059-061 » the place where you stop the story

[villagemod]

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central/Southern Mathias
WHEN: Day 059-061
WHAT: Time returns to "normal" and Mathias grants a reprieve.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here! The next log will be posted the weekend of May 15th May 22nd.

RECOMMENDED ♫ Nathan Johnson "Foul Play"

DAY 059-061
A BRIEF REPRIEVE
“There is no real ending. It’s just
the place where you stop the story.”
— Frank Herbert
Residents awake to a peaceful morning with the sun shining and earth remaining still. There is no unsettling shaking to rouse them at dawn, and time has continued moving onward as they slept. Whatever state they were in the night before, they remain that way now, for good or for bad.

On the surface, there seems to be little lasting effect on the tiny town from that strange series of days, save for the memories of any traumatic experiences residents may have faced — but there are always consequences within Mathias. The perpetrators of acts against the town are tormented by nightmares of those acts being used against them, and those who did not raise a hand to stop those acts of destruction may yet face consequences of their own. For now, however, the unwilling townspeople should do their best to rest and recover from the disturbing ordeals of late, for this reprieve from the madness shall surely be shortlived.




THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the beach near The Grey Gull. It's a bit chilly out with their wet clothes, but surely there's something to help warm them inside the restaurant. They may even find some alcohol within — and not just the cowboys' homemade moonshine.

---

CONDITIONS UPDATE

— THE HISTORY MUSEUM has not fared well with the return of "normal" time. The once esteemed wooden building is now a charred ruin, the recent fire leaving behind little of the contents within for study. The structure is unstable and it is not wise to venture into the ruins for long.

— THE WEATHER conditions remain fairly typical for early fall: warm days and cool nights. It feels almost like spring arriving except that there fewer red and orange leaves on the ground and more of them oddly returning to the trees and slowly fading to green. It's like watching one of those nature documentaries that have a timelapse of the seasons, only it's going in reverse.

— THE FOG has retreated from some areas!

— Residents may now wander the southern stretch of the forest surrounding Mathias Township — it is possible to leave the paths but potentially unwise to do so.
— The fog has also retreated farther into the western section of town, now stretching across town between Stine Road and Shelley Drive. This has revealed the Chasm in the earth that stretches from one side of town to the other between Stine and Hill Lane.
— Access to the northern section of the forest is still blocked beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline; this section of fog will urge residents to stay huddled within the town proper by inducing a physical reaction of panic and fear.

— DEATHS & DISAPPEARANCES continue! Max Guevara has vanished into the fog. Claire Novak's body can be spotted on Day 059 facedown at the bottom of the Chasm between Hill and Stine, near Phillips Drive; by the morning of Day 060, her body will be gone. (Attempts may be made to reach her body but will likely not end well for those involved. Such attempts should be reported under Exploration.)

— ALCOHOL is still in Mathias! Just barely. (Supply is running very low after recent town events.) A small stock of beer and cheap wine may be found at the General Store, and some homes may have a small store of alcohol in the fridge or pantry. The Grey Gull was also restocked with its lower-end offerings of a variety of alcohol types. (Alcohol does not replenish as food does.)

---

OOC NOTES

— PROJECT HELP Your mod needs help with some projects!

— FUTURE PLANNING If you haven't, please answer the questions here for future log planning. I will almost definitely need some of these answers for the log going up the weekend of May 15, so act quickly! Late submissions will not be considered for that log.

— UPDATES Don't forget to report updates as they come up! Changes to locations (like toppling a few bookshelves in the library), big plots you have coming up that will affect the game (parties, major property destruction, etc), or exciting discoveries that may tie into the game's mythology (even the things provided by the mod) are very helpful to have in one place so relevant page updates can be made.

