His energy was strange to Kyle. It wasn’t strange bad, but he wasn’t sure if it was strange good either. It wasn’t what he was used to, he could admit that with certainty. That aside, even though fairs didn’t seem like something he would really enjoy, he had never been to one. Perhaps if it went one day, he’d understand what made them so pleasurable. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever find the time to attend one, but if I do, I hope to see you too. With my eyes….” He felt a heat in his ears. Why did he suddenly feel like an idiot?
His embarrassment faded the moment the servant noticed the stranger change. He seemed alarmed, which made him wonder if he actually would make it to his performance on time. “Yes, it is. Will you be alright? Is there anything I could do to help?”
A soft yelp escaped Kyle at the sight of him shaking and steaming. What was wrong, what was happening? Could he help somehow? He could feel his body trembling with fear and concern. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” This was because of something he said, it had to be. He was slightly more expressive than usual, something that could be considered out of line. Had that caused this? Just to be safe, he decided to ask for his forgiveness. “I-I apologize, sir!”
❗ ↷ ♪ The steam trickles off as Jon struggles to collect himself, although he still rattles a bit and can’t quite seem to get his hands to behave. Small whirs and bursts of pressure interrupt his words as he attempts to answer the poor soul he was only trying to invite to the show.
❗ ↷ ♪ “NNNNonsense! Why—kshh—if it weren’t for you I—tszrsh—Well, I...” It’s not working out very well and Jon knows it, his hands racing each other up and down the suspender straps, weight wobbling back and forth from one foot to the other. He doesn’t know where he is and he’s going to be LATE, and he’s going to miss the show and nobody will know where he is...! Slowly, his faceplates crumple into a heartrending pout. “W...would you help me find the PAAARK?”
❗ ↷ ♪ “HMMM.” The Jon taps his chin, a gentle ding of thoughtfulness. You put the thought in, spend some time thinking, and then POP!, out comes another thought. Sort of like a…a… “A thoughster! A toaster in your HEAD!”
❗ ↷ ♪ Blue optics flash in excitement at his discovery, a shuffling of feet in a celebratory dance (and because who doesn’t like to dance?) before he collects himself. “OH. Anyways—yes! Mister Mannigloom…mm. He reminds me of a Foggy Day. One you are not-so-certain you want to go OUT in, because when you got up in the morning you looked out the window and wanted to see sunshine and now you are disappointed. BUT!” And here he wags his finger, tut-tut, no need to be so hasty! “When you DO go outside, because of course you do!, you realize that it is actually exactly the kind of day it is supposed to be!
❗ ↷ ♪ “And then, well, you just feel so SILLY for expecting it to be something else. Silly, silly you. BUT IT IS ALRIGHT! Because right now, you are in the stomach of a cloud! And isn’t that amazing? Maybe!! You can even FLY!”
❗ ↷ ♪ (The thought certainly does call for some more dancing, with a slow, smooth start like rolling mist that unfolds into…well, some other kind of dancing that’s sort of like flying. As close as you can get to flying without actually quite managing it—though not for lack of trying. Flying on the ground, like a wind-blown cloud. At the end of it, Jon does a little shiver to resettle himself and adjusts his hat, which somehow did not fall off.)
❗ ↷ ♪ “OH, Rudy is FANTASTICAL!” A wide, beaming smile nestles among his face plates, hands conducting an invisible orchestra of joy. “She sounds like a telescope, but in fact!! she is an AIRSHIP! WOWZA!!!” His arms fling wide, hands jazzing in excitement. The invisible orchestra (which has lots of trumpets) goes wild. “And she DOES have a big, big telescope, right there on the deck! And WHEELS! Why, she can go WHEREVER SHE WANTS! AMAZING!!”
In your demon days verse, what is the atmosphere at the mansion like the first time Jon hunted down a monster? How did Jon cope?
HOO BOY. i started answering this and it kept getting longer and then it turned into a full-on drabble so uhhhhh I just hope it answers your questions??
As could only be expected, things never really went back to normal even after Jon saved Michael’s soul with his desperate deal. Everyone had been through the emotional wringer multiple times by then. First it was the last Crystal Pepsi can clattering empty to the floor, followed by Jon miraculously waking up anyway; then the discovery of the terrible price paid, the insidious being behind it with their friend’s soul now in its grasp; only for The Jon to turn around and practically offer his own life in exchange. The new contract had no expiration date, and with all the time it would take to make sure the deal was kept, the awful deadline hanging constantly over his head, he would be left with precious little for himself. Life could never really go back to normal, and they were only just realizing it.
