Jonathan Sims | The Archivist (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eyediot) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
jigokulogs2022-08-05 04:00 am
eyediot) wrote in jigokulogs2022-08-05 04:00 am
Entry tags:
[open] August in Enma
Who ⬤ Jon and whoever wants to deal with this
What ⬤ Enma office problems, around the apartment block, yukata shopping
When ⬤ The end of July and first week of August before tanabata event
Where ⬤ Enma offices, Enma apartment block, others
Content Warnings ⬤ No real life office products were harmed in the making of this log. I'll amend this should anything else come up in threads.
Week One
Week Two
Enma Apartment Block
Yukata Shopping
What ⬤ Enma office problems, around the apartment block, yukata shopping
When ⬤ The end of July and first week of August before tanabata event
Where ⬤ Enma offices, Enma apartment block, others
Content Warnings ⬤ No real life office products were harmed in the making of this log. I'll amend this should anything else come up in threads.
Week One
[After several weeks of arriving here, it's been made clear to him that his superiors have no intention of letting Jonathan transfer out of the law enforcement department. He has no wish to stay surrounded by police, particularly not after some of the rumors he has caught wind of. Deals under tables, handshakes behind closed doors. No, he would much rather be elsewhere. But he isn't.
He's trapped. Again. It isn't until the third week he gets the bright idea. Who else had he known that hated their job, their ineffectual boss, and couldn't leave?
So the third week, Jon walks in, coffee cup in hand, and looks up at the doors. And it's with the clearest of thought process he asks himself: What would Tim do?
Nothing so far as real property damage, and nothing to really be reprimanded for. But enough to be annoying. Enough to make it known he hates it here. Yes. Yes, that is the mindset he enters with each day now.
Throughout the first week, Jon is doing any number of things. From letting his phone ring for minutes on end while he stares intently at a paper on his desk. To slowly tearing another paper into strips, so, so slowly it would almost seem intentional. There are countless times the coffee pot is found empty. Or, if it has been restarted for a fresh pot, it's only decaf.
Jon himself can be found at his desk diligently working it seems. None the wiser about any of these things.]
Week Two
[His transfer request out of this office has still not been acknowledged. Which really only means one thing: escalation. Not by much; he doesn't want to actually cause injury but perhaps larger, more inconvenient annoyances.
He hands in reports with the papers stapled on both top corners. Occasionally setting the copier to 30 pages and forgetting to reset when he's finished, only for the next unsuspecting victim to end up with 30 copies themselves. Files he receives, Jon will send back if he finds the most minute of grammatical or spelling error to be rewritten. While others are out to lunch, they may come back to find things moved just slightly a few inches on their desk. Any desks next to each other may have some trouble, their computer mouse not working only for their desk mate to find their cursor moving erratically without input (it's a simple thing, to track the cords to the opposite user's desk).
What might be the most infuriating part is that Jon... does do his job. While he seems nearly lackadaisical about it, he gets it all done with minimal errors. And well. If he sees someone around having issues with their phone, or figuring out how to use the basic functions of a computer, Jon does stop to assist. He was put in charge of tech support, wasn't he? Who would he be if he simply ignored that. There's an earnestness to it when Jon assists anyone who needs the help.
It doesn't stop him from printing 20 copies of his transfer request form by the last day of the fourth week he's there though.]
Enma Apartment Block
[One of the few nonessential things he's spent his tiny stipend on is decent cookware. So nearly any evening of the week, Jon's windows are open and there is the smell of delicious homecooked food coming from it.
There are some days he's realized he's cooked too much. And it won't keep well. So. Knock knock, on your door, it's the smell of food and a slightly nervous nerd waiting on the other side.]
Um. Yes, I- I live a few doors down and made too much. Was wondering if you could take the rest.
[Otherwise, he might be out by the railing having a smoke. Staring down at it.] Doesn't taste the same.
Yukata Shopping
Christ... Of all the bloody things...
[Jon's starting a little too late in the shopping for a yukata for the event. Enma wants them all to go, and while he still doesn't agree the actual police shouldn't be quite so ready to partake in things that may cause problems later, Jon also doesn't consider himself to be part of the police. It's a weird line to walk, one he can't help but feel is a repeat of a song he'd turned off before already. Consciously knowing he's part of a system he hates and can do nothing about it seems and wanting no part of it, while unconsciously not wanting to cause problems or be reprimanded.
He's out at the last minute trying to find something to wear. Because if he's going to be stuck going to this thing, he's going to at least not stick out. The problem is starting to look so close to the event itself, the only yukata left to fit his wiry frame without being children's sizes are... questionable.
Jon stares at it, somehow simply knowing it's the only choice there is here. Not without going to a multitude of other shops.]
It really would be this one, wouldn't it. I can't see anything else. [He'll turn to the nearest person with it in hand, almost dead inside:] What do you think?
no subject
[it's simple enough to do on her clipboard, and she'll have someone put it in the proper paperwork later. she doubts any of the staff would get grabby, but better to have things put down for his future, should he choose to come in again.]
If you can take your shirt off, we can get started.
no subject
[It's quiet. But the amount of relief and gratitude in the two words is tangible. It isn't quite enough to calm his jittery nerves as he starts unbuttoning his shirt though. His fingers are a little shaky even as he sheds the button down and goes for the under shirt. He sets them both on the table beside him, leaving a whole story of scars and trauma there to be examined.]
How often do um. What are we called here... Lost Souls come here?
no subject
[her touch for examining is light, sure. it's evident that she's taking his nervousness into account and staying in sight - he'll see anything coming, can process it before she does it. mainly, she's making notes before putting a stethoscope to his chest.]
Deep, slow breaths for me, Mr. Sims.
no subject
[He still can't help his short breath every time she's about to come into contact, telegraphed or not. But it is leagues better than the casual grabbing of his hand or shoulder pat others had tried so far since he got here.
The stethoscope is freezing, but he nods. Takes a breath that isn't nearly as deep as it really should be, but it's a struggle and he holds it for the moment. Then lets it out. Trained from physical therapy and all, he can at least remember. Breathe in. Count to three. Breathe out. Count to three.]
no subject
hm. hmm.]
...Are you aware you don't have a heart? Or well, it's not beating.
[he's certainly alive, so that isn't a problem, but...]
no subject
Yes. It, um. Unfortunate side effect of being stabbed in the heart.
[Jon.]
no subject
"Patient lacks heartbeat due to near-death experience."
[looking up, she studies him a little more carefully.]
You've had quite a lot of those, haven't you.
no subject
[What she does see when she looks at him again is a man who is just... tired. Exhausted by life and the things he's endured, and by the adrenaline of anxiety of sitting here in this place having this done to him.]
What, um. What's next?