"I already told you I'm not taking my hat off in public. I already did that once. Never again." She makes a 'blech' face and shakes her head. "But we can go after, if you want!"
"Ehhh, let's wait on the hat thing. Gotta catch the night while it's young, or whatever they say." Jax gives a dismissive wave, before elbowing her playfully. "Come onnn. Don't you wanna hear songs that don't exist in our world get sang objectively badly? It'll be fun. Might even get to have a decent, non-vegan drink this time."
"Wh— no?" Instantly, he's incredulous, floating eyebrows furrowing in surprised, frustrated shock. "Just seems like a waste of perfectly good catching-up time or whatever to not take the more interesting choice. What's wrong with that?"
"Ugh. Fine. Whatever." He doesn't hide the fact that he doesn't believe her, but stows his hands further into his pockets, continuing to amble along. "Didn't clean it or anything for company, though, so."
"That's fine. You didn't know I was here until a few hours ago, I'm not expecting anything crazy," Pomni assures him, arms swinging at her sides. She's got a cute red linen dress for newcomer's garb--- simple and loose, but it looks nice on her, and her arms swinging makes the skirt flutter a little.
In the back of Pomni's mind, she's acutely aware of why he's so worried. She hasn't been able to chase the image out of her head since she saw it, held down by colorful alligators and forced to watch her friends be broken. Jax's outer layer ripped violently away by cruel, grasping hands wearing the silhouettes of his friends, gawking and laughing at that sad, sickly-yellow soft middle. It was violating just to watch. She can't imagine what it would be like to go though.
She'll prove she isn't like that. Pomni will make herself safe. She just can't show him that she's doing it or he'll freak out anyway, cynical dumbass that he is. But he means a lot to her, so it's worth the trouble.
Well, that settles that. No getting out of it. That's what he gets for suggesting they visit, anyways. For now, he just shrugs, plays aloof, and leads her along the last short distance to the street adorned with row upon row of little townhouses.
His doesn't stand out from the rest, an unremarkable building with light-blue siding and dim windows. Square pupils flicker back to her just one more time, scanning over her face, before he turns back to the door, failing to fully contain a short sigh before finally turning the door and stepping inside.
The second the light of the hallway is on, it's instantly apparent why he was so reluctant to let anyone inside.
Many of the homes, as the people of Town Hall might have previously explained, aren't fresh constructions, but homes of people who died before the barrier stood to keep their souls contained. Years upon years have passed since some homes had anyone in them to call their own, and Jax's home hardly looks like it's been more lived in since those years went by.
Dark wood floors proudly proclaim a trail through the dust on the floor, one that moves to few of the rooms, namely the adjoining kitchen and the living room to the side. A single red coat hangs from a lonely coatrack, and in the living room, the aged couch, with a floral pattern vintage for even the time, is broken in the middle, never moved from the place it collapsed. Just across from it, a standing piano is buried in clothes and clutter.
The only other clear desire-path through the undisturbed home leads up the stairs. The walls even still proudly hang old photos with unfamiliar human faces, never touched since those faces likely met their end. The kitchen looks the most alive out of any of the rooms, with its sink, piled high with dishes, and the assorted pieces of mail scattered around the island in the middle of it, as well as atop the second bar stool at its side.
"Make yourself at home or whatever," Jax mutters, shrugging off his coat and abandoning it beside the red one, wandering his way into the kitchen, following that same path. Simple, unchanging routine. Just around the corner, when he's disappeared from view, the sound of bottles clattering against a fridge door announce his investigation. "You want anything to drink before we get into head-hole and karaoke business? Pregaming and all that."
Hoo boy. Pomni's not sure what she expected, but this is definitely rougher than what she was envisioning. "I'm down to pregame," Pomni agrees, not remarking but deliberately avoiding putting her hands on literally any surface. "Whatcha got?"
"Eh, ale, a bottle of wine I stole from that festival, a little dog with magic tea in it." Also stolen from the magic festival. How did nobody bust him on that? "I think this one is mead? I dunno. Guy from the Oak & Iron gave it to me. Looks decent, though."
