Chapter Text
PERCEPTION(touch)- As you lean on the Precinct’s wall– it’s rough, made of worn brick.
PERCEPTION(sight)- It’s bleached from years of sun exposure.
INLAND EMPIRE- You were told to wait here, while the others get things sorted.
You’ve had to do this before, no doubt. Stay put while others clean up your mess.
EMPATHY- They care enough to not see you make a fool of yourself, they’ve got it covered
PAIN THRESHOLD- Maybe you should sit down. Remember your leg? Yeah, not going
anywhere. That searing pain I mean.
ENDURANCE- The chase is over. It’s done. No more adrenaline to mask that ‘minor flesh
wound’.
- [PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT-Heroic] Stay standing
- Slide yourself down the wall, give your legs a break
YOU- As you make the motions to sit your legs give out before you even make it all the way
down to the ground. Greedy for rest. You let out a small ‘Oof’ sound in response.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- He turns the corner, half expecting you to have already taken off.
EMPATHY- He’s glad you're still here. Not that he’ll say it, not yet at least.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- He lets out a ‘tch’ sound seeing you on the pavement. As he walks over to where
you’ve decided to make yourself at home he pulls out a cigarette in a familiar motion. He crouches down next to you,
feet still planted. “You're lucky” he pauses,“You’re getting put on paid leave. Don’t get your hopes up, shitkid. It’s
only for a few days– while you get–” He motions towards his head, “that whole situation sorted”. He lights his cigarette
with just a few flicks of his lighter. “Last thing we need is you busting those stitches *again*, prancing around Jamrock
leaving a blood trail”.
AUTHORITY- Sorted? What the hell does he know? This guys been nothing but rude, wasn’t he our partner? Shouldn't there be *some* respect there?
VOLITION- Well, there’s probably a reason for that. This is more of a private matter, and you're
one on one now– maybe you could take advantage of this situation and ask more questions? About you? Or… him?
Anything really. It’s getting late though.
- “So…About this whole *situation*...”
- “...You said we were partners, right? Were we any good at the… *crime stuff*?”
- Stay silent. Let him ask the questions.
YOU- “...You said we were partners, right? Were we any good at the… *crime stuff*?”. You embellish the words with a flourish of your hands.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- “By *crime stuff* I’m guessing you mean actually getting our job done,
then sure, yeah, we did our job” he pauses to take a drag, then continues, “You could be
a real pain to work with, a real asshole when you wanted to be” “and that was most of the
time” He turns to you. “Really? Nothing? None of this ringing any bells? All of it’s gone?”
There's a shift in his tone.
EMPATHY- Tired. Sad. He knew you, and hes basically lost a friend. He’s mourning for someone
who’s technically still alive. As much distaste he appears to have for you, he still loved
you.
YOU- You shake your head, “Sometimes I remember small things. Never the entirety. Just how it
*felt*” You decide to be honest with him. That’s your only hope of ‘getting things sorted’.
“It’s weird… I don’t know why I feel shitty, but I still do” Your words are blunt, no sugar coating this.
INLAND EMPIRE- There’s no need to pry. Please. Stop while you're ahead.
VOLITION- You're supposed to know him. He’s your friend, it’s alright to talk to him. This is
normal.
HALF LIGHT- *Supposed to know him* is right. You don’t know him, but he knows *you*.
VOLITION- You owe him this at least. Closure. Closure to the friend he’s lost.
HALF LIGHT- You owe him nothing. Don’t bleed yourself out for this guy.
YOU- You look down at your hands, you would have your knees pulled tight to your chest, but you
know it’d hurt. So you sit with your legs straight out in front of you. You study the web of interlacing scars on the back of your hand.
Jean’s still turned to face you, you won't meet his eyes. That’d be far too much.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- He’s silent for a bit, studying your expression, not sure what to say.
EMPATHY- He doesn’t want to make things worse on you.
LOGIC- He wants to tell you more, but he’s not certain that’s the best thing for you. He’s probably
thinking, ‘Maybe this is good, he can start over? Maybe things won't get as bad as they were?’
‘What if I tell him about all the shitty things he did and he casts himself right back into oblivion?’
EMPATHY- Guilt resides on his features. He wanted to help you. The harder he tried the farther
you got, deeper into the deep dark nothing that is *your* oblivion, and he didn’t want to sink with the ship. He’s got his own problems.
