THE JARS THAT BLEED BEFORE THEY BREAK.

[glassjar]

Congrats! You've somehow stumbled upon the pocket dimension where five people with questionable morals (some more questionable than others) live and operate. Are you here on business? Do you have an appointment? Or are you here to see a friend? (Come on, don't make us laugh.)

Maybe you're here on accident due to some multiversal, magical, or otherwise supernatural nonsense? It's happened before, it was bound to happen again.

You can wander towards the house, see if anyone's home. Or you can explore the lush grounds, and maybe run across the wolfman groundskeeper who might try to usher you out towards the nearest portal, anyway. The world is your oyster, just try to be a good guest.

Comments

MORGAN KYLE.

[glassjar]

[You want to say hello to Morgan? Do you have an appointment? No?

Then don’t be silly.

He’s nowhere to be found if you don’t.

Though boldly trespassing inside the house, if you somehow manage it without running into any of the others first, might earn you some unwanted interest. If you’re lucky. Unlucky. Take your pick.]

JACOB KYLE.

[ghostpranks]

[Jacob is a lot easier to find, though. He could be the first to greet you out on the yard, a skeptical look to his eyes. Suspicious, even. He’s tired, beleaguered — maybe they just came from a job, and he doesn’t have time to deal with newcomers who can’t bother to call first.

Or if you’re supposed to be here, he might try to be vaguely more polite, asking:]

So why is it you’re here, exactly?

[Only vaguely.

Otherwise? He’s having a drink in at the bar inside the house, first floor. Or he’s outside, tending to… a large patch of dead flowers?

Weird, but okay.]

LYRA.

[lyrelyre]

[At least Lyra has more manners, even if her smile is faint when you find her; likely somewhere near the pond, a fishing rod in hand, the line gently strung across the top of the water. She sits atop an old, gnarled tree that's long fallen over.]

The fish are biting today. But they're always biting, so sometimes I wonder: what's the fun in that?

[She laughs, and it's an ethereal sound, made to draw you in.

(Still, she's harmless enough. Probably.)]

If you're here to see the fireworks, you have to wait until it's nighttime.

[Her looks seems to ask: Are you even staying that long?]

visiting (read: scoping out)

[oren]

[It had been a long while since their last encounter. Oren, during a visit to Berna, had reported to her about Iona and Michael's encounter with Morgan and his group and how the golem particularly had a distaste for the man. How does the 500-year-old witch reply?

"Well? Are you going to see what he's all about or not? If you're going to look after my grandbaby properly, do your job properly and collect precise information, Oren!"

He didn't go about looking for their den purposefully. The farther he stayed away from them, the better it was for Iona. But fate and whatnot are weird as hell and Oren finds himself inside the house standing as still as a statue.

Hey, at least he brought gifts; two thick gift bags filled with something, but the golem isn't going to go any further than past the door. He can wait.]

[glassjar]

[Hope he doesn’t mind waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

In fact, it seems like he won’t be even greeted with any real expediency, at least not for a while. But if the golem is patient, eventually, footsteps sound from within the house, slow and unhurried; coming down from the stairwell inside.]

Now, is that who I sense it is?

[And here’s Morgan, greeting him in the foyer. He seems pleasant enough, a small, small smile on his face.]

I daresay it is. Color me surprised. How many years has it been?

[oren]

[He is in fact, the most patient. When you spend most of your existence wrangling two hyperactive witches, waiting in total silence might actually be a blessing.

Oren gives Morgan a very angular nod.]

Hello.

[He lifts up one bag in his hand.]

Didn't come in without something to give in return.

[glassjar]

I can see that.

[Morgan strides forward to close the space between himself and Oren. There’s something coolly assessing about his look, though simultaneously wholly unaffected. Casual, even in tone.]

You certainly didn’t have to. But I suppose it’s only polite to come bearing gifts when one doesn’t call ahead before a visit.

[He takes the bag, but doesn’t peer in just yet.]

Oren, right?

[oren]

[The golem just looks at Morgan unblinkingly and gives another nod.]

Yes.

[Same brevity as before too. He does glance around after replying to Morgan before settling his gaze back on him.]

Interesting space. Your own pocket.

[Similar, but different from the Midnight Grind. The cafe is filled with Iona's warmth and magic, drawing in all sorts of visitors. Here, it is simply a residence, private as can be.]

