jigokulogs | open: boogie nights

Who ⬤ Harry and the unfortunate people he crosses paths with
What ⬤ Substories and Begging
When ⬤ Mainly the first week of arrival
Where ⬤ Around town
Content Warnings ⬤ Mentions of drug use

I. Money, please! (night after the partying)

[ Harry is in a bind, one which he only thinks is fifty percent his fault. When you break down the math that percentage makes a lot of sense! He had a fifty percent chance of doubling his money, and a fifty percent chance of losing almost all of it. He just fell on the wrong side of fifty because the fates are cruel. The more logical part of his headspace urged him to not gamble it all, but they couldn't stop him from gambling period. History repeats and he's in the same predicament as when he woke up to reality for the first time a week or so ago.

Luckily, he has a time-tested approach to getting more cash. One he readily employs as he looks out for people who look like they at least have some spare change and asks: ]

Hey, you look well to do. I'm a little down on my luck at the moment - can I have some money?

[ Who wouldn't say yes to a 40-something man with *incredible* handlebar facial hair who looks like he's coming down from a day long hangover? Please say yes. ]

Substory: High Definition

[ The rabbit's drugs are surprisingly potent considering his tolerance. The first time he took it he rationalized it as doing it for the advancement of scientific research. The surface level truth was he wanted a hit after being sober for almost a couple weeks. His body still aches from the gunshot to his hip, but that pain is flattened by the first time he takes the drug. When he reports his survey and asks if he could get more, the rabbit tells him all he has to do is report his experiences again.

The next drug he takes turns the whole world black and white, no different than the grainy film reels he (apparently) loves to watch. A voice in his head tells him of the low-budget adaptations of Dick Mullen novels looking just like this, steeped in a gritty *noir* aura that is irresistible to anyone with a passion for genre fiction. It seems only fitting then that he should play up the part. Digging around in the trash nets him a musty old brown overcoat (with a few faded stains on it that he doesn't notice) and his meager cash is enough to buy a cheap novelty detective's fedora to sit on his head.

With that he takes to the streets, notepad and pen in hand, approaching people with a simple "Evening. Mind if I ask you a couple questions?"

The yokai he asks twists her head to a 180 degree to meet him, back still turned, and barks a laugh in his face before continuing on her way. Harry shrugs, knowing this is part of the process, then looks to his next target -- you. ] Hello. I need to ask you some questions, if you have a few minutes to spare?

Substory: Sweet Jacket

[ Now this man's jacket is not *nearly* as sweet as Harry's FUCK THE WORLD leather jacket (which, sadly, did not make the trip to Hell with him) but he can respect a man's right to his fashion choices. As such, he volunteers to chaperone the man across the bridge as a bodyguard. They don't make it more than half-way before three men rush up to them and threaten to kick Mr. Cool Jacket's ass. No way to get past them either. Luckily, Harry has a plan guaranteed to work: ]

Look, over there!

[ Apologies to the poor soul he is pointing at - if you stop he's about to say something *very hurtful* about your fashion choices as a diversion. It's enough for the three men to look with him, even if they have no idea what the big deal is. ]

[ ooc: if you want a special prompt or to plan anything out, feel free to PM me. would especially be interested in an atrocious karaoke thread with one or two people who want to party. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Some work." [ He tsks gently. ] That's how it begins. They make you think you *want* to do their grunt jobs, and soon enough they turn you indentured. Don't fall for the trap, Wei.

Though now you have me curious. What favor have you asked for?

A...personal matter. Bringing something back that couldn't be brought back otherwise.

[something, he says, not someone or someones, because it hurts a little less when he thinks of it in the abstract. a sibling, more than one family, a sect--]

I don't particularly want to work for a group I have no loyalty to, and I don't have much confidence they'll actually grant it, but it's not like I have anything to lose. If I weren't here, I'd just be a wandering ghost, getting bored.

And you're doing "some work" too, aren't you? Despite warning me.