— MOD STATUS The usual reminder that it's just Amy steering this ship, so things will are going to be pretty slow for a while. Apologies in advance, and please don't feel shy about pestering me if you're stuck waiting for something.

navigation | faq | locations | report updates

Comments

Jeff Calhoun | Original

[bardish]

[ Plotting Comment. ]

DAY 59 (Closed: Raylan)

[bardish]

Jeff probably cuts an odd figure as he wanders out of the Grey Gull: barefoot, clothes damp, cradling a guitar close to his chest like it's some precious, living thing to be protected at all costs. It's totally awkward; he really should just sling it over his shoulder, but the thought of letting go just starts him on a catastrophic spiral of what ifs.

What if a hooligan sneaks up from behind him and snatches the guitar off his back? If he was cradling it in his arms, that wouldn't have happened.

What if he's attacked by a bear and the only potential weapon he has is his guitar, but now it's on his back instead of in his hands, so he can't swing it in time to save himself from getting mauled by this rampaging animal?

What if the strap breaks and his guitar falls and one of the strings snap and he can't find another string and then he's lost in an empty town, possibly going crazy, and he can't even play a sick tune unless he fashions a new string out of, what, animal guts? Like they did in the old days? He doesn't have what it takes to kill an animal, let alone gut it and dig around for the best intestine, and even if he did, how could he get it to the right thickness without a ton of trial and error? Only a thousandth of an inch makes the difference between a B string from a high E, and there's no way he'd get that on his first try, so there'd be so much blood on his hands by the time--

Okay. He's spiraling again. Stop. Focus on the basics, the here and now of the situation. Right now he's: 1) lost in a strange, seemingly empty town, like everyone just up and left in the middle of a perfectly ordinary day, but 2) he's not alone, since there was another man in the Gull, so it stands to reason there could be others, and 3) he has no shoes and his clothes are wet, so he really needs to correct that before he can even think to explore the town and the surrounding area. The last thing he needs is to step on a nail and get tetanus, or, like, catch a small cold and then develop pneumonia from wandering around all wet.

Fuck, no, don't think about that! Jeff clutches his guitar even tighter, totally-not-hugging his totally-not-a-safety-blanket as he follows the road towards the Town Square. He looks wide eyed and a little dazed as he takes in his seemingly ordinary surroundings, his expression caught somewhere between confused tourist and terrified prey animal.

[tinstar]

It was shining sun. The day was warm, the roads had started to dry out and firm up (Probably oughta dig a few spare graves) and there was no reason for Raylan Givens to have such a dour, unintentionally firm expression on his face as he stalked in from his exploratory adventure from the chasm. Except all he could think about was how he was going to go call a young girl into something he likely had no business pulling her into but.. The Chasm needed to be crossed. He'd promised that she could help when the fog pushed back enough to let them, she knew the risks. Would resent the protection if she was told no.

Death was something they could deal with. If they had to. It was for a good cause... That would be a good enough reason, right?

He was lost in his thoughts, secure enough in the assurance for the day that Mathis wasn't going to fuck with him too hard to get lost in the easy stride that looked uneven from a distance but every land of his foot was right in line. It didn't put his head any less on a swivel, but it did let him glance at faces without automatically assuming they were going to be a threat.

So Raylan glanced, but the rough features and frame of the man coming towards him earned a doubletake as the cowboy rolled to a stop, hand propping on his hip, hazel eyes narrowed as he tried to determine what he was looking at. After a few seconds of deliberation, (The others haven't been around and we're not ass deep in fog, but that doesn't mean I'm not hallucinating. Is that a guitar?) Raylan lifted his chin and headed to intercept the man.

"You look-" Holy shit, exactly like he used to. Raylan's head pulled back a little in suspicion as he continued. He'd been polite enough to not poke the Darkling, but some dude wearing his face gave him rights some rights he might not have otherwise. A verification poke was going to have to come.

"Lost." He looked down, eyebrows lifting as he looked back up. "And barefoot."

