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welcome to your office, settle down and take a seat
Who: Jeremy Fitzgerald, OTA
What: That care package is only confusing him further.
When: Beginning of week 2.
Where: Forest and surroundings.
Warnings: Mention of head injuries and various FNAF related grossness.
This is hardly what he expected the afterlife to be like.
He wasn't exactly religious or spiritual. He'd always figured that whatever the end of the line would be, he'd deal with it when he got there. Just because he's here a little earlier than he'd expected had nothing to do with his surprise upon finding out what awaited him after death was just more of it.
Kill or be killed is what he was told. But I'm already-- was what he wanted to answer with, but he was only shushed, told to try his best, and then he was out in the middle of it all. He'd stepped out into what could only be described as a warzone, bodies and blood scattered about and his only instrinct - once he could force himself to move - was just to run. Run, run, keep running, hope you don't pass out.
He has no idea how he made it this far, but he's just glad he's remained conscious. It hasn't really hit him yet, the seriousness of the situation he's in. As far as he's concerned ... well, he's still very, very dead. How much worse can it be to die again?
For a long time, Jeremy wasn't even aware of his surroundings. He just ran, and found someplace to hide whenever he heard a noise. It seemed to go well for the most part, and the forest he finds himself in now is certainly different than anything he'd ever known. It's near one of the quiet, shallow ponds that he decides to take a break, sitting down near the water's edge and breathing heavily from the journey. And then he takes out his findings from the odd little parachute that nearly knocked him in the head earlier in the day, keeping a water bottle by his side as he reads the note again.
"Keep moving ... sorry for-- for what ha-happened. Need help, find ... Luna, Sansa ... Firo, S-Sandy, Daryl, Kar...kat, Nick."
He reads it to himself again, before rolling his eyes, crumpling the paper in his fist and letting it fall to the side. "Fat load o'good names do m-- me now."
It doesn't help that the same hallucination has been following him around since day one, usually in the corner of his vision but sometimes - like now - right across the pond from him.
"God-- fuck off, already," Jeremy grumbles at the shadow, frustrated enough to flip his middle finger up at the damn thing as he rubs his scarred forehead with the other hand. What a headache this is. "Leave me alone."
What: That care package is only confusing him further.
When: Beginning of week 2.
Where: Forest and surroundings.
Warnings: Mention of head injuries and various FNAF related grossness.
This is hardly what he expected the afterlife to be like.
He wasn't exactly religious or spiritual. He'd always figured that whatever the end of the line would be, he'd deal with it when he got there. Just because he's here a little earlier than he'd expected had nothing to do with his surprise upon finding out what awaited him after death was just more of it.
Kill or be killed is what he was told. But I'm already-- was what he wanted to answer with, but he was only shushed, told to try his best, and then he was out in the middle of it all. He'd stepped out into what could only be described as a warzone, bodies and blood scattered about and his only instrinct - once he could force himself to move - was just to run. Run, run, keep running, hope you don't pass out.
He has no idea how he made it this far, but he's just glad he's remained conscious. It hasn't really hit him yet, the seriousness of the situation he's in. As far as he's concerned ... well, he's still very, very dead. How much worse can it be to die again?
For a long time, Jeremy wasn't even aware of his surroundings. He just ran, and found someplace to hide whenever he heard a noise. It seemed to go well for the most part, and the forest he finds himself in now is certainly different than anything he'd ever known. It's near one of the quiet, shallow ponds that he decides to take a break, sitting down near the water's edge and breathing heavily from the journey. And then he takes out his findings from the odd little parachute that nearly knocked him in the head earlier in the day, keeping a water bottle by his side as he reads the note again.
"Keep moving ... sorry for-- for what ha-happened. Need help, find ... Luna, Sansa ... Firo, S-Sandy, Daryl, Kar...kat, Nick."
He reads it to himself again, before rolling his eyes, crumpling the paper in his fist and letting it fall to the side. "Fat load o'good names do m-- me now."
It doesn't help that the same hallucination has been following him around since day one, usually in the corner of his vision but sometimes - like now - right across the pond from him.
"God-- fuck off, already," Jeremy grumbles at the shadow, frustrated enough to flip his middle finger up at the damn thing as he rubs his scarred forehead with the other hand. What a headache this is. "Leave me alone."
no subject
But, thinking about it now doesn't help matters much, especially when that leads to thoughts of how he couldn't help them at all in the end. He never brought his findings to the police, he never told anyone about his experiences, he never even thought to bring a video camera one night to record proof of the animatronic's murderous nighttime activity. No one would've believed him at all, and because of his own recklessness in taking that day shift after his nightmarish week he got himself killed before he could do anything anyway. It certainly doesn't make him feel too good about himself.
Jeremy decides he might as well just pay closer attention to what Daryl's doing, instead of wallowing in self pity. Not that he'll remember any of the steps involved, probably, but he never learned things like how to build fires or what mushrooms aren't poisonous. He focuses on that instead, taking in the size and colour of the mushrooms, the shape of the small branches, and each step in starting the fire with the kit. It's interesting to watch, at least, and the mutual silence between them is only broken by the soft crackling of the fire. It'd be nice, in any other situation.
Before he gets too lost in his thoughts, Daryl snaps him out of it, and Jeremy belatedly notices the fire's gone and it's time to go. The idea of an actual camp is appealing, even if all it is, is just a more comfortable spot on the ground to rest his head. He hesitates, only out of his own nervousness, before reaching to grasp Daryl's offered hand to help haul himself to his feet. And fried mushrooms do smell pretty good, on an empty stomach. He doesn't say much more beyond a quiet word of thanks, and his pace is rather slow, but he is grateful for the help and he looks forward to reaching the camp. Maybe after he rests properly for a little while, he can tell Daryl that himself.