[glassjar]

[A very private residence, so very rarely intruded upon. The house itself is a strange structure; a mansion, nearly, that seems old and rustic on the outside in a way that doesn't match the interior -- which appears far more modern, more open-spaced, than anyone would guess.]

Well. Not only do we need a place to work, but also a place to live. Away from prying eyes, someplace quiet. The others like it.

[No, there is no warmth in this little dimension. But there is a sense of something surreal, not quite magic, but rather an aura that feels like a springwell of energy, always churning. Flowing in interwoven streams, if someone had an eye to see it that way.

Morgan considers Oren again for a moment, bag in hand, then turns and gestures for him to follow.]

Don't hover in the doorway like a shade.

[Into the common area they go. It's roomy and there's plenty of seating. There's even a bar at the far end.]

[oren]

Others. I remember two of them.

[He follows with gliding steps taking note of every detail of the house; the flowing aura, the modern decor, and listening to Morgan talk about how it's a quiet place to work.

When they reach the common area, Oren doesn't immediately take a seat. He's always been the type of person to wait for the other person to sit so instead he holds out both bags to Morgan.]

For everyone.

some other evening

[nerine]

[Presumably, sometime after Oren's visit, everything is in its place and going through its usual routine. But blink once or twice and the door to the Midnight Grind will appear one late evening to welcome a past customer. Inside, it is surprisingly empty of anyone except for the lone barista behind the bar.

Monts, dressed in all black stands sifting some matcha powder through a sieve and into an elegant ceramic bowl. After pouring in a small amount of hot water, she gets lost in whisking the concoction, the sounds of the bamboo whisk echoing throughout the empty cafe. Even when the door opens, the young woman doesn't look up and just greets the customer as she focuses on the bright green froth of the tea.]

Good evening! Take a seat and I'll be right with you in a minute.

[glassjar]

You haven’t met the other two.

[If he wants more details than that, Morgan doesn’t seem inclined to give them without being prompted. He takes the remaining bags with a slightly quirking brow.]

Of course. Gifts for everyone. How neighborly.

[He rustles them.]

Do I get to peek now?

[oren]

Go ahead.

[In one gift bag, the contents consist of several tins of high-grade ceremonial matcha powder, high-quality sweets, both western and eastern style stored in beautiful boxes, and a unique wine bottle full of a dark red. Its label is in a total non-Earth language and despite how tightly it is corked, a floral aroma emits from it.

In the other bag is... An urn. It's a very fancy urn! Oren explains before any questions can be asked.]

Since we broke the last one. No ashes inside. Type of incense instead.

Will help calm nerves.

[Well... It's thoughtful but it could be some weird roundabout joke from Oren of all people...]

[glassjar]

[Morgan quietly crosses over to… the bar counter, where he carefully takes out each item and places them in a line, one by one. The quiet consideration and delicate touch of a collector.

They’re nice items, each and every one. A few don’t even look as though they’re from this world, which is interesting in its own way — he appreciates that for what it is.

But then he unearths the urn, and… Ah. Morgan quirks a brow at Oren from where he stands.]

Heavens know we need that here.

[Calmed nerves. Jacob could use it. Amusement doesn’t quite strike at his core as hard as it should—nothing does, anymore—but he feels a shade of it.

He places it down, too, then goes around on the other side and leans his palms into the counter, looking over Oren.]

Of course, the last one you broke was a little more valuable than this, I assume. Because of the ashes. What a day that was — such a disappointment for my poor brother.

[ghostpranks]

[It’s that goddamned door again. The last time he saw it, it led to a cafe — which was nice. The not nice part? It also led to an awkward confrontation down the line, in the middle of “work” hours, and Jake doesn’t want to have to deal with that shit anymore. He knows better.

Or… he should.

He ends up stepping through the door again, anyway, against his better judgment. Because sometimes an escape is worth it. Sometimes he doesn’t want to think of their next job, lined up after they’ve barely had a breather from their last. Sometimes, he just wants some fucking caffeine.

So here is is. Jake sidles into a seat, looking over at Monts.]

Yeah, sure. [His eyes scan the cafe, curious but subdued, mostly.] …This place hasn’t changed.