[bardish]

Another person! Jeff stops in his tracks as the other man approaches, face lit up with hopeful anticipation, like maybe-- maybe!-- this guy is going to have every single answer he's looking for, and it's only a matter of time before Jeff's on his way home with a funny (if confusing and deeply unsettling) story for his daughter.

God. Mel...

He hopes she's home. He hopes she's safe and sound and not worrying about him. Her mom's in town for the next few months, so... They'll be okay. No matter what happens to him here, they've got each other. She'll be taken care of and-- what the fuck is that?

Jeff blinks as the man comes closer, as his own widened, hazel eyes take in a face that's-- that's--

"What?"

As if there was anything unclear about the man's remark, about hearing his own voice-- sort of, kind of, blended in some place far from California-- tell him he looks lost and barefoot. Which. Yeah. He is, right on both counts.

Jeff clutches his guitar even closer to his chest, as if that's possible, eyeing his own face with all the befuddled wariness of a dog staring down a mirror.

"What the what-- fuck-- I mean. Fuck! What the fuck! What--"

Each 'what' is a little more frantic and pitchy than the last. Give him a moment, his brain will reset soon.

"You're me," he says finally. "I mean. You're not me. That's a very egotistical assumption, I'm sorry, there's no reason to assume I own the rights to my face. Your... our... face....?"

[tinstar]

An answer! That was more than the Others which was.. simultaneously a good and bad thing. Raylan had gotten used to the idea that there could be a ghost wandering around with his face, but ghosts didn't hold conversations.. or Guitars. Yeah, the instrument was a sticking point - it looked weird against his own face.

Raylan's brow furrowed a little further as Jeff continued into his freak out. One 'What' wasn't enough to give his ear that Western Cali cadence. He almost marveled at the way Jeff existed there so uncannily. Good skill, put it on a resume. "Jesus, this is the weirdest shit."

You're me gets a distinct pinch of his brow, chin lowering a fraction but the expression eased and softened as Jeff stumbled into his explanation.

"I am not you. You... definitely are not me." Raylan ambled forward a few steps, each taken carefully before he could frown gently and poke at Jeff's arm. "You seem real enough. This time."

It was going to take a while to stop staring. Athena had told him about her mentor, about how fucking crazy he looked like Raylan, and with the man (possibly) standing here in front of him, he couldn't find much room to argue.

"I'mma make a real.. real weird jump here, you let me know if I'm too far of the mark," he starts, on hand gesturing with a few fingers out towards him as he spoke. "But I mighta been told there was someone walkin' around with this mug.. You wouldn't happen to be named Jeff, would ya?"

[bardish]

Jeff furrows his brow, watching his doppelgänger's finger as it pokes right into him, and it's only when they make contact and neither one of them explodes in some kind of sci-fi paradox that he lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

The 'this time' remark has Jeff looking up again, meeting a face that's too similar to his, and different, too, in some ways. Scars from living a different life, a certain restraint that Jeff lacks, with his open and too-expressive face... Plus the accent. Southern, Appalachian? He's no good a pinning it down.

He's right. This is weird shit, and they're definitely not the same person, but there's something so achingly familiar about that sentiment. Real, this time.

Jeff's been there. His mouth pulls into a sympathetic wince, but he doesn't comment. Thankfully, he doesn't even get a chance to dwell on speculation before he's correctly identified out of the blue.

He blinks, a few too many times, trying to get the gears in his brain moving, caught somewhere between relief and trepidation, which is a really weird place to be, mentally, but then this is a weird fucking situation, so who can blame him for feeling a wave of contradicting emotions?

"Jeff!" he blurts out, seeming to settle on frantic excitement. "Yeah! That's me! Dude-- are you..."

Oh great, here it comes. He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice, as if that's even necessary.

"...my long lost brother? Is this a Parent Trap thing?"

[tinstar]

He could feel the eyes over his scars, something he'd had to get used to since the unfortunate enhancement of his face, but he knew better than to be bothered by it. The scars, like anything else that might be different about someone, had to be accepted and taken in stride. Otherwise, it opened doors for people to jab and twist their little petty knives. He wouldn't give the idea in his head any of the satisfaction.