He turns back, placing some of the things on the few clear spaces of the island, before he pauses, glancing over her face. His grin is all but vanished, lost to a small, tight frown.
"It's bad. I know. Not biohazard levels, so you're not gonna catch anything if you sit somewhere. Go nuts."
"No, it's okay. I just--- this is my only dress right now, so. I'm just being paranoid about messing it up," Pomni assures him. But she pauses, softening a little. "...Do you need some help with it? I don't mind."
He most assuredly does not. But, even still, he lets out a disbelieving huff of a laugh.
"Isn't something like this supposed to be a major red flag? Honestly, Pom, you gotta have a little more self-preservation. Didn't anybody ever tell you that winding up in a guy's house that looks like this would only end badly? It's pretty textbook."
"Yeah, well, the textbooks," Pomni grumbles, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. "...It's not like I have room to talk. You should've seen my apartment back home sometimes."
He doesn't know why she bothers. Why she continues to bother. Doesn't she know that this is a dead-end? There's no reason to waste the energy here. He'll just let it fall apart again. He always does. Every time it's ever gotten better, it gets so much worse again, like divine retribution for him ever thinking it might stay better.
Maybe he's not just thinking of the mess anymore. Maybe this reminds him a little too much of two old friends pushing their way into his room at the Circus with a knock-off Polaroid, decorating a colorful wall with memories...
Shaking his head to forcefully wrench himself out of that, he lets out a dry laugh, the smile that makes it back to his face isn't a notable one. "If you wanna waste your brand-new, non-adventure-having free time cleaning, you're nuts, but I won't stop you. Just don't say I didn't warn you."
"I don't mind. Seriously." Pomni offers a fond look, a light smile. "But that's a later problem. Let's open my stupid head, then go get drunk and watch other people sing bad, and then later this week we'll see how much of the work we can offload on the literal, honest-to-god Labubus running around helping people do spring cleaning."
"Seriously! Like— the freaky little dolls? What is wrong with this place?"
And yet, even small, tentative, that grin reappears on his face. And he huffs a laugh, shaking his head and passing her one of the bottles. (It's the nicer one of the bunch, the golden hue speaking to it probably being mead. He doesn't address that fact.)
"You're so weird. I don't get you." But, regardless, he tries to let that roll off his back, nodding in a little gesture to her. Pin-pointed pupils widen after a couple of blinks and a swig from the bottle of wine to get him off-edge. "We stalled long enough though. Let's see that hole."
He doesn't have to comment. Pomni notices. She takes a moment to admire the color, a subtle gesture of gratitude. She goes to great pains not to crowd him emotionally. Even though she wishes she could throw herself into his arms and tell him just how much he means to her.
Maybe someday.
At the mention of the hole, she sighs. "Okayyyy fine." Pomni pops her hat off, and while locks of blunt-cut brown hair tumble out to frame her face, at the crown of her skull, there is an opening about the size of a small dinner plate. Inside, her head is concave and empty, aside from purple lines that look like scaffolding, outlining the interior of her polygons.
The quiet admiration is watched with what Jax certainly tries to have be discreet attention, but that doesn't mean his shoulders don't visibly ease a few centimeters of tension. It was the right call, and the subject moves along easily. All is right with the world again. For the moment. But he'll take it!
For now, he strolls over the short distance, and—
"Holy !"
The censor is tailed closely by a laugh, and unable to help himself, he moves the hand that doesn't still hold the wine-bottle, stooping down to peer very closely inside the bizarrely empty space. He's practically shoving his head in there. "I can't believe Caine left this open! I've seen some weird clipping crap before, but nothing this big! Man, he was really losing his edge, huh? That's hilarious. Hang on, what's it feel like when I put my hand in there?"
"Not really anything aside from, like... air movement, unless you touch the sides. Then it just feels like your hand," Pomni observes, making a face of mild discomfort. "That's so weird..."
Jax finally pulls himself back upright, ears standing upright again with a comical sproing! And, unable to help himself, he glances around the room, takes a scarf, and drops it in there. Who knows when they'll need it?
"Yeah, alright, we're definitely keeping stuff in here. Do you think putting a knife in here would put your eye out? Answer quickly."
