riverviewlogs | when the truth is found to be lies [closed]

[ It's time for a tea party! Jefferson's first since... ugh, Wonderland. But it's fine. All things considered, his tea parties were the highlight of his time in Wonderland. Even if the March Hare and dormouse were insufferably mad.

But then again, so was he.

Now, since he has to share the dining area with everyone else on the floor, Jefferson can't exactly claim the entire table for himself and Lucy. Instead, he's got it demarcated with a line of books, standing upright like a literary wall. This half of the table is reserved for the tea party.

The other half is for everyone else.

He's got a freshly brewed pot of tea ready, some saucers and cups, a sugar pot and a little pot of cream. Spoons. Plenty of spoons. And an assortment of cookies. Now all he needs is his guest. ]

Edited 2018-02-16 05:02 (UTC)

[Lucy was nervous, but also excited about her first tea party. She's done them before when she was a young girl with plastic tea cups and a little plastic tea pot with pretend tea. She had stuffed animals as her guests, but now she's actually going to a real tea party.

With The Mad Hatter

Who hates her grandmother, Regina.

Well, she was hoping things would be good. Jefferson seemed to calm down once he realized she was a kid. So maybe she could build better relations with him? On behalf of Regina? She gets to the proper floor where Jefferson was and knocks on the door of his room.]

[ When he hears the knock, Jefferson opens the door and looks down at Lucy, smiling, trying to look friendly and normal, despite how difficult it is to chase the ever-present haunting out of his eyes. With a grin, he bows, low and theatrical, one foot forward, the other back, a sweep of his arms as if he were still a ridiculous young thief in the Enchanted Forest. ]

Your tea awaits, highness. [ With a teasing wink, he stands up straight again to usher Lucy in. Jefferson doesn't have his own room, just a bed over in one of the dorm-like rooms. But that doesn't matter. They'll head to the communal dining room instead, where the spread's ready. ]

Pick a seat. Any seat.

[Lucy waits, wondering how many seconds should go by until she attempts to knock again. She doesn't have to wait for long, the door opens with Jefferson there and he makes this grand bow that makes the corners of her mouth tug up in a smile. The Mad Hatter does like to make a grand entrance, it seems. Something she didn't realize until now...and it's kind of cool, in a way.

But, she isn't one to break the rules of a tea party and she ends up sliding one foot behind the other and bends her knees slightly. She does know how to curtsy.]

Thank you for inviting me, my Lord.

[Okay, maybe not the correct use of titles (no one really ever taught her the differences between stations in great detail, but Jefferson is older than her and calling him 'Hatter' wouldn't do. Lucy follows Jefferson's lead, heading towards the communal dining room where he has everything laid out.]

Wow... [Clearly, she is impressed with what he's done. As for seats, well, she picks the one next to the head of the table, almost expecting him to take that one. This was his home after all.]

You certainly go all out for tea parties. This is why better than what I had when I was younger.

[ Jefferson has to refrain from laughing when she addresses him as 'Lord.' Of course, they're only playing pretend, tossing titles back and forth, but oh, he's so far from nobility. Not a drop of royal blood in him-- a commoner through and through. (An utterly disreputable commoner, at that.) The gilded, fancy cage of a mansion Regina trapped him in was nothing more than a cruel taunt.

Lucy, by virtue of her bloodline, is an actual princess. But even if she wasn't, he'd still treat her as one, just as he did when playing teatime with Grace. So, he pulls a chair out for her, as a proper gentleman does, before taking his seat. ]

I've had a lot of practice with tea parties. [ Because of Grace, of course. That's where his affinity for tea parties really comes from. But he'll let the comment stand as a reference to Wonderland, instead. The Mad Hatter and his infamously exasperating tea parties. He picks up the teapot and begins to pour a cup for Lucy, then himself. It's just a pot of English Breakfast, something that will pair well with cream and sugar. ] Glad you like it.

[The young girl didn't view herself as a princess, though she did live in a castle back in the Enchanted Realm. Henry didn't walk around with a crown on his head, and wasn't addressed as 'His Royal Highness' or anything like that. Granted, her grandmothers, and her great-grandparents were royalty...

But they're only having fun here. They're having a tea party where, hopefully, nothing would take them by surprise. There wouldn't be any little bottles that caused them to grow or shrink, and no Queen of Hearts to terrify them.]

Because of Wonderland? [Lucy can't help but ask, thinking that's the main reason he became good with parties that involve teas and cups, and other items. She watches him pour the tea with expert precision and waits for him to finish pouring himself a little before adding a teaspoon of sugar.]