It was more than surreal to see so much clear gear work and emotion moving across Jeff's face and it all just reinforced how little Raylan wanted to be that open. How terrifying that must be.

Raylan's eyes lifted, creased with amusement to match the soft faint curl of his lips as Jeff grasps onto his name like a crash victim trying to make sense of the world. Before he could say anything about it, Jeff was leaning in like they were sharing a deep secret.

'Parent Trap' cracked the smile into a grin and Raylan chuckled.

"Somehow I doubt that Arlo woulda let a twin outta the holler and this ain't no summer camp. You're at a bit of a disadvantage; that's my fault - I should apologize." Never mind that he didn't. "But instead, how's about we get you off the street and in front of a familar face, huh? Maybe even a drink, you and your nerves look like you could use it. Can't blame you. Thankfully, you're here at a time where our tub is full."

Though he fully expected moonshine to knock Jeff over - it wasn't that the man was... soft in a- okay it totally was. This was the weirdest shit ever. Why wouldn't Jeff be able to handle it like Raylan? How similar did their similarities go? So far it was mole for mole.

DAY 60 (OTA)

[bardish]

Now that he's got a place to stay, it's time to tackle the basics: exploring his new surroundings, and stocking up on the necessities. Clothes, shoes, underwear, a toothbrush of his very own-- oh! Socks! Don't forget socks! And, look, it's a long shot, but if he happens to stumble upon an amp, he'll just have to pick it up for himself... It wouldn't be right to let it sit around, collecting dust, when there's a perfectly good guitar that could benefit from it!

So that's his shopping list. Clothes, toiletries, and an amp. And maybe a walkman. And some tapes. Look, he's a bard, it's totally essential!

...Okay, Jeff's pretty sure he's had a version of this conversation with himself, like, thirty years ago, to justify all the shoplifting he'd been doing. But this is different. This isn't stealing, it's scavenging. Ethical scavenging.

He can be found at the General Store and the Beauty Supply shop, scouring the shelves for the necessities, which he shoves into a backpack, when he isn't too busy comparing products like this is a totally normal suburban shopping experience. Look, his hair has needs, and he isn't about to skimp on styling just because he's in some fucking spooky ghost town that went all... Roanoke.

He also hits Poe's Clothes, and having spent his 20s in the 90s, the abundance of flannel is honestly something of a relief here. If you happen to come in while he's squinting at two nearly identical shirts, trying to determine which pattern of plaid he likes better, feel free to give him some fashion advice. He could use it; otherwise, he'll be spinning his wheels in indecision for the entire fucking day.

Spin Right Round Records is, of course, a fucking no-brainer. It's kind of unsettling, seeing so many albums that seem kiiiind of familiar, but totally alien at the same time. Like the music scene he knew has just been filtered through a goddamn kaleidoscope and spat back out all weird.

Unsettling, but also exciting, in a way. It's okay if he takes a few tapes, right? It's, like. Research!

(Jeff may be a little jumpier in this store, as if expecting some phantom employee to come and catch him shoplifting. Now that he's deviated away from the strictly essential scavenging, he's starting to feel like maybe he's getting a little greedy. There's a twinge of guilt that goes along with it.)

Later, he'll check out some of the residential houses-- at least, the ones he assumes are still abandoned. It's mainly out of morbid curiosity, but also because he wants to see if there's anything else on his checklist. There's got to be an amp in some teenager's former room, right? In this entire fucking town, there's got to be at least one aspiring garage band!

But maybe Jeff misjudges the state of some of the houses. Maybe he stumbles into yours, blissfully ignorant that he's now crossed the line from ethical scavenging to breaking and entering and burglary. It's totally an accident if he does.