Another item added! Should he put together an inventory list? No, that'd be lame. They'll figure it out later. (He also puts a jar of apple butter he'd left on the counter in there.)
He fails to elaborate what or where purse-jail is for bad and naughty digital satchels. But he does try to pry those sharp teeth off his arm. (God, does she have a jaw-lock like a fucking shark?)
Arms out. Hands open. She's unceremoniously dropped, but he at least gives her the decency to have her upright when he does. As soon as she's loose, he gives his now-wiggly arm a jokingly-horrified glance. (It's maybe a little genuine.)
"Oof!" And with that, she hits the floor, faceplanting anyway. But she's quick to pick herself back up.
"That's what happens!" Pomni huffs, straightening out her clothes and shaking off the adrenaline. "Okay, come here, lemme pull your arm straight so we can go to the bar."
"Not my fault you're the ideal size for convenient stuff-carrying," Jax raises his non-jagged arm defensively, but he doesn't put up any further argument before he offers his arm back over. "If you bite it again I'll be ed, by the way. And I'll definitely throw you."
Throw her where exactly? He has no idea. But he'll figure it out. Getting chucked is enrichment for digital cartoon characters, anyways.
"Yeah, yeah," Pomni gripes, grabbing his hand with both of hers and giving a solid yank. It straightens right back out, like magic. "There. All better. What have we learned today?"
"Pfff." Pomni rolls her eyes, but doesn't move away. "Whatever. Since you're back there, stick this in my head. We'll smuggle it into the bar and save some money." She passes the bottle of mead up to him.
Jax snorts a laugh, but takes the bottle as soon as it's passed over. "That's such an accountant thing to do. Always thinkin' on the numbers, huh?"
No part of that is a complaint, though, and the half-finished bottle of wine goes in after it. The downside is he has to stick his arm all the way in there to futz around with the scarf, wedging it between the bottles so they won't clack together. Innovation at its finest.
"Think that should do it! Put your hole away, and let's get outta here."
"Can you please not say it like that?" Replacing her hat once more, Pomni makes for the door, eyeing the red coat next to Jax's. "Whose coat is this one? You're not really a red guy."
"Yeah, no, I'm totally obligated to say it like that. Them's the breaks."
The coat gets a glance, though, and he sighs, moving to shake it out and hold it up.
"It's my work jacket. Dunno why they're making us dress like bellboys for our shift, but everybody's got one, so there wasn't any getting outta it for me. Could be worse, though, I guess."
It gets a smile from Pomni--- the gold detailing is really fun, as are the little shoulder pads. "I bet you can rock it, though. What kind of work is it?" She starts for the door as she keeps chatting---- walk and talk.
"Sort of a community-service type thing. People have problems, we go solve them," Jax replies, ever nonchalant, as he follows her out the door and closes it behind him. It's a relief not to be in there anymore, to say the least. That's what he gets for getting the bright idea that inviting someone over was a good idea.
"Mostly, I'm just there for moral support," he adds with a grin.
Yeah, he spends most of his time letting other people pick up the slack.
A community service thing? Neither the words "community" nor "service" typically are said with Jax's name in the same sentence, so the fact that he's doing so is... a lot. It's important. Pomni is extremely proud of him--- which she doesn't say, but her face betrays her as she nudges him. "Look at you, moving up in the world."
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Date: 2026-03-25 05:39 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2026-03-25 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-25 07:18 pm (UTC)In the back of Pomni's mind, she's acutely aware of why he's so worried. She hasn't been able to chase the image out of her head since she saw it, held down by colorful alligators and forced to watch her friends be broken. Jax's outer layer ripped violently away by cruel, grasping hands wearing the silhouettes of his friends, gawking and laughing at that sad, sickly-yellow soft middle. It was violating just to watch. She can't imagine what it would be like to go though.
She'll prove she isn't like that. Pomni will make herself safe. She just can't show him that she's doing it or he'll freak out anyway, cynical dumbass that he is. But he means a lot to her, so it's worth the trouble.