He can’t take care of you as well.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- “Are you better like this?” He’s not even sure his question makes sense.
- “I don’t know.”
- “Maybe?”
- “I mean, I’m not currently a raging alcoholic, so thats gotta be something right?”
YOU- “I mean, I’m not currently a raging alcoholic, so thats gotta be something right?”
DRAMA- A perfect amount of ‘un-basicness’ grace your words.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- “Yeah” He waits a moment, “Yet” another drag. “It’s been a week” He looks
ahead. Shifting his feet, he joins you in sitting on the ground fully, one leg pulled up to his
chest.
VOLITION- His doubts aren’t misplaced. He’s heard this before.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- “You need a ride home right? Wait–” He cuts himself off by standing, then
continues “You don’t know where you live– do you?” He knows the answer to this, but he
asks anyway. He tosses the half burnt cigarette to the ground and snuffs it out with his
heel. He follows this motion by reaching his hand out in your direction.
AUTHORITY- You don’t need his help.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- What does he take you for? A feeble child that can’t stand on his own?
PAIN THRESHOLD- You can’t.
EMPATHY- He just wants to help.
- Take his hand.
2.[PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT-Impossible] Stand on your own. Prove yourself like the real man you are.
YOU- You take his hand and heft yourself up. Using the wall as an additional support trying to not
put all your weight onto Jean’s grip. You mildly fail at this as you stumble a tad causing
Jean to shift to your side in order to support you.
“So, where *do* I live?” you ask, wanting to fill the silence as he helps you stumble to his
car.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- “Don’t get too excited” He helps you lean onto the passenger seat, and
closes the door. Opening the driver's side he continues “You weren’t living lavishly by any
means, you didn’t really like to stay home either–” he stops, unsure if he should
continue. “I haven’t been there. I don’t know what it’s like, all I know is that you said you
hated the place, and your neighbors.” he fishes his keys from a pocket in his coat, the
engine comes alive.
YOU- You look like a kid on their first road trip, staring out the window, studying your new
surroundings with awe and wonder.
PERCEPTION(sight)- The buildings pass through the window, blurred. They range from small
concrete shops with apartments dotted ‘here and there’. It’s dull. By the overcast weather
or by the dreary mood surrounding the district.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- He’s neglected to turn on the radio. Not sure to leave the silence open or
to fill it.
EMPATHY- Somewhere in his thoughts he’s hoping you’d fill it, ‘asking your questions, forming
your trees’ as he’d say. He doesn’t want to tell you more unless *you* want more. It’s
your call.
INLAND EMPIRE- Leave it. Drown out the silence, turn on the radio. Just fill the empty sound
with something that won’t hurt.
- Reach over and turn on the radio.
- “So what typa’ music ya like?” (ask him what he’d like to listen to before turning the radio on)
- Enjoy the *underwhelming* view out of the window and keep your thoughts company.
- “What happened to me?”
YOU- “So what typa’ music ya like?” you ask before leaning forwards to the radio, glancing up at
him.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- He’s focused on the road. His brows are knitted together caught up in
some thought. He waves his hand, a vague motion that tells you he doesn’t particularly
care what you play.
LOGIC- Thinking about what to do with *you*. He’s a blunt guy, you could probably ask him what
he’s thinking about and he’d tell you.
VOLITION- You're doing it again.
YOU- What?
INLAND EMPIRE- Can opener; But that's just how you are. No sense in being ashamed of it.
This is how you get to know people. It’s just how you do things.
YOU- You turn the the knob till you land on a random frequency, it’s playing some
*unremarkable* music.
DRAMA- BORING! Cover your ears sire! You’ll damage them with all this tasteless noise!
- Find a different station
- “Whatcha’ thinkin’ ‘bout?”
YOU- “Whatcha’ thinkin’ ‘bout?” Your tone is purposefully playful, to ease the mood. Leaning
back into the leather upholstery of the car seat.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- The furrow between his brows loosen at the question. “It’s nothing” His
words are simply put. He glances at the radio to see what you decided to leave on, not
that he cares, just curious. ‘tch’ “Really? Kinda bland for you ‘Funk-mizer’ ” There’s a
smile in his voice, if not on his face.