[ INLAND EMPIRE - He seeks a resurrection that cannot be accomplished by human means alone. Something so important, he will give away all he is. The same goes for you, doesn't it? ]

I am. [ He twirls the pen slowly between his fingers. ] They can clean me. Make it so that I was never stained to begin. I need that if I'm going to live my life the way *I* want to.

But that's the difference: you seem to be doing this for more than yourself. Is that right?

[he tilts his head to look at Harry straight on, a small, almost animal gesture. is he that easy to read, or is this man just very perceptive? how curious, how curious.]

That's not wrong. I don't mind staying down here indefinitely; it's as good a place as any.

If you'll excuse my saying so, good sir, you don't look particularly stained to my -- admittedly uneducated -- eyes, though.

Oh that's very nice of you to say, but you're wrong. I'm tainted as shit.

[ It's a nice gesture all the same. He feels the need to explain what he means in better detail for it. ]

I've hurt people and been hurt. My life was so bad, I erased it through willpower. I'm an amnesiac now, but in the same shell of a damaged man. So now I must be made clean to start anew.

[he doesn't react to this as strongly as other people might...? he just kind of nods along, like, okay, we're in Hell and people are coming from all kinds of weird circumstances, I myself am coming from weird cricumstances, this is unfortunate but also tracks]

And how would you do that, good sir? May others help? If you need assistance or just a listening ear yourself, I wouldn't mind providing.

[it's always harder to predict how living people will respond to such an offer as opposed to ghosts, but he feels compelled to make it, anyway.]

Oh, no. [ He brings up a hand to shake, dismissive of the offer. ] I'm not really interested in talking about myself. I like to know more about you!

[ As if he didn't say anything at all depressing or worrying, Harry is back to grinning. ]

Why don't you mind being around here *indefinitely*? Nowhere else better to be than Hell?

[ah. well! he can sympathize with not wanting to talk about yourself -- or at least not talking about the parts of yourself that are wounds, while seeming like an open book about the rest. and he did agree to be the one giving answers after all. still, he earmarks the information for the future as he smiles back.]

I guess not? If I went back home living I'd be killed again, and if I went back home dead...I didn't have time to experience being a wandering ghost myself, but they're not happy beings. At least here there's new things to do and interesting people to meet.

I can understand: I was dying before I came here too. Shot by monsters in human flesh and ceramic armor.

[ Maybe it's just easier to call them monsters. They were people once, before governments grabbed and molded them into beasts for the state. They relished being killers. ]

But back up a moment: tell me about this ghost thing. I'm a para-natural investigator you see. I have seen beyond the veil and have spoken to ghosts before. Maybe... I'm talking to one right now?

Ah, is that right? That's a bad way to die; I'm sorry.

[he can believe they were monsters, or people, or both; so many of the monsters in his own world start as people, living or dead. the line between the two is a fine thing, fine enough that Harry's question draws a bit of a shrug.]

What do you want to know? I guess I do probably still count as one? This place gave my flesh back in one piece, though, so I don't feel particularly like one anymore.

It *would* be a bad way to die, but apparently I'm still alive? The guy who saved my life told me so.

[ It doesn't feel real and he would doubt it if anyone else told him so. But if Kim tells him he's alive, then he's alive. There's no one he trusts more, no matter where he is. But as for the matter of ghosts and the beyond... ]

So ok, maybe you're not a ghost then but you have the perspective of one. In that case, tell me: why can't you move on? Or is it not your choice?

[how much detail does he want to go into, here...ah.]

Where I'm from, the dead don't settle if they're not satisfied, and if they're dissatisfied enough, they try to come back and fulfill their grudges, their desires. And I didn't die satisfied, but I didn't...die angry enough to return in a vengeful way, either.

So I'm stuck somewhere in between...is my best guess. You have to understand, I wasn't dead very long before being pulled here either.

[there are more complicating factors -- his death was violent enough he's not sure he was a coherent spirit and not a bunch of fragments of one, for example -- but that's a lot to get into, and he doesn't feel like it without at least ten jars of wine inside him to lubricate the discussion.]

open: boogie nights

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