Thanks, I mean, I've never been to a real tea party before. Not with the Mad Hatter! [Wait, calm down, no need to get too hyper too soon.] How do you like this place? Is it different from all the other worlds you've been to?

That's right. [ His smile grows a little strained, threatening to crack. But, well, that's Wonderland-induced trauma for you.

At least Lucy's excitement drowns out the harsh whispers in his head. Enthusiasm can be quite the distraction, so he latches onto it, brightening. ]

Well... [ He makes a show of thinking her question over, drumming his fingers on the table as his tea cools. ] No curses, so that's a plus. Nobody's after my head... Another plus. And I haven't seen or heard about any wicked witches in days, so... [ Hm. ] All in all, not bad. [ With a quick smile, he adds a touch of cream to his tea. ] And it's different, yeah. Magic and science, coexisting like this? Not really heard of in the other lands.

[ He looks at Lucy carefully for a moment, before he asks in return: ] What about you? Do you like it here?

[ Though Jefferson has his days where he won't leave the room-- making him well-acquainted with the amenities available on their floor-- he still keeps a pretty solid wall up between himself and his floormates. A few weeks into living here, and the conversations he's shared with them can easily be counted on one hand.

He knows things about them, of course. He still observes. He just doesn't really put on the friendliest face when he doesn't have to.

Peter Grant's his neighbor, one bed over. A police officer from... London, he thinks? Friendly, relaxed, which is different from the other law enforcement types Jefferson's known.

Then again, given his former career path, his every experience with officers of the law tended to involve a lot of shouting and chasing. "Stop, thief!" and so on.

Even in Storybrooke, he knew to be cautious around them. Graham Humbert, the Queen's tragic, unknowing enforcer. Emma Swan, who hit him with a telescope, minutes before her mother kicked him out of a window. (To be fair... he did have that coming.) The charming David Nolan, who threatened to lock him up unless he found a portal and made it work.

Ha.

Like that threat wasn't old hat to him.

Needless to say, Jefferson tends to carry himself with a degree of cageyness around Peter, in a way that probably screams to the officer: "Yeah, this guy's got a criminal record."

Sometimes, their respective schedules makes it difficult for Jefferson to avoid his roommate. If Peter has to do some nighttime cop stuff, and Jefferson's on a shift at the casino, well then. Suddenly they're coming home around the same time, the only two who are awake and unwinding while the others sleep.

Like tonight. Freshly returned from an night working at the casino, Jefferson's sprawled out on the couch, bottle of whiskey in hand, drinking because his mind is fired up and he wants nothing more than to dull it. It's not like sleep's going to come to him anytime soon, anyway.

Right now, he's got all the bonelessness of a big cat, his body language relaxed while his head buzzes with anxiety. And, when he hears Peter enter, he twists and cranes his neck to try to get a look at the other man, without actually leaving the comfort of the couch.

Jefferson's expression is as aloof as ever, and he's tempted to just flop back down into a heap on the couch and ignore the other man, as he normally would, but... For whatever reason, he instead holds up the bottle of whiskey in silent offering, as if to say: Here. You could use a drink, too. ]

Edited 2018-02-17 13:21 (UTC)

[It's been an adjustment, going from the great sprawling emptiness of the Folly to essentially sharing a room, but really it's not so unlike being back at Hendon that Peter can't handle it. And honestly, getting the chance to not think about the Folly and who might or might not be in it has been doing wonders for his mental state, so he's not going to complain. It won't last, and he knows it, but hopefully it will at least give him the time to settle in.

But it means that he hasn't paid a lot of attention to his new floor mates, aside from the cursory mental note-taking he can't quite stop. There's a contained shiftyness to his immediate neighbor that Peter recognizes but has been very deliberately ignoring -- there are a lot of reasons for a person to be wary around the police, and anyway even if it is for a good reason, it probably isn't Peter's department.

It does make for a surprise when he finds the man himself offering him a drink, though. Peter blinks once, then agreeably reaches for the bottle. You don't turn down a drink when it's offered.

He does find himself hesitating expectantly for a moment once he has it, before it occurs to him that no, no one has to free him from any obligations here. If he takes a slightly longer drink that is probably strictly necessary, well, it was offered.]

Long night? [He can't help but ask as he passes the bottle back.]

[ Now that he's got proper drinking company, Jefferson makes an effort to sit up and lean an elbow on the arm of the couch, so that he can lounge properly. The brief hesitation doesn't go unnoticed, even if Jefferson's a little tipsy, and he makes a lazy hand gesture as if to say go on. Not that Peter needs any further permission from him. Must be habit, some cop vigilance or something.