ENCYCLOPEDIA- ‘Mizer’ A borrowed word from multiple generations, Adjective- meaning
‘Wretched’ ‘Miserable’, In opposition to the expected word here being ‘Meister’ typically
tacked on the end of another word, meaning ‘someone who is proficient in a specific
skill/activity’ it can also mean master.
LOGIC- The name is meant to sound like a complement, but in reality it’s just a belittling
nickname. A clever one nonetheless.
YOU- Taken aback by the nickname that was stated quite fondly, you fumble on your words. “I
just spun the dial till something came on if I’m being honest” You adjust yourself in the
seat. You deliberately leave a gap between this sentence and the last, “ Funk-mizer?? ”
JEAN VICQUEMARE- He softly shakes his head, as if recalling a fond memory. “Just another
stupid nickname” “I’m not even surprised that the one thing your fucked brain decided to
hold onto was fuckin’ *Disco*” His words sound harsh but in contrast his face shows a twinge of sentiment behind his words.
YOU- “It’s practically ingrained in my way of life. Everything. All * Disco *” You let your hands
punctuate your words by adding a bit of ‘razz-m-tazz’ to your words. (aka slightly waving
your hands and fingers, sparkle effect)
JEAN VICQUEMARE- “Mhm” He meets your display with just a hum of recognition, the light
mood has already turned bitter for him, a memory quickly soured.
EMPATHY- He wants to ask you something, a question thats been weighing on him ever since
you arrived back at the precinct.
LOGIC- What?
PERCEPTION- You feel the car judder to a halt, engine still alight, still breathing.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- “Are you– Are you *actually* planning to get better?” The cars stopped, but
his hands were still firmly placed on the wheel, shoulders tensed. He remains looking
forward at the road. Not daring to look you in the eye.
EMPATHY- He can’t further involve himself in your life if you don’t say that you're willing to get
better. Willing to try. You're a sinking ship to him, and he’s not going under with you. He
clawed his way out of it once already.
INLAND EMPIRE- He made you worse, and he’s not going through that again.
- “I don’t know
- “I’ll try”
- “You know it lieutenant” (proceed to give him a 2 finger salute as you leave the vehicle)
YOU- “You know it lieutenant” you give him a 2 finger salute as you leave the vehicle. The car
door opens with a slight creak.
PAIN THRESHOLD- Ouch, bad move. Stepping out without thinking you kinda forgot about your
whole leg situation. The pain that follows feels as if a jolt of lightning ran down your leg,
like an unlucky tree in a storm. You brace yourself on the car door easing your weight to
your other leg.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- He makes a sound, “damnit Harry–” It’s harsh but quiet, you could barely
hear it.
PERCEPTION(Hearing)- You can hear the click of car keys and the engine shutting down with a
soft pur. The other car door slams shut as you hear footsteps hurriedly jog to your side of
the vehicle.
YOU- A hand rests on your back, ready to keep you steady if needed. “Just got up wrong, I’m
good”
AUTHORITY- He really thinks you need to be babysat, doesn't he?
JEAN VICQUEMARE- “Mhm, now come on we’re here” His tone is still harsh as ever. He helps
you up the stairs.
HALF LIGHT- He’s walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around every possible thing.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- He thinks you’re made of glass or something.
PERCEPTION- Each step creaks as you ascend. It’s quiet in the building except for occasional
chatter behind thick walls. The building's walls are as plain as they come, at least in the
halls. You reach your door, on the second floor. A worn wooden frame surrounds the
door.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- “Here we are” He loosens his grip on your shoulder, letting you know you
can stand on your own now. “I doubt you have your keys, so I got a copy made at the
precinct– don’t uh worry about the legality of that” he pauses “Your case is *unique*” He goes to unlock the door,
a soft click comes from the handle. His hand stops before twisting the knob. He turns to you
“I’m gonna tell you this now before you see it– it’s not gonna be pretty in there, knowing you, I’m guessing you made it ‘your own’. ”
He turns back to open the door, something on the other side causes him to push it a little.
YOU- You walk in.
VOLITION- It’s worse. Far worse than your room at the Whirling-in-Rags. Your own personal
inferno.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY- HOME SWEET HOME BABY! Relish in the toxicity of it all, that’s all you
baby, ‘ whoo-boy ’ you are an animal.
