you don't!" Crichton springs from his chair to tackle Yellow to the ground, trying to sit on his back if he can manage it.

Crichton is very fortunate in this moment that Yellow opted to include lungs in his current shape. It means between the impact of the floor and the weight of Crichton on top of him squishing the air out of said lungs, he does not immediately try to shapeshift into something that can take Crichton's head off. He's too distracted by physical discomfort and the profound weirdness of physical discomfort.

Yellow squints his eyes nearly shut and growls.

"Get the fuck off me."

It sounds slightly less impressive, even in That Voice, when it comes out as a wheeze.

"I will if you promise not to run away immediately," Crichton says, without so much as shifting his weight. He's heavier than he looks. All that junk in the trunk.

"Fine!"

Is he hiding his face against the floor in embarrassment? Is he trying to figure out why said face feels hot when the rest of him does not?

Okay did not, but it's a good coat and he's getting overheated.

"Get the fuck off!"

Edited 2024-10-25 20:34 (UTC)

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