In the days that followed humans and automatons alike continued to walk on eggshells around each other. Among the band members it was perhaps Steve whose anger over Michael’s actions burned the hottest. A meal could not be held without a glowering stare from the former being studiously avoided by the latter, much less a productive band practice. And as for the bots… Spine seemed to cope by mother henning anyone who came within range. Rabbit was unpredictable, swinging back and forth and around from silent seriousness to a stuttering, furious mess to plain old fear for her baby brother and what his future had become. Hatchworth did his best to brainstorm solutions, but no one knew enough about demons to have the slightest idea of where to begin.
Michael was quiet. He didn’t sing and his hands were motionless on his instruments, as though he was still in mourning. If it wasn’t for that, the others could have almost believed The Jon’s carefree front that nothing was wrong, that they could all go back to before, that collecting the souls of living things to feed to a monster so his friend could live was no different than drinking a can of extinct soda. He tried endlessly to draw his siblings into games to no avail, he sang and danced with feeble accompaniment and then alone, he repeated endlessly “Cheerios!”, “It’s not so bad!”, “We’re all together, see?” into silence. Michael was quiet.
And then Jon was gone.
It was a dark night, a long night, and the humans gathered in the kitchen and Hatchworth sat nervously with them, book flat on the table, and The Spine left his safety net of wires because it no longer felt so safe and Rabbit just would not stop making a racket in the hallways with her anxious, rattling pacing. And eventually she took off because “someone’s g-g-GOTTA bring him b-BACK!” only there was no signal to follow, just dead air, and it didn’t take long for Spine to catch her, arms firm around her waist, holding her close. He wouldn’t let go no matter how much she struggled, so she clung to him instead and when he sat down on the floor she curled up in his lap and hid her face in his tie and whispered things nobody could hear. Everyone else joined them gradually, Hatchworth with his knees against his chest and his hand on Rabbit’s shoulder, Steve leaning against The Spine and Matt against Steve and Sam on the counter with his feet carefully placed so he wasn’t kicking either of them in the head. And Michael, insecure, removed from the others but desperately wanting to be closer, too far away to touch Hatchworth even if he tried.
Unsurprisingly, it was Steve who finally had enough. “Grab him for me, Hatch,” came the vexed growl, and the copper bot oblidged, scooting over until he could tug on Michael’s arm and coax him nearer, until Rabbit could reach out and grab him and refuse to let go. Other hands joined, sharing what comfort they could or simply holding on, which was a comfort itself.
And in the morning, when Matt was drooling and Steve was blinking his eyes open every five minutes and Sam had not yet fallen off the counter, Jon found them. He was smiling, unwavering, though his shirt was torn in places and underneath he wore a collection of new, shiny scratches. A few feathers were missing from his hat. The suspenders were bright cherry red.
“WELL!” he declared, chipper and steadfast and looking at all of his family one by one with eyes that were wide and blue as the sky. “That was quite the adventure! I think I’ll go to sleep now!”
And he did, right there in the kitchen doorway. He slept for the whole day, and when he woke up he looked all around until he found every one of them, ignoring the questions they tried to ask, and then went straight back to sleep. And when he woke up again he went looking for Michael, dodging questions, and found him, and shut down again with the mechanic’s sleeve caught in his fingers. Michael didn’t have the strength to unclench them, nor the heart to even try.
For the third time Jon woke and it was the charm, the miracle, because this time there weren’t so many questions and he stayed awake. He hung around the outlets for a bit, poking fingers at the sockets, little blue sparks dancing across his hands and sinking into his plating until he was full of static. He would smile brightly when approached and spout a line or two of lovable Jon nonsense if addressed, but they could tell it was for their sake, and even Rabbit managed to refrain from digging for answers that they all knew anyway. Michael still had his soul, after all.
It continued like that for some time, all the unvoiced things like heavy ropes between them that everyone was thinking and had no solutions to. Eventually a culmination of Jon’s persistence, Steve’s restless energy, and the irresistible need to make music that resided in all their souls brought the band back to practice. And it helped, in its own way. Music had always brought them together in a way no amount of words could, and through it they supported each other, built each other up, created new bonds with each song. When they played together, there was nothing in the world that could separate them.
