agentlelog | open | like a B- for effort

Entry tags:

open | like a B- for effort

Who: ya boy emil and you
When: now, later, etc
Where: queen's residence, around town, a farm somewhere
What: some influence jobs and a general prompt
Warnings: he may cry eventually

loren's lament

[Let the record show: Emil and any kind of paperwork have never gotten along swimmingly. He barely scraped through school and has a personal vendetta against reading for work, so this? This is honestly his worst idea to date, letting himself get roped into reading for work!!! for this Loren person. What's in it for him, he mumbles mostly to himself, but he's still doing it.

Like, not very well. But he's sitting behind a messy stack of papers, now mumbling mostly to himself about how "sort by severity" is completely subjective? For example, he has no vested interest in the rippling effects of recent upheavals on local businesses, but apparently a lot of people do! Wow! Amazing!

For the third time in an hour, he sighs loudly. Hi, you're here, so please give his woes your attention.]

This is dreadful. Does he really read all of these when no one else is here?

[Who READS??]

shock it 2 me

[The only reason Emil is even trying to help with the livestock problem is because... well. Honestly, it's because the thought of sad farm animals made him deeply upset and he was compelled to come help. What this means for the job, however, is that an overly-emotional tiny dude has become attached to at least one farm animal (like, a cute baby goat, probably) in between complaining about how the animals seem to want to follow him around and chew on various bits of his clothing.

And then, tragedy of tragedies, his favorite baby goat goes missing and he is deeply distraught. Now, at last, he is inspired to take action.

Of course, he's terrible at Craft, so his misguided attempts to do anything resembling an electric fence keep ending with him giving himself a huge dose of static electricity. Is nothing easy?]

stylish yet irresponsible use of stipend

[Or: who blew their whole stipend on clothes instead of budgeting for food? This guy. On the one hand, he can dress like a local on a whim now! That's exciting! The clothes aren't incredibly great, but they're not terrible. He's managing.

He's also incredibly hungry, which is starting to get embarrassing hours and hours after breakfast. Please feed him, or at least humor him when he very abruptly begins a Casual Conversation (hint: he's bad at this one):]

How do people get jobs here? Just wondering.

misc

[hello what do you want to do? i'm probably on board with it. you can send me a pm or pp to jojoveller with ideas or just tag wildly!! dark knights is the only job emil won't do... and for my own sake i'd like to limit job threads to 2 per job so i can handle them!! thank you

feel free to find him being terrible at magic practice or whining about morning training, etc, i am really open.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Uh, what? No. [Does he look like a farm boy! Please.] Trolls— monsters. Beasts and so on. If you don't burn them out of infested areas and blow the buildings to the ground, there's always a chance something's going to find someplace to hide out and survive the winter.

[He's really good at blowing up abandoned houses?]

There's no such-- [Jonathan began, then stopped. He would have said much the same about vampires months ago, and other worlds a week ago. Was the fact that trolls might exist somewhere that much harder to believe?]

Hm. What are these... beasts... like? And what's to stop them from just moving back in after you rebuild?

Horrible, hungry monsters? Beasts are infected animals. The last one I got close to- [he frowns, minute, at the memory, but goes on,] was a dog, but it had these giant... claw things coming out of its back.

[Now, trolls, those are the worst, but that wasn't technically the question.]

As for what's stopping them— nothing, really. Obviously some areas are going to be safer than others.

Infected you say? [Now that does get his attention, the coffee forgotten and Jonathan's pale, almost unnatural gaze fixed on Emil. It sounds rather similar to the situation in London and he cannot help but wonder how far the similarities go.]

A virus or something similar that distorts what it infects? How is it transmitted?

Pff, I don't know. I'm immune, and no one who studies it- like my aunt- has gotten anywhere useful.

[Another little pause. Well.] People who aren't immune need to watch out for basically everything. You know, wear a mask, and so on.

Fascinating... [He stares at Emil silently for a while longer, but as compelling as the puzzle is, Jonathan has to admit that there's little purpose in trying to unravel it here; there's hardly much chance in getting samples and his own research space. Besides, he has his own project to work on.

Still, it may shed some light in other areas and if Emil is getting the feeling of being a bit like a particularly interesting specimen in a laboratory, that's because he sort of is now.]

Do you have any other immunities that you're aware of?

[Cool, that's definitely not the kind of job he wanted to get, so now it's been made Weird. He makes a face.]

Uhhhh— no? I'm not allergic to anything, I guess...

[What could possibly be bad about contributing in some small way to SCIENCE??]

Not exactly what I meant. [Jonathan's focus is as sharp as his hunger, this another way he hopes to distract himself from the ever-present need.]

Have you ever been sick, colds, illnesses, that sort of thing?