Jefferson's cool, standoffish expression relaxes, though, as the other man takes a drink and offers the bottle back. ]

Oh, you know... [ A vague handwave. ] Casinos. [ He takes another drink for punctuation. ] Never a dull moment.

[ Jefferson offers the bottle back, looking at Peter with some curiosity. ] What about you?

[Peter's never spent any real time in casinos, so he doesn't actually know, though he has seen enough gamblers that he can probably guess. But since they appear to be having an actual conversation, rather than just a strange little greeting, Peter moves to lower himself into one of the nearby armchairs and tries not to look too obviously curious. He's run into so many people from so many other places already in this new world, he can't help wondering what he's going to hear now.

Even if he does pause to give a dryly amused snort a he reaches out for the bottle again.]

Honestly I could use a dull moment or two.

[Not really. Not when it would likely give him entirely too much time to think about things he'd rather not. But he can only ricochet off so many crises in a row before he starts to feel a but bruised by it all.]

Edited 2018-02-19 21:40 (UTC)

[ The truth is, Jefferson didn't even have much experience with casinos until he was assigned to work in one here. Seedy crime dens with gambling going on, sure, that was part and parcel with his work, in the past (especially when he had goods to fence), but that's a world away from the tacky facsimile of luxury that is Currents Casino. ]

You could, huh? [ He lifts his brow, leaning forward some, peering at the other man with a tipsy sort of inquisitiveness. ] Didn't think there'd be much crime here.

Maybe not.

[He hasn't been here long enough to tell. But Peter pauses to take another healthy drink and then pass the bottle back.]

But there was more than enough back home. Maybe this will be a vacation.

[A very strange, involuntary vacation, but nevertheless. Peter will take what he can get. He usually does.]

[ Jefferson lets out a short laugh. Somehow, he tries to cram, like, twenty-eight years' worth of bitterness in that one sound, before chasing it with another drink from the offered bottle. ]

Yeah? You get a lot of crazy crimes? A lot of... [ He waves a hand-- still holding onto the bottle-- in an abstract gesture, searching for the right words through his growing intoxication. ] wolves huffing and puffing on houses, or... baby-napping imps with-- really hard to spell names...

[ (Not that 'Rumplestiltskin' is that hard for him to spell now, since he's older, wiser, and better-read than his youthful self.)

In any case, Jefferson shoots Peter a grin, amused and a little wild-eyed, like ha, kidding. Nobody believes in fairytales, after all. ]

[Peter's eyebrows lift more than a little as the list continues. He hadn't thought the man that drunk when he'd come in, but he can also admit that he's not sure he'd know well enough to be able to tell.

Well that and the fact that I was almost hanged by a spirit taking the form of a homicidal puppet doesn't exactly sound much more believable.]

Not quite. Though my cousin swears she's met a talking fox.

[He's still not sure how much to believe that one.]

[ One good thing about being an insomniac with not a whole lot of work ethic: Jefferson's time is flexible. So, though he should probably be sleeping or at the casino right now, Jefferson is, instead, lounging around Victor's fancy new lab, nestled within the building where the muckety-mucks at Prometheus do their business.

He's probably taken to introducing himself as the good doctor's lab assistant, should anyone ask what he's doing here. It's obvious that he isn't. Really, he's more like some kind of decorative distraction, sitting on a table he probably shouldn't be making himself at home on, legs dangling idly, nosily picking up whatever's nearby-- notes, tools, whatever-- as if he has any idea what they're for.

Even with the knowledge he's picked up in the Land Without Magic, he still doesn't have a head for science. Never has. Fake Jefferson, Curse Jefferson, very reliably pulled poor-to-mediocre grades in every science and math class he ever took.

Though he doesn't say it, Jefferson's grateful that Victor tolerates his presence in the lab, though-- at best-- he's only mildly, occasionally helpful. Sleep hasn't really been... a thing the past few days, and the exhaustion's starting to show in little cracks in his otherwise fastidious appearance. Stubble, not-quite-perfectly coiffed hair, scarf askew, eyes red, etc. So he'll take any chance at distracting and occupying himself (short of honest work) that he can get.

He watches Victor silently for a while, hands clasped together, dangling between his legs as he sits on the table. Oddly attentive, even though whatever project Victor's working on is probably going over his head. Finally, he blurts out: ]

I don't get it.

[ SURPRISE.

Then, curiously: ] You ever show the kid your work?

[ Lucy, he means. He kind of wonders if she gets this stuff better than he does. ]

Edited 2018-02-16 16:08 (UTC)

[Victor doesn't really mind his not-actually-assisting "assistant" Jefferson. Having him around can be distracting, but it's also handy if ever Victor needs to talk through his ideas. It's something he used to do with Igor all the time-- something he'd been looking forward to doing with Doctor Jekyll. And yeah, Jefferson knows little about math, but that doesn't really bother Victor. Just having another person to share his ideas with as they come to him is helpful.