((ahhhhhh your jon is so good omg!! I can hear his voice and see his movements every time! I don’t have a rp blog for him to interact with or any experience with rp really, but I hope you have fun playing him!!!))
thank you??? so much?? this honestly made me so happy i screamed a little, thank you so much aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa !!!! and I love love LOVE writing for Jon, he’s pretty much the only character I would ever rp who isn’t mine ;u;
Okay, Kyle knew what a birthday was. He also knew what parties were and what a parade was. All of those things were confusing and crowded on their own. Did combining them make them any different? With the way this stranger was describing it, not really. A fair sounded just as confusing and just as crowded, if not a bit more if it was for everyone. Even so, the servant didn’t want to admit how odd it all seemed simply because of how enthusiastic and spirited he was. “Ah, I understand now. Fairs sound very exciting….”
They hadn’t been talking for very long, but already Kyle thought the small frown was unnatural on his face. He instinctively pulled back his left sleeve and checked his watch instead of just pulling out his cell phone. “It’s two forty-five, sir. You’re going to be performing at three, yes? Will you make it?”
❗ ↷ ♪ “INDEED!! They are quite SPECTACULAR!” His hat bobbles with a sage nod, suitably assured that he has managed to convey the spirit of a fair. “If you ever attend one, perhaps I will be there! And perhaps I will SEE you! With my EYES!” (What an outlandish thought, Jon.) Before he can get too carried away with his constructed future, however, the question-in-his-answer-to-the-second-question is answered.
❗ ↷ ♪ “Aha!” Pointer finger raised in quivering triumph, a thanks upon his lips is overruled as realization hits. “AHA!?” The bot goes ramrod straight and stock-still, optics w i d e, blinking rapidly. “TWOOO fourty-five you say? But that’s— Why that’s— It’s— ALMOST THREE!”
❗ ↷ ♪ A low rattling, buzzing tremor starts, builds, and courses through the automaton like a robot-shaped earthquake, and then a slightly alarming amount of steam pours from his cheek vents. He perhaps tries to say something more, but whatever words he might form are swallowed by gushing water vapor or crumbled like cookies by the echoing shudders in his frame.
The voice, despite being so cheery, had still startled the poor servant for a moment. One needed to approach him with caution like with a deer or a rabbit or another easily frightened creature that he most likely didn’t know the name of. Despite the pounding and momentary tightness in his chest, he managed to listen to everything the stranger had to say.
“W-What’s a fair?” The question wasn’t important, especially since he was just told that he didn’t have one of those, but it tumbled out anyway. All he knew was that fair meant equal, honest, or really light colored, and none of those things made sense in that context. Kyle forced himself to move on to the music part, only because he actually knew what that was. He adored music ever since his master introduced him to instrumental songs as a reward for good behavior. “I like music. Where’s your music at?” It was obvious that the person speaking to him wasn’t human, which didn’t bother him considering that he didn’t feel like he was one himself.
❗ ↷ ♪ The first question has Jon stumped. Well, not really stumped, but it seems unfathomable that someone wouldn’t know what a fair is! Of course if that's true, then Jon will absolutely try his best to fix it, starting with, “Well. WELL! A FAIR is sort of like if you take a birthday party, and a parade...only it doesn’t move around while it’s happening, and instead of for ONE person it’s for everyone!” His hands have been dancing as he speaks and now they spread wide, a grand reveal, smile shining.
❗ ↷ ♪ And now for the second question! “I like music TOO! We will be performing at the third biggest park around, at...! HMMM. Three o’clock?” For a moment a small frown falls upon his face; if he can’t remember the right time, how will he get people to come? “What time is it now?”
If Bo was being honest, he was used to this. He had been gasped at before, just as he had pointed at or whispered about before. His favorite thing was hearing people stop talking as he walked past them, interjecting their conversations with comments about his height. There weren’t too many perks about being so tall, but he could never say that he hated getting attention over his height.
“The Spine?” He wasn’t sure if he was actually heard those sounds–those soft whirring sounds–or if he was just imaging them. Regardless, he smiled a bit as the strange looking person held onto his hat. “How? I’m not too sure. I’ve always believed that I got my height from my mother.”
❗ ↷ ♪ “OOOOOOH!” comes a second, longer gasp. “The Spine got his from Pappy—because he’s like a chim chimney!” A satisfied grin crosses the automaton’s face as though he’s made a particularly good joke. “Although now he’s more like...a certain kind of plane. But with LEGS!”
❗ ↷ ♪ The bronze bot continues to stare up at the man, hand still on his hat and the other gripping one suspender strap. Suddenly, a full-body jolt seems to run through him and he jumps slightly, going to his toes before rocking back on his heels. “AH! I forgot!” And then the little automaton is bowing from the waist, arms still in position. “MY NAME is The Jon! and I am a singing, musical automaton from the band STEAM POWERED GIRAFFE! We have shows and EVERYthing!” The Jon straightens to stare once again at the stranger. “Do you like music?”