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Date: 2026-03-25 08:22 pm (UTC)His doesn't stand out from the rest, an unremarkable building with light-blue siding and dim windows. Square pupils flicker back to her just one more time, scanning over her face, before he turns back to the door, failing to fully contain a short sigh before finally turning the door and stepping inside.
The second the light of the hallway is on, it's instantly apparent why he was so reluctant to let anyone inside.
Many of the homes, as the people of Town Hall might have previously explained, aren't fresh constructions, but homes of people who died before the barrier stood to keep their souls contained. Years upon years have passed since some homes had anyone in them to call their own, and Jax's home hardly looks like it's been more lived in since those years went by.
Dark wood floors proudly proclaim a trail through the dust on the floor, one that moves to few of the rooms, namely the adjoining kitchen and the living room to the side. A single red coat hangs from a lonely coatrack, and in the living room, the aged couch, with a floral pattern vintage for even the time, is broken in the middle, never moved from the place it collapsed. Just across from it, a standing piano is buried in clothes and clutter.
The only other clear desire-path through the undisturbed home leads up the stairs. The walls even still proudly hang old photos with unfamiliar human faces, never touched since those faces likely met their end. The kitchen looks the most alive out of any of the rooms, with its sink, piled high with dishes, and the assorted pieces of mail scattered around the island in the middle of it, as well as atop the second bar stool at its side.
"Make yourself at home or whatever," Jax mutters, shrugging off his coat and abandoning it beside the red one, wandering his way into the kitchen, following that same path. Simple, unchanging routine. Just around the corner, when he's disappeared from view, the sound of bottles clattering against a fridge door announce his investigation. "You want anything to drink before we get into head-hole and karaoke business? Pregaming and all that."
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Date: 2026-03-25 08:43 pm (UTC)Damn, bitch, you live like this?Hoo boy. Pomni's not sure what she expected, but this is definitely rougher than what she was envisioning. "I'm down to pregame," Pomni agrees, not remarking but deliberately avoiding putting her hands on literally any surface. "Whatcha got?"
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Date: 2026-03-25 09:23 pm (UTC)He turns back, placing some of the things on the few clear spaces of the island, before he pauses, glancing over her face. His grin is all but vanished, lost to a small, tight frown.
"It's bad. I know. Not biohazard levels, so you're not gonna catch anything if you sit somewhere. Go nuts."
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Date: 2026-03-25 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 12:57 am (UTC)He most assuredly does not. But, even still, he lets out a disbelieving huff of a laugh.
"Isn't something like this supposed to be a major red flag? Honestly, Pom, you gotta have a little more self-preservation. Didn't anybody ever tell you that winding up in a guy's house that looks like this would only end badly? It's pretty textbook."
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Date: 2026-03-26 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 01:18 am (UTC)He doesn't know why she bothers. Why she continues to bother. Doesn't she know that this is a dead-end? There's no reason to waste the energy here. He'll just let it fall apart again. He always does. Every time it's ever gotten better, it gets so much worse again, like divine retribution for him ever thinking it might stay better.
Maybe he's not just thinking of the mess anymore. Maybe this reminds him a little too much of two old friends pushing their way into his room at the Circus with a knock-off Polaroid, decorating a colorful wall with memories...
Shaking his head to forcefully wrench himself out of that, he lets out a dry laugh, the smile that makes it back to his face isn't a notable one. "If you wanna waste your brand-new, non-adventure-having free time cleaning, you're nuts, but I won't stop you. Just don't say I didn't warn you."
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Date: 2026-03-26 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 02:37 am (UTC)And yet, even small, tentative, that grin reappears on his face. And he huffs a laugh, shaking his head and passing her one of the bottles. (It's the nicer one of the bunch, the golden hue speaking to it probably being mead. He doesn't address that fact.)
"You're so weird. I don't get you." But, regardless, he tries to let that roll off his back, nodding in a little gesture to her. Pin-pointed pupils widen after a couple of blinks and a swig from the bottle of wine to get him off-edge. "We stalled long enough though. Let's see that hole."
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Date: 2026-03-26 02:54 am (UTC)Maybe someday.