PERCEPTION- As you push the door further open, you see a small pile of letters, along with the
clinking of bottles falling over. The room isn’t too big, but it’s hard to tell– with how little of
the floor you can see. Actually you can hardly see any *room* anything you’d normally
find in a single apartment is covered in a wave of bottles, dirty clothes and more. To add
the cherry on top of this ‘oblivion sunday’-- the smell, it’s rancid. Not like a body bag– no
that’d be familiar at least. It smells like sweat– old sweat, an old musty smell fills the
room, as well as the smell of rot, no doubt some food got left out. In conclusion, it’s bad.
Really bad.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- “God” His hand goes up to his nose, just as a reflex. He sighs “Grab a
bag, we’re cleaning this” He tiptoes through your man made inferno, being careful not to
fall. He heads straight to the small kitchen, and riffles through the cabinet below the sink,
searching for cleaning supplies no doubt. He takes mind to use the same path back to
the door. “Here” He hands a box of trash bags to you, “I’m going to pick up some cleaning
shit, you pick up whatever you can for now. I’ll be back– familiarize yourself with the place
or something– you live here after all” He gives you a pat on the shoulder as he walks out
past you and out the door.
The door shuts, and with a dull thud, you’re alone.
LOGIC- How’d he know where to look for those cleaning supplies? I thought he said he’d never
been here before.
EMPATHY- Does that really matter? If he has been here he probably has a reason for not telling you. Anyways, he’s helping.
The scraps of a connection are still there, you just need to piece it back together.
YOU- “Now where to start” You tap your finger on your chin, pondering your *new* living situation.
INLAND EMPIRE- There’s a small tape player on the kitchen island, you should play something,
works easier with noise, beside the noise in your head. It’s also extremely quiet without
someone else with you. Play something before you start picking up.
- [INLAND EMPIRE(Easy)] Check out the tape player, see what it got
- Start Clearing out the kitchen, and work your way further into the apartment.
- [VISUAL CALCULUS(Challenging)] look around the apartment, figure out the best place to start cleaning. Strategize.
YOU- You walk over to the countertop, scooching over some trash in order to set down the trash
bags. You take out the tape, curious to see what’s on it. Written in blue marker is ‘SIMPLY DISCO’ in all caps, your doing no doubt.
You nod to yourself and put the tape back in, it makes a small click as a response letting you know it’s securely latched back in.
Ready to go. You press play. It’s silent for a bit but then the music starts, just like it said, it sure is disco. You make sure to keep the volume down,
aware that your neighbors are getting ready to tuck in for the night. Picking back up the trash bags you look back out at the room,
utterly destroyed, an unapologetic mess of a man did this.
VOLITION- And that’s not you. Not anymore.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Don’t lie to the boy, he’s still got some party left in him, I say crank the
music, one of these bottles got to have something left– I bet we had a stash somewhere,
a ‘just in case’ if you catch my drift.
VOLITION- Don’t
- [ELECTROCHEMISTRY(Challenging)] Search for your secret stash
- Start Clearing out the kitchen, and work your way further into the apartment.
- [VISUAL CALCULUS(Challenging)] look around the apartment, figure out the best place to start cleaning. Strategize.
YOU- You start with the kitchen. It’s definitely not the worst of it, but it’s still pretty bad. You notice
a lack of dirty dishes in the sink, you clearly opted for paper plates and take out. You didn’t cook for yourself.
INLAND EMPIRE- You had fun cooking with her though, she liked it when you showed off.
YOU- The bag slowly fills, bottle after bottle, unlabeled medicine bottle after small pill box. There
really is a lot, you fill about 5 trash bags in an hour. You’re actually able to see the floor now, it’s equally as wretched as the trash covering it.
You can see the actual size of the apartment now, ignoring the bags and broken furniture. You’ll deal with those later.
PAIN THRESHOLD- Maybe as soon as you can reliably stand on your own two legs. I would
suggest you sit down somewhere– preferably somewhere *not* filthy. Sit on your coat or something, you need to wash it anyways.
- Go look at the offshoot hallway, which most likely has your bedroom and bathroom down it. (you’ve been putting that part off for last– you really dont want to see whats become of the bedroom)
- Sit, take a breather, you’ve been shot after all, case is done no need to play the hero anymore.
