bad moon rising ;

I’m a weirdly alright time in my life after I finally have things I’ve needed - and some things that I’ve wanted. finally have enough money saved to feel secure in buying things like books for me to read and even just big spending on silly things I don’t need but would love to have.

anyway I’m here to tell you that I finished DAYS GONE after a week of not knowing where it was going to go. it was 100% more emotionally rewarding than Rockstar holding a gun to my head over Arthur Morgan’s impending death for chapters on end. and listen I love RDR2 but DG has replaced it at top tier character and writing for me.

basically a tiny studio in Bend, OR, a studio my partner (who grew up there) can point to on a map it’s so ridiculously small and local, created a masterpiece with the visual and technical uncanniness to larger corporate creations. and I dunno, there’s really not a ton of people talking about it as things like Red Dead and Far Cry still sort of nudge it back into the shadows - or maybe I’m not looking in the right place.

I’ve never felt so head-over-heels in love for characters and their development, writing, and acting/character style as I did with characters like Deacon, Boozer - shit, even O’Brian’s actor deserves some huge credit to that one scene. Of course there’s a lot more and I feel like I knew these characters on a more personal level and it was weird to reach the (in)definite end to the game - the credit cinematic really got me in tears and the song didn’t help, man.

anyway, I feel inspired. for the first time in a long time. roleplay has been something I’ve been inching back into with my partner and small replies, joining a forum here and there and being involved with the development scene for sites like World of X and basically things much bigger than me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it but, since I have the Southern Reach trilogy coming in the mail and I have The Hunger and Hell House under my arm, it will most like be horror and maybe even some cosmic horror.

there’s a lot to be gained from letting myself write again and 2019 was a big part of that. I was inspired by a movie out of nowhere and was able to get in touch with the writer/director for some more insight and... it was a very compelling time. I’ve been more into more indie movies and ideas and focusing a lot on the technical/background aspects of their creation.

that being said, a lot of the things I’m into or have a great interest toward, there are little to few on the other end of it. very little reciprocation or traction, like, “who the fuck would I write with?” I don’t really care about things like Far Cry or Last of Us and maybe it’s because it’s been talked about to death so I feel like I’ve been there already. DAYS GONE felt untouched and I was able to experience everything for myself without spoilers or chatter... so that was new. Or rather, a familiar and inspiring sensation.

basically, I want to start somewhere.

   It wasn’t exactly him being smart, it was him being used to how this went. It seems it had occurred a billion times by now. David was exhausted. But he did more than he did most times– he listened. Even if everything the other said felt like white noise. Mills leaned forward, picking up the fork again and glaring at his meal. Maybe pretending the other wasn’t there would make it easier to get rid of him? But he didn’t have the patience to try it. 

   What the other said struck a chord like it often did when other’s just tried to get him to talk. That’s why there were so many fucking rumors. He gritted his teeth, and raised his eyes at the man before him, taking in his sight. He seemed unkept and just as tired. Had eyes that reminded him of a goddamn stag of all things. If he were to go missing, would anybody notice? Really notice…? No, David would never go that far– but his rage often suggested that he was capable. 

    ❝Hell’s that supposed to mean?❞ The detective squares up, tensing in an obvious matter. ❝Why the hell should I even speak to you?❞

"I'm not some cocky bastard with a camera," he muttered, reaching out to stop a waitress passing by and smiling up at her. "Hi, can I get a full breakfast and black coffee? Thank you." Before she can even say anything, explain she has another section, Jake is smiling up at her - and maybe it's those innocent eyes and a more innocent face that keeps her from correcting him or turning him down, and maybe that's why he's gotten this far to begin with.

The second she leaves, the smile fades, warps in to an expressionless void and Jake is simply staring into the memorized features of David Mills. His hands move on their own, arms crossing and fingers working into the fabric of his jacket. When his shoulders hunch, the raised collar brush against his whiskers. With a deep breath in, he sighed and smiled again. Those dark, gentle eyes really were so unsuspecting.

              "You don't have to talk to me, but if you want the truth out in a decent way, now is a time to start. What sort of work are you getting these days, Mills?" He plucked up a straw from the dispenser and began to pick at the paper wrapping. He only hoped the recorder could pick all of this up. The next step might be taking off his coat...