At the mention of the hole, she sighs. "Okayyyy fine." Pomni pops her hat off, and while locks of blunt-cut brown hair tumble out to frame her face, at the crown of her skull, there is an opening about the size of a small dinner plate. Inside, her head is concave and empty, aside from purple lines that look like scaffolding, outlining the interior of her polygons.
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Date: 2026-03-26 03:12 am (UTC)For now, he strolls over the short distance, and—
"Holy
The censor is tailed closely by a laugh, and unable to help himself, he moves the hand that doesn't still hold the wine-bottle, stooping down to peer very closely inside the bizarrely empty space. He's practically shoving his head in there. "I can't believe Caine left this open! I've seen some weird clipping crap before, but nothing this big! Man, he was really losing his edge, huh? That's hilarious. Hang on, what's it feel like when I put my hand in there?"
Which he does, without reservation. Sorry, Pomni.
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Date: 2026-03-26 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 03:22 am (UTC)Yeah, no, he's leaning all the way in there, calling into the empty space.
"HEEEEE-LLO?"
He's testing if there's an echo. Utterly shameless.
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Date: 2026-03-26 03:27 am (UTC)"How does your head fit in there? I didn't think it was that big. Get out!"
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Date: 2026-03-26 03:44 am (UTC)Jax finally pulls himself back upright, ears standing upright again with a comical sproing! And, unable to help himself, he glances around the room, takes a scarf, and drops it in there. Who knows when they'll need it?
"Yeah, alright, we're definitely keeping stuff in here. Do you think putting a knife in here would put your eye out? Answer quickly."
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Date: 2026-03-26 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 04:12 am (UTC)Another item added! Should he put together an inventory list? No, that'd be lame. They'll figure it out later. (He also puts a jar of apple butter he'd left on the counter in there.)
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Date: 2026-03-26 04:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 04:22 am (UTC)And, with little fanfare, he picks her up and tucks her under his arm, holding her like she weighs nothing against his hip.
"You're more like a satchel, honestly. It's more time-period appropriate. Get with the times, Pom-Pom."
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Date: 2026-03-26 04:24 am (UTC)rolled a 13 on prying her off for the silliest dice combat ever
Date: 2026-03-26 04:27 am (UTC)He fails to elaborate what or where purse-jail is for bad and naughty digital satchels. But he does try to pry those sharp teeth off his arm. (God, does she have a jaw-lock like a fucking shark?)
Rolled a 15 babeyyy
Date: 2026-03-26 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 04:40 am (UTC)Arms out. Hands open. She's unceremoniously dropped, but he at least gives her the decency to have her upright when he does. As soon as she's loose, he gives his now-wiggly arm a jokingly-horrified glance. (It's maybe a little genuine.)
"You
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Date: 2026-03-26 04:43 am (UTC)"That's what happens!" Pomni huffs, straightening out her clothes and shaking off the adrenaline. "Okay, come here, lemme pull your arm straight so we can go to the bar."
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Date: 2026-03-26 04:47 am (UTC)Throw her where exactly? He has no idea. But he'll figure it out. Getting chucked is enrichment for digital cartoon characters, anyways.
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Date: 2026-03-26 04:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 04:51 am (UTC)"Hold your head further away from my arm next time?"
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Date: 2026-03-26 03:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 03:08 pm (UTC)No part of that is a complaint, though, and the half-finished bottle of wine goes in after it. The downside is he has to stick his arm all the way in there to futz around with the scarf, wedging it between the bottles so they won't clack together. Innovation at its finest.
"Think that should do it! Put your hole away, and let's get outta here."
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Date: 2026-03-26 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 03:29 pm (UTC)The coat gets a glance, though, and he sighs, moving to shake it out and hold it up.
"It's my work jacket. Dunno why they're making us dress like bellboys for our shift, but everybody's got one, so there wasn't any getting outta it for me. Could be worse, though, I guess."
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Date: 2026-03-26 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 04:12 pm (UTC)"Mostly, I'm just there for moral support," he adds with a grin.
Yeah, he spends most of his time letting other people pick up the slack.
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Date: 2026-03-27 02:40 am (UTC)