[nerine]

[It takes her a second to pin down where she's heard his voice before; a long time has passed after all and so she has to look up to make sure she hasn't mistaken him for someone else.

Monts blinks with mild surprise when she takes in Jacob and the memory finally comes back to her.]

Oh! Hello again.

[Oren and Iona had her caught up for the most part about their particular encounter with Jacob and the other folks. Monts just always happened to never be around when they were customers except for Jacob.

Time passed and she almost forgot about it. Customers come and go after all and she had long learned to accept not to get torn over if someone never visited again. Still, this was unexpected and she was not sure if it was a bad thing or a good thing. And to be fair, Oren had cautioned her more about this Morgan guy rather than him.

Monts looks from her bowl of and back to Jacob.]

Well, I suppose it doesn't hurt to ask. Do you like matcha?

[oren]

[Oren remains silent, hands hanging by his sides, as Morgan examines the gifts only speaking at the last remark.]

It was also dangerous. Though probably more so because it broke.

[And well, they totally handled it and the day was saved! If Iona hadn't broken it, the outcome would probably be very different but that's neither here nor there.]

Brother would have a bigger headache handling that.

[Oren does a slow blink and finally seats himself at the counter.]

Anyway. Not much of an apology but decided to bring these. So there you go.

... Also have questions.

THOMAS DURAND.

[spacecaser]

[A man named Thomas sways gently on his feet, reaching out to grab you delicately by the arm, smiling lazily and declaring:]

Dance with me.

[Or maybe he's just leaning up against a tree, cigarette hanging tiredly from his mouth one day, blood on his shirt, eyes dull.]

Boom, baby. [-he mutters to no one, and his eyes flicker a barely-there glow, and the tip of his cigarette lights glowing amber.

Or it's nighttime.

And his eyes are surging with a bright, unfettered glow, and he's spinning about in place in a clearing away from the house, tossing up huge swaths of colorful, heated energy straight into the sky. It burns into the atmosphere on the way up. One after the other, he lobs them into the bleakness of the night, and they explode in an impossibly intricate display of fireworks. Color, color everywhere. It almost turns night into day.

And he's just laughing, aimless and delighted the whole time.]

BOOM, BABY! Haha!

[ghostpranks]

I do now. Your golem friend left a whole load of the stuff as a gift not too long ago.

[Is she aware? He doesn't know. But now that's out there.

Still, Jake can't help but raise a brow. She remembers him, even though it was so long ago... But maybe it's not so surprising, because he remembers her, too. He drums his fingers on the countertop.]

If that's what you're working on now, I won't complain.

You're good with faces if you still remember me.

1/2

[glassjar]

It wouldn't have broken if a few certain someones didn't think it was a wise idea to steal it from us in the first place.

[You know, just casually throwing that out there.]

[glassjar]

But that's water under the bridge. And this is a nice gesture, so apology accepted.

[Though one might wonder if it was Morgan's job, and not his brother's, if he would be so forgiving.

Still, gathers up a glass and a bottle of something strong and amber. Pours in two fingers and offers it to Oren. Does the golem fancy himself a drinker? He wonders.]

Questions? What kind?

[nerine]

Oh, is that where most of it went? I was wondering why there were fewer tins around.

[Iona, is probably unaware too; she was just as confused as Monts when they went to the stockroom to take some extra green tea powder home... Interesting.

Regardless, the barista takes out a glass and fills it with ice and then some milk from the minifridge below. To the matcha, she adds some lavender syrup and stirs it in making conversation with Jacob all the while.]

I wouldn't say I'm the best at faces, but our first meeting was interesting enough to stick. What stuck out the most to me during that time was that you were... Agitated? Concerned?

Well, a little of Column A and a little of Column B.

[oren]

[Before replying, the golem accepts the drink and takes a long unaffected sip. It's hard to tell if he even enjoys it or tastes it at all.]

Questions about your services. What you offer. How often. How far.

[ghostpranks]

[He scoffs a little, watching her work.]

Both. If I remember correctly, I came in to usher a warning.

[About his brother.]

A lot of good that did me.

[glassjar]

[Well, he drinks. That's something. Morgan grabs himself a glass and does the same, looking up at Oren quizzically, though mildly, as he pours.]

Oh, you want to know about the business.

[Nosy, nosy.]

Looking to hire?