Jefferson's comment has him looking up, carefully putting his work aside]

Well, we haven't gone grave-digging yet, but I feel like that'd be in poor taste now that we're both acquainted with the son of a death god.

[ Son of a death god? Jefferson's brows raise up, though he doesn't seem too shocked by Victor's acquaintanceship with one. ]

Is that like meeting John Lennon, for you?

[ Jefferson's musical tastes are pretty firmly stuck in the 60s and 70s, so naturally that's his go-to comparison for meeting one's idols.

Then, after a beat, he adds in a thoughtful, faraway sort of voice: ]

I bet if you took the kid grave-digging, her grandmother would put you in a grave...

Not really. I always felt like George Harrison's talent was overlooked.

[he smirks at that] I'd just climb back out, so it'd be a waste of her time.

I'm partial to Ringo, myself. [ TRUE MADNESS. Anyway, Jefferson slides off of his perch on the table, to walk on over to Victor and his work and peer down at it. The remark about crawling back out of the grave has him laughing. ]

Good. Because I'd hate to lose the only friendly familiar face here.

[ Not that Emma's been distinctly unfriendly so far. But, you know, their history makes things a bit complicated. Jefferson prefers to avoid the company of people he's threatened at gunpoint, when he can. Too awkward, even by his standards.

Then again, he prefers to avoid the company of most people, in general, so it's not like Emma's really going into an exclusive pool of folks here. ]

Edited 2018-02-18 13:11 (UTC)

The drummer. I can see that. [look, they're all mad here. Victor even scoots aside so Jefferson can see what he's doing. Just your usual tinkering with chemicals and such. Familiarizing himself with stuff that the labs have already discovered about the place]

The only one, eh? What about Lucy? Or are we not counting children?

[ Chemistry always calls to mind potions, to him. Somewhat familiar, if only from spending time around the Dark One and other magical miscreants, back in the Enchanted Forest (and other lands). Really, Jefferson only likes it when you mix one vial into another and everything changes colors or gets fizzy and smokey.

It's interesting to watch, if nothing else. Less abstract than equations. ]

She's a friendly unfamiliar face. [ He says that musingly, after thinking on it for a brief moment. Then: ] I don't really like to think about where she came from. Henry's much too young to be having children. [ Grace's age, in fact. Yikes. ]

Yeah, I know. It's too weird. We knew Regina when she was a teenager. Hell, we were all teenagers. Now she has an eight-year-old granddaughter. At least we can be grateful that Lucy takes more after Henry.

Oh. And thanks for that stuffed animal tip. Lucy has this strange idea that I'm good with kids.

[ Jefferson lets out a short laugh, and yet, there isn't any amusement reflected in his face. There's just a broody little frown, twitching at the corner of his mouth, as he thinks back to his first encounter with Regina, and all that's transpired since. ]

Definitely.

[ Henry, at least, has a soul.

Thankfully, Jefferson perks up when Victor mentions the stuffed animal. There's a bit of a smirk on his face now. ]

As a kid, I'm sure she's the expert. What'd you get her?

As a child of the Charming family, I'm sure she's genetically obligated to say nice things about anybody.

[don't try talking him out of self-hate, bro. You know how it is]

Stuffed dog toys. I won a lot of prizes during that festival.

[ There's a scoff and an eye roll. He can't exactly claim to have the nicest experiences with the Charmings, though he's to blame for the most part. The mother kicked him out a window, the father threatened to arrest him because he couldn't magically make his hat work again (after they were the ones who smashed it!), and the daughter hit his head with a telescope. ]

Not anybody... Trust me.

[ High five, these two are experts at self-hate. ]

Next thing you know, you'll be getting her a real dog. [ Annnnd maybe he grins at the thought, both because it's cute, and because it'd probably be a headache for Emma. ]

[he just smiles and shrugs]

In any case, she's a good kid. There's no denying that. Her father had a horse, so I don't see why she couldn't get a dog if she really wanted one.

[ Jefferson lets out a soft huff, his mind drifting to another kid entirely. There's that familiar melancholy, taking hold of him. ]

Yeah... That's how fatherhood goes. You end up wanting to give them the world. [ Or a single stuffed rabbit. ] A dog's a good start.

when the truth is found to be lies [closed]

remember what the dormouse said [Closed: Lucy Mills]

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came back like a slow voice on a wave of phase [Closed: Peter Grant]

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weird science! [Closed: Victor Frankenstein]

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