Rudy had led Ormad to this little show, and he wasn’t given much information about it. Though he doesn’t mind going along with the small girl, as he doesn’t trust her to go completely on her own. Luckily for the both of them, her grandparents trust the man to take care of their granddaughter.
So when encountered by this musical automaton, Rudy decided to give a compliment to him, since she believes that he appears to be nothing more than just a machine programmed to act mysteriously human. Meanwhile, her guardian thinks otherwise, and his pale eyes narrow as he glances “The Jon” up and down.
“I’m Rudy,” the girl introduces. “Nice to meet ya, The Jon. Can I just call you Jon? That seems more casual, you know what I’m saying?” She pauses. “But The Jon sounds cool, too. Like you’re some cool superhero or something like that. This is my dad.” A lie, of course. “You can call him Ormad. Or Mr. Mannigloom.”
The tall man next to her once again examines the automaton, his brow slowly furrowing into a grim look. He senses something….off about this metal fellow, and his hand slightly tightens around Rudy’s. He has a right to be suspicious, doesn’t he? Even though the music that he has just heard really got to him.
❗ ↷ ♪ Upon hearing his name called cool, and then compared to a superhero, The Jon’s optics widen and brighten noticeably while his grin could just about fly off his face, steam puffing slightly from his cheek vents. “You think so?? THANKS!” Whirs, clicks, and gentle hissing are only slightly muffled by his clothes as the golden bot does a little dance where he stands before turning his head to holler, “Did you hear that, The Spine? Hatchy! Hey, Rabbit! GUYS, RUDY SAYS MY NAME SOUNDS LIKE A COOL SUPERHERO! AND SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE’S TALKING ABOUT, SHE’S AN EXPERT!”
❗ ↷ ♪ Farther down the line where the other members of the band are greeting fans, laughter and fondly exasperated eye rolling comes from the humans, sincere congratulations from Hatchworth, a simple “Yeah, sure, Jon,” from Spine, and an equally loud declaration of “WHAT?! Th-th-th-then I’m a SUPER-DUPERhero!” issued by Rabbit. For a moment The Jon preens under the attention of his family, but his focus quickly returns to Rudy, who is now his favorite person ever (of the moment).
❗ ↷ ♪ “You may call me Jon, of course! All of my friends do. All of them!” He’s rocking again, heel-to-toe pleased as can be, still holding his suspenders securely. “And I will call YOU...! Rudy!! Because that is your name!” And he can’t really make it any shorter than it is while still sounding as good as Rudy. “Hmmmm...and I! think you SOUND like a GIANT telescope! Strong enough to see the whole UNIVERSE!” His arms fly wide to demonstrate just how much he means what he says.
❗ ↷ ♪ And of course, he can’t forget about the man who’s just been introduced as her pappy! Drawing himself back together and as up-right as possible, the little bot takes the brim of his hat between finger and thumb and offers a bow and tip of the brim to Rudy’s pappy, completely oblivious to any suspicion. “GOOD AFTERNOON, Mr. Ormad Mannigloom! You sound like a man of...statues!” (As for whether he really meant ‘status’ or ‘statues,’ who knows?) “What did you think of the show?”
❗ ↷ ♪ The Jon is used to attention, whether it be for the fact that he’s a metal man or on stage in front of a crowd—but there are more than few kinds of attention and even in his century-and-change he’s never gotten used to all of it. Therefore, when faced with a girl whose head doesn’t even reach his shoulder pointing and calling him “cool,” he beams, rocking on his heels proudly.
❗ ↷ ♪ And when looking up, up, up at her friend who looks dark and scary, Jon can’t help the vibration that runs through his frame, sending his hat feathers aquiver. The smile wobbles and manages to stay in place, because often all it takes is a friendly attitude to save a situation (he learned that from Rabbit and The Spine, and they’re always right), but his hands run nervously up and down his suspenders and he feels his koi do a little somersault in his chest. Spine’s the tallest person Jon knows, but this person is obviously taller, different from other humans, and it’s intimidating.
❗ ↷ ♪ But Jon also knows better than anyone that it’s wrong to judge people just by looking at them, and so he fixes his smile a little brighter and pipes, “Greetings! MY name is The Jon, and I am a singing, ~musical~ AUTOMATON! Who are you?”
❗ ↷ ♪ Perhaps what enforces the fact that The Jon is the youngest (and the idea of The Spine as the eldest), aside from personalities, is height. Of the siