𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜

               𝙿𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙽𝚃 .    statement of  𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚔𝚎𝚊𝚢 , 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 , regarding the death of his mother, mary keay. statement taken posthumously from subject, june 30th 2017.

ind, private, low activity gerard keay of the magnus archives, headcanon based & trigger heavy. as penned by jayne bird ( 21 , she/they ) . unreality and death untagged .

                                                       headcanon + boots . 

gerry has been wearing boots since he was a teenager, he’s been wearing boots, it started as  part of his fashion statement. he liked taller platforms and tall buckled boots with straps or chains or spikes because they matched his aesthetic. he liked looking taller and they improved his self confidence on some small levels the same way embracing goth style did. it help him blend in and stand out in the same way. 

gerard has a lot of problems finding shoes that are comfortable, he has a high arch, so more often than not he has to buy insoles. he prefers boots for better support on the ankle, though his boots for “civilian” life on good days involve taller platforms to make him stand out. he likes to feel frankenstein monster-esque.  for running he’ll wear doc martens, marrells, or any tactical boot for when he is actively avatar hunting with gertrude.they have better support while still allowing him to have that aesthetic. 

on bad days when his back and leg pain is particularly bad he wears flat boots, usually they’re older already worn in boots with zippers or loose ties, so he can simply slip his feet into them without much effort.  he has decorated his boots by painting on a few, though the artwork is often extremely cracked or chipped from repeated movement. 

THE  SMALL  SMILE cracked  across  gerard’s alabaster  features  reflects onto  tim’s  face.  there  is  no  warmth in  the  expression, no  joy,  mere grim  amusement.  recognition.  he  is  a  hollowed  corpse, corrupted  and  dripping with  exhaustion.  nothing  of the  light  that  warmed  his  chest  some  months  ago  remains.  he  is  but  ashes  and bitter  smoke.  he doesn’t  know  gerard nor  anything  about  his  predicament, but  he  thinks they  might  have  more  than  a  few  similarities.  like  being  utterly fucked.

“  so.  you  wanna  tell  me  how  you  ended  up  in  the  worlds freakiest  pop-up  book? ”

he  gestures  with  an  index, then  leans  back  in  his  chair  and  crosses  his  muscled  arms  over  his  chest.  if  nothing  else,  he  figures they  can  use  each  other  for  decent conversation,  and  to  do  that,  they’d  better get  a  few  elephants  out  of  the  room.  

                    SPECTRE FLICKERS, only slightly, only for a moment. it happens sometimes when his almost-emotions spike, like a wince or a flinch but less physical. the goth chuckles and the sound echoes a bit around them, faltering.  “ that’s a good one. ”   he honestly hasn’t heard that one before, so really, maybe he should be impressed.   “ could say it’s family tradition at this point. ”   he admits, wonders for a moment if it should count as a tradition, though it happened to both his mother and father, so . . . he’ll let it count, as if perhaps it might be grounding, normal almost. he thinks for a moment about himself, about his family, just how well he’d followed in their footsteps.  “ heirloom turned tomb. ”

                                             𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎

Date with Gerry. Date Fee: 75¢ Customer Comments: "Terrible taste. (Person in 20s)"

COWBOY RESPONDS BY COVERING HIS EYES WITH HIS HANDS.    he repeats to himself what mr. elias told him: his SIGHT is a gift; he gets to SEE because he is strong, he’s special. that doesn’t change how his stomach churns at the grotesque images forced to the forefront of his mind.  that doesn’t stop the tremor in his hands as fingers part for pale blue eyes to look at gerry again.

“  you — how you — it’s not — i hope it isn’t true,  ”    he manages out, trying to find a way to speak out his visions despite the dryness in his mouth causing his words to cling to his tongue and stick behind his teeth before even a syllable escaped.  more quietly, after swallowing hard:    “  mr. elias calls it foresight.  being able to  …  uh, see how somebody’s life’s gonna go based on their pasts up until what happens to the body.  mr. elias thought it was death-prophet-y but — but it isn’t always right, it’s a pre-diction, so it’s SEEING instead of KNOWING i guess.  it usually is right, though.  people don’t like changing, i think. that’s why my dad died.  ”

                       GERRY SHIFTS, “ you don’t have to look at me if not looking helps . . . ”   he can see why elias would assume The End, thinks of oliver and the dreams, the vines that reach out to those who are about to die. he often wonders about his own death, what will happen to him when this is all done and over with, can’t imagine being able to See it. what that might be like for a child.   “ you see what might happen ? like a butterfly effect ? ”   he feels like that is a major simplification probably. but it sounds about right. 

Daisy tried not to act too rashly towards him too suddenly considering that she couldn’t hurt him as he was, letting out a low growl underneath her breath instead of vocalising her thoughts. Of course that Institute gave her a book of monsters that didn’t want to tell her about what she was hunting. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? It was certainly a frustrating one. But she wouldn’t dismiss him, that was what he seemed to be angling for with his goading. She was never going to let him get away from it that easily. He may have had this rebellious streak, but she’d crushed that streak out of people like him more than once.

“But you’re bound to this,” she patted the book on her dashboard, “And you go where it goes, and it’s coming with me.” That was the end of the conversation as far as she was concerned. He may have been a person once, but he wasn’t much like it now. He didn’t even smell like a person now, so it was easy for her to not treat him like he was.

“And if you don’t help, I’ll keep you around. If you do help, I’ll dismiss you when we don’t have a case.” He might attempt to annoy her into dismissing him, but she didn’t have a reputation for being stubborn for nothing. She’d laid down her terms, and she would stick to them.

                    GERRY CHUCKLES, hell, he laughs at the assumption she has any control over what is going to happen between them, that she has any control over the situation, like it will all play out on her terms, like she holds any of the cards now. gerard had spent his whole life under a woman’s thumb, mary, gertrude, not what ? daisy.  no, no he thinks he’s had quite enough of that, actually.   “ you think it’s that easy ? that i’ll follow you around and let you shove me back in the box when i’m not needed ? ”   like a tool, not a person, never a person, hm gerard ? a legacy, a family heir, a monster manual. an echo of what was. he feels enough like gerard keay, feels an echo of that anger, of that hurt, of that desire to help, but it’s all an echo now, perhaps that makes it easier to say no. 

                    IT ISN’T ABOUT NOT BEING, not really. gerry has existed in the book for years, constantly pulled out and stuffed back in. didn’t make it hurt any less of course, routine does not always help to soothe discomfort, and that is something he had known even before his death, his undeath. the ghost’s form flickers, shifts, and he snorts, he will not be easily broken, nor easily used. he’s done his time hunting, answering all their stupid questions, stopping the apocalypses more than a handful of times, why couldn’t he just rest ? why couldn’t they just let him go ?  he knows it wasn’t personal, gertrude didn’t save him to keep him alive, not for him anyway. it was always supposed to be about the greater good.