ENDURANCE- He’s fine. He’s still got some juice.
YOU- As you step into the cramped hall, there’s 2 doors, you push open the one you assume
(hope) is the bathroom. You’re still not ready to face the bedroom.
PERCEPTION- The bathroom isn’t half bad, but that’s by your standards. There’s old dirty
clothes tossed over the shower curtain, and on the floor. As you step forwards you hear a crunch under your heel. Glass.
You turn to flick on the light switch to get a better look at the room, the lights hum to life in return.
Looking at the floor you’re met with exactly what you thought, glass. Lots of it. Straightening yourself back up you look at the mirror,
a large crack runs up and down the mirror, anchoring from a central point, it’s about face level. You are now fully facing the mirror.
INLAND EMPIRE- You don’t have to do this. All it’ll do is make you feel worse.
- Look at yourself in the shattered mirror.
- Raise your fist to the mirror, to see if the starting impact matches the size of your fist.
- Leave the bathroom, clean up the glass later
YOU- As you slowly raise your fist to the mirror, it shakes a little. You may not remember but your body does.
HALF LIGHT- Instinctual.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- Familiar.
DRAMA- Rehearsed.
LOGIC- The indentation matches your hand size perfectly. It’s yours. Did you really doubt that it
wasn’t?
YOU- Just as you slowly raised your fist you return it back to your side, not before you take a
good look at the back of your right hand one more time. The scars that lattice your hand mock you.
PAIN THRESHOLD- Mock you even. Did it really hurt? You couldn’t feel it if it did.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Too doped up to even second guess it. All you could feel was that
electric high and the growing heat of your now smoldering fist. Not pain though.
YOU- Flipping your hand you stretch your fingers and curl them back into your palm, repeating
that a few times, just to ground yourself.
VOLITION- It happened a while ago, the only reminder is that busted mirror and the glass you
neglected to sweep up.
- Look at yourself in the shattered mirror.
- Leave the bathroom, clean up the glass later
PERCEPTION- You managed to wipe that grimace off your face not long ago, a familiar sad man
looks back at you. You can’t actually see very much of your face because of the cracks, but you know what's on the other side, scrutinizing you.
INLAND EMPIRE- Last time you looked at your reflection in this mirror your eyes were met with a
similar sad, angry man, one who wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, and by glory I mean pure and utter desolation. A raging dumpster fire of a life.
VOLITION- You are different. You don’t want to get worse. That’s not you. Not anymore. You
haven’t even side-eyed a bottle of booze since you got on the case with Kim–!
ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Yes you have, you can’t deny it.
VOLITION- Point being, you didn’t act on those thoughts. That’s something. Way better than
nothing.
HALF LIGHT- This bathroom is small. Cramped. You're not claustrophobic but you sure don’t like
how suffocating this room feels.
LOGIC- It’s not the room. It’s you. You're panicking. Why are you panicking?
- [COMPOSURE(Legendary)] Breath, calm yourself down. Figure out what’s going on.
- Stop looking at your reflection, take a step back.
COMPOSURE(Legendary-Failure)- You take a shaky breath. It didn’t help. You lean over the sink,
hands pressed on the rim of the cold porcelain, elbows bowed up and out to the side. You stare down at the faucet, a warped and beveled reflection stares back.
INLAND EMPIRE- This face will always follow you. It knows you, even if you don’t know it.
REACTION SPEED- The front door creaks open. Your hands shake.
YOU- Deciding it’d be best to greet Jean, you peak your head out of the bathroom and into the
hallway.
JEAN VICQUEMARE- He lets out a whistle. “You actually managed to get some work done– you
can even see the floor now” He sounds mildly impressed. He’s toting a large plastic bag, no doubt carrying cleaning supplies.
“I see you found your tapes” he nods over the tape player that's just been playing on repeat at a low hum.
He sets the bag down on the freshly cleared counter. Reaching into the larger bag he pulls out a smaller one and holds it out in your direction.
YOU- “What’s this?” You step out of the hall into the main kitchen/dining/living room. Looking at
the bag in his outstretched hand. Peering inside it seems to contain a bottle of what you believe to be shampoo and another that you assume to be body wash.
LOGIC- You haven’t had a proper bath in nearly a week, let alone wash your hair. Simply put–
you stink.