[Then, belatedly realising this was not what the young man wanted help with, Jonathan continued:] And what about your family? Surely you didn't grow up learning how to set buildings alight. You must have other skills.

[Is this what real doctors are like? Real doctors who are not total hacks who can't doctor OR cook must be like this, asking loads and loads of questions. Emil shrugs; he can't honestly recall any time he's really been sick.]

I used to play piano. [Used to. That's, uh, that's all he's got.] I was in school and then I joined the military, so no, I really haven't done anything else.

Ah, a soldier. [~~because anyone looking at Emil would think 'soldier' right~~]

Well you must have some experience with fighting, labour, that sort of thing? With the damage the city has endured, there must be jobs in rebuilding it.

[Now now, he's very... striking. A good soldier quality is great hair? Hmm.]

No, what? Are you even listening to me? I already told you I'm a cleanser. Maybe your stupid military needs everyone spend all their time fighting, but not cleansers. I don't labor.

[Jonathan's expression darkens briefly and his jaw tightens.]

Clearly your military doesn't train it's men either. All should at least know how to defend themselves and fight if need be. What happens if you're ambushed?

I am a doctor and that was my role in the war, but I still fought my fair share of battles.

Maybe you can teach my doctor how to do anything right. He couldn't hit the side of a barn from ten feet away if he had to.

[Ha! Low standards! What has the military come to-- oh right it's the apocalypse and terrible monsters vastly outnumber capable humans, but why explain that.]

I know how to shoot, but this queen woman didn't exactly bring me here with all of my things. And what am I supposed to shoot around here?

I believe that's why Prince Allairavar works with us in the mornings. [Which Jonathan can understand the frustration with to an extent; he had trained in combat before and was no stranger to it, yet they were still all required to join in.]

And not all doctors are expected to fight. Surprisingly, it isn't something many expect when they enter the profession.

But it does seem that here at least you have the chance to try something new. So, if you were not in the military in your own world, what would you want to do instead?

[But what is he supposed to shoot!! He doesn't even really like shooting, but at least he knows how to do it. Training— well, there isn't enough instant gratification from morning training for him to enjoy any part of it.]

Hmm, maybe. [Doctors should definitely double-class, but what does he know. Anyway,] I was an academic first, but that was terrible. I don't really have anything else I'd like to do, I guess.

[No skills, no interest... Jonathan was sorely tempted to ask how Emil felt he should get a job with that attitude but kept it to himself instead.]

What about asking others here if they have skills they could help you learn? I wouldn't be able to train you to be a physician, but I could teach you some skills in first aid if you were interested. I'm sure others here could help as well, and I imagine even some of those of the courts would be willing to help further if you asked.

[It's not an attitude, it's facts!! He's sensitive about only part of it, which is his problem. Anyway: first aid, huh...? His kneejerk reaction is no thank you, but he's already clumsily tried to help an injured Stranger here during the power plant explosion, and- more importantly- what if something terrible happens to Lalli??

Perish the thought. Okay.]

I could learn first aid, I suppose. And then... something else, you know, to learn and so on. From others.

[Or maybe just the one thing, he'll think about it.]

A good plan. [Jonathan smiles faintly, pleased that Emil is willing to learn and keep learning at least. While he mightn't have plans he does seem willing to try different things.]

You can always find me in my room of an evening or around the residence of a night if you have time to learn. We're all busy enough that I'll let you find me when you have free time.

But I am usually... unavailable during the day. [WHO KNOWS WHY]

[Gee, how mysterious... night is when he sleeps and complains about the day's events, so who knows when he'll actually be available (read: remember).]

Hmm, okay. I'll just walk up and down the halls until I find you.

[This isn't sarcasm. ...This mostly isn't sarcasm.]

You could stop by my room in the evening. [Jonathan points out, raising an eyebrow at the sarcasm, such as it is.]

I will always be there as the sun sets.

Alright, but I don't know which one that is.

[He could just ask... he's not asking. This is kind of asking.]

[Very well. Jonathan crowds a little too close to Emil and takes his hand, producing a pen and writing a room number on the back of Emil's hand.]

No excuses now.

Uh— [Whoa, hello!! That's his hand! He doesn't pull it away, but he does stand there looking shocked and confused.] What?

[He looks down at the back of his hand. Ah?]

I don't know what just happened. Okay?

[He looks equally confused, although it has more to do with Emil's apparent confusion about how room numbers work and why he was given one than anything else.]

That is my room number. So you know which one it is.

[So help him if Emil says he won't remember that much...]

Yes, but... [How to word this delicately? He wonders.] This is my hand.

I'm just saying, maybe a note would have worked just as well. This looks stupid!

open | like a B- for effort

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