   Mills watches intently, he really does. He’s trying to decipher why this bastard was even approaching him. But his face is what the detective is fixated on– he doesn’t spot anything too suspicious in that instance. Truth was, David wasn’t too good at noticing details. It was a surprise he was a detective as long as he was… Wasn’t for his partner, he probably would have gotten demoted long ago. 

   He looks, irritated, at the other man sitting down before him. What gave him the fucking right to do this?  And when he asked if he is who he is, it sort of becomes momentarily clear enough for him. He sighs, rolling his eyes slightly, leaning back in his spot. 

   ❝Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I don’t just dish out explanations for what I did.❞ He feels so old and tired, the way he has to repeat it. He should have a MO how to deal with these types of people by now… But he doesn’t. ❝You and your little sicko buddies might want a theory, but I can reassure you– I am not going to tell you shit. ❞ Or he’ll try. It usually worked out fine. Except. he just could hear the rumors breathing down his spine, but those were never to be trusted. David knew better. He knew to remind himself it was all fine and that all he can do is try to make sure nobody gets a rise out of him… 

   Wrath shall not consume him any longer… But upon reflection, it (often) didn’t work out like that. 

Whoa-- that was quick. He had hardly sat down and the detective had alright picked apart his motive. Jake held that uneasy smile as he eased himself down into the seat. Every movement was fluid, slow, as if he was trying to not engage a chained-up dog, or an alarm system. The hand in his pocket traced the record button before making sure it was pressed in, then brought both hands on the table and sliding a menu around to face him.

If anyone else was watching, they would see a civil conversation between two men. Jake didn't speak just yet, suppressing a smug grin. He eyed the meal David Mills had in front of him, before those large doe-eyes that couldn't possibly mean any harm met with the other's. David Mills was handsome in a classical sense: the unkempt hair, the sharp jawline, everything meeting in the middle and giving him a perfect symmetrical look. If it weren't for the scare, he might be -- perfect.

                      "Easy." It was more of a command than a suggestion. "Don't worry about me, let's just talk about you. If you're so eager to assume I want to hear the story over again, why don't you just go ahead and spill it? I've seen you on TV. I know how you act toward this sort of interrogation."

     How many times was he going to wake up in the forest without      memory of the previous night? Clay matted his hair and coated      his hands, stuck under his nails which were chipped,  cracked,      and bleeding.  Had he been digging?  Clawing at trees?  Jake      couldn’t find the strength to stand just yet,    and only dragging      himself through the underbrush and as far as he could.  Soon,      the forest would rise and break into the cement of the road   -      the highway he had grown familiar with due to these episodes      (whatever they were). 

                      “Fuck,” he muttered, staring down the strip of road.

     One way and then the other. Would a car even come this time?      All those other early morning he had been lucky,   but vacation      season was over up north.     And which way was home again?      Jake sighed, shaking the dirt from his hair, picking a direction -      and just walked.

@praesegia || starter call

   He’s sitting in the same shitty diner he has been going to for months now and it’s infuriating how much he hates this place. But at least they don’t have a myriad of health violations and it’s considerably close to the precinct. So it’s really no surprise for anyone to find him there. David sips his coffee, pulls out a bottle of Xanax pills and takes a couple after looking around, making sure that nobody spots him. Or so he hopes. 

   He continues on with the awful lunch he had ordered (he doesn’t even bother having breakfast most days). Primarily, being here after his partner wore him down that he should probably bother to eat. Not that it mattered to him if anything he was more just pushing the meal around in the plate, staring at it with disgust. 

   It is then that out of the corner of his eye he spots a figure approaching him and he raises his eyes, surprised. This…isn’t going to end well. 

Whether or not Jake knew that the infamous David Mills was going to be at this diner at this exact time was neither here nor there. What sources he had were delivered to him at the office and, like the rest of the NYSun employees, they were often dispersed early in the morning like paparazzi. It was rather degrading work, even Jake had to admit he didn’t see himself winding up at a dingy rest-stop that served waffles just to stake out an interview. However, the second he saw him -- handsome though he was -- Jake knew he was more of a mess now than ever before.

               It came with the territory.

                                        Spotting one addict for another.

He shoved his unfinished plate forward and hopped down from his bar stool. The inch between the floor and his feet was still something. One hand slid into the pocket of his jacket, resting against the “record” button of an old-fashioned tape recorder. Sometimes things had to be done by the classic books of journalism. God, did that mean stooping so low as to interrogate some cop? He tried to look cool, steady, as he took the seat across from the man and offered a smile - awkward as it was. 

               “ -- David, right?”