(And, look, he's a little slow on the uptake with 1306. All he knows is, there's a pair of shoes he's trying on that really feels like they were made for his feet. It's a perfect fit! He feels like fucking Cinderella here.)

🔪 chez 1306

[thering]

It's a little early for Raylan to be coming back to the house but Doc wouldn't have thought anything of it really. They are free to come and go as they please and they don't keep much of a schedule. It's not until Doc emerges from the internal garage door with an empty glass bottle did he do a double-take. A cowboy knows when he sees another cowboy at a glance, and it ain't in the hat. Even if the bard happened to have it in tow, no steel string prop is going to fool the gunslinger. When God brought Raylan Givens into this world, He dealt his cards and gave him hell. Robbed him of a decent father, cast him down into dark and suffocating coal pits, burdened him with an unfair legacy and he's had to grit his teeth and bear it all without buckling under the pressure of the strain. That oddly natural easy-going smile did not belong to, and would never grace Raylan's face.

It's enough to piss off one of the purportedly nicest old men in town. Mathias's latest round of bullshit feels intensely personal, like she's trying to re-gift everything Raylan never got to have to some asshole who's now trying to take his fucking shoes on top of already having pilfered everything else.

"Son, you've got four seconds to put those shoes back where you found 'em before I detach your face-stealin' head from your shoulders right where you stand. With a butter knife," Doc drawls. "You've got some nerve." He might not have a shotgun or a distinct twang but he's deadly serious about kicking face and shoe thieves off his lawn.

[bardish]

The yelp he lets out is uncontrolled and totally undignified. The subsequent flail as he reflexively tries to kick off the shoe he'd been trying on is even more uncontrolled, and even less dignified. It ends in him kind of tripping on his own legs (why are they so long!) and falling on his ass.

"Fuck-- ow-- fuck!"

He looks up at the guy, expression giving full-on deer-in-headlights realness, before launching into a panic ramble.

"Dude, I'm so sorry, I had no idea these shoes belonged to someone, I mean, half the fucking houses are totally abandoned, and I thought-- 'maybe this one's abandoned, too,' and 'oh look that shoe is actually my size, now I don't have to wander around like a barefoot fucking maniac who's definitely going to step on a nail and get tetanus' and--" Jeff stops mid-ramble, squinting at the other man as he takes a moment to really take him in. "Okay, what is with this town and cowboys? Also?" He holds up a finger. "For the record, I didn't steal anyone's fucking face! This is my face, I call dibs!"

[thering]

That... wasn't what Doc was expecting. He was maybe expecting someone who's at least... not so clumsy and awkward and... maybe a little less of a spaz? He almost feels bad for startling the man but until Doc figures him out, he's going to be a little guarded.

Doc crouches down and narrows his eyes, maintaining eye contact while he straightens some of the shoes next to them. He's not really sure where to start to untangle that string of brainfarts.

"You bear an uncanny resemblance in face and stature to someone else here," Doc explains without outright apologising for threatening him. "This house is not abandoned. We offer moonshine and basic first aid to anyone who needs it." Though usually first aid isn't offered because the inhabitants of this house are threatening or enacting violence.

"Perhaps you would like to come in for some tea? Might be I have a spare pair of shoes for you."

[bardish]

From his position on the ground, Jeff looks at the cowboy warily and starts to edge back juuust a little, the threat of a vicious butter knife attack fresh on his mind. But at least he seems a little less hostile now that Jeff very clearly, calmly, and articulately explained himself.

(Yeah, okay, he knows he was miles away from clear, calm, and articulate. But let him have this!)

And despite both giving and receiving the, uh, worst possible first impression one could get with another person, Jeff can't help but smile a little when the other man mentions that 'someone else.'

"You mean Raylan?" Judging by the tone of his voice, it's pretty safe to assume that Jeff thinks Raylan is both really cool and also a friend of his (whether Raylan's agreed to or is aware of said friendship or not).

Any lingering apprehension seems to vanish, and Jeff sits up a little straighter, perking up.

"Oh yeah, that sounds great! Thanks, uh, and... sorry again, about the... attempted shoe theft-- shit, oh wait--" Quickly-- and respectfully!-- he manages to get the shoe off his foot and place it with the others.

"I'm Jeff," he says, offering his hand. Just a casual handshake on a garage floor, totally normal.

Day 60 - Beauty Supply

[abrightboy]

Malcolm keeps 1306 in the closest thing this town has to luxury hair products and when Jeff walks in, his gait isn’t something the profiler recognizes out the corner of his eye. He turns to say something to the stranger and stops to do a double take, staring at the man. It’s a familiar face all right, but... it’s also very wrong.

[bardish]

Jeff immediately perks up when he sees there's another person in the store, his expression brightening with sunny cheer. With each new person he meets, the town feels a little less desolate, a little less like a quaint New England graveyard.

The grin on his face starts to fade, though, as the man stares at him, like Jeff's something uncanny, but, like, in the wrong kind of way. From grin, to grimace.

"Heeey, dude." An awkward greeting to cut the awkward staring. "They got any Manic Panic here? I was thinking of going bright purple."

[abrightboy]

"You're..." Not Raylan. He stops himself from saying it. "Sorry, who are you?" he asks.

[bardish]

"Oh, um." Right. There's about twenty people here, give or take, and Jeff's a brand new face. Or, well, not a new face, considering Raylan and the whole... twin situation, but a new presence nonetheless. People are bound to be a little uneasy, especially if this place is as much of a mindfuck as he's been told.

"I'm Jeff." He offers another smile, a little more subdued this time-- friendly, but trying not to be too much about it. He gives a little wave. "Hi. I just got here. I mean, here, as in the town, not the store-- though I guess I just got here--" With a gesture at the shop around them. "--too!"

Poe's Clothes

[vampirebats]

Negan was in to replenish some items of his own wardrobe and, if he's honest, hadn't expected to run into a soul here. Yet-- here they are.

"Raylan? The fuck's got you so puzzled over some goddamn shirts, man?" And where's the hat-- not that he asks that out loud. Curious as shit though.

[bardish]

He'd gotten so used to the quiet (unnerving as it is, like, what's a town without ambient noise, man?) that when the door opens, it's totally startling, enough to make Jeff flinch. But, to his credit, he doesn't shriek or throw the clothes or anything, just looks over his shoulder and plays it cool with a friendly, if momentarily shaky, smile.

Which fades in disappointment about as soon as he's called Raylan. Fuck, this is going to take some getting used to.

"Oh, um... I'm not Raylan." Quickly, and with a sliiiight note of panic, he adds, "And I'm not some face stealing ghoul, either! This is just my face!"

It's possible he's still a little edgy from Doc accusing him of stealing Raylan's face.

[vampirebats]

"Face stealing ghoul-- the fuck are you talking about?" That's nothing he's even heard of before. And maybe if he hasn't seen people walking around, looking like other people he knew from back home, he'd be a little more suspicious.

But he has. Hell, he lives with a guy who has the same face as someone who'd probably like killing him back home.

"Well, do you have a name? Mine's Negan."

[bardish]

Okay, all things considered, a 'what the fuck are you talking about' is about the best response he could hope for, so Jeff relaxes a little, even if he's still hugging the two flannel shirts to his chest like they're a couple of plaid security blankets.

"Nothing. Stupid stuff." He smiles again, offering a hand to shake. "I'm Jeff. Athena's Jeff, apparently?" Seems to be the way most people he's met know him. Or, know of him. "Unless you don't know her, then disregard that, because I probably just sound like I'm saying all kinds of crazy shit right now..."

DAY 61 (OTA)

[bardish]

Normally, he's in tune with the Gift. It's always there, a pleasant hum, a perfect frequency that connects him to all the weird and beautiful little threads of magic woven into reality.

But it's wrong here. It's like the frequency's been changed, just enough that he can still feel it, still hear it, sort of, through an intrusive layer of static. He doesn't even need to try to perform a Ritual to know it's all fucked up.

Normally, just knowing the Gift's all around him, in all that can be seen and heard and touched-- and all that can be unseen, unheard, untouched-- is a comfort. A sixth sense that he and every Gifted person is privileged to have. But now, it's fucking unsettling. Makes his skin kind of prickle, and the hairs on back of his neck stand up.

Jeff makes his way back to the record store. It might as well be a temple for a bard, like, if he could commune with the Gift anywhere in this creepy place, it might as well be here, surrounded by music. There, he sits on the floor, humming, singing softy, trying to focus and zero in on what he can feel of the Gift. He just needs to reach out with a melody and make contact...

Anyone who happens by the shop while he's experimenting may notice some lights glowing through the windows, moving... dancing, just for a little, before they suddenly flash in intensity, a brief, blinding explosion of light, and then it's gone. From inside, Jeff yells out a startled yelp: "FUCK!"

[conning]

Neal started walking toward the record store when he saw the lights, heartbeat picking up, breath coming a little shorter. He's not particularly keen on the idea of walking straight into danger, but if something is building, if something is coming, he wants to be able to warn his people. Even if it means risking getting hit by whatever is in there.

But before he can get close enough to see inside the windows, there's that flash, and then the shouted curse. Neal breaks into a run at once. He's pretty sure whoever's swearing in there probably needs help in the wake of... whatever that was.

He slams his way into the building, then stops short when he doesn't see anything but a man sitting on the floor. A man that... "Rayl..."

No. He heard from Malcolm and Raylan themselves about the guy walking around with Raylan's face. But it's one thing to hear about it and quite another to see it. He stares. He can't help it.

Neal manages to shake the staring off after a moment and walks over to Jeff slowly, keeping an eye on their surroundings as he offers the man a hand up. "Jeff Calhoun, I presume."

[bardish]

Everything's white-- no, black-- no, now it's spots-- look, the point is, that flash of light was fucking blinding, and now Jeff can't see shit. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses the heels of his palms against them, cursing again, then startles as he hears the door slam open. Jeff blinks, trying to focus on the figure-- a man-- and everything's still a little fucked, but at least he can make out shapes now. He squints, like that'll help, and tries to offer a smile, but it's pretty halfhearted by Jeff's standards, more a grimace than anything else.

"That's me," he confirms, reaching out to accept the offered blur of a hand. "Me and my infamous face."

[conning]

Neal feels a twist of sympathy for Jeff as the man gets up. It's not hard at all to differentiate between Raylan and this guy, but it's still deeply unsettling. And he's probably been getting that for the last three days.

Good thing Neal is great at faking normal.

"There are worse faces to look at," Neal teases lightly. "That... light, in here. Was that you?"

[bardish]

Two fakers walk into a spooky ghost town and-- okay, that's not a great setup to a joke.

The comment does get him to laugh a little, at least. "I could say the same, but--" He gestures vaguely in the other man's direction. "Your face kind of just looks like a beige blur right now..." Give him a moment, his vision will adjust again. Jeff rubs at them again, pressing his forearm against his eyes with a huff.

"Yeaaah... That was-- uh, totally embarrassing, I swear, this shit's usually like Magic 101." He's playing it light, throwing a wry smile in, when in truth, embarrassment is really the last thing he'd call it. Unsettling, disturbing, low-key terrifying, alienating, disquieting-- the synonyms could go on and on.

Even at his lowest, even at his most, ah, compromised, the Gift still responded to him. He'd always known a sort of harmony with it. And now, it's all... Well. He's still working it out.

"Sorry." He lowers his arm and looks at Neal, the other man's face coming into focus now. There's still some spots in his vision, but that'll pass. "You didn't get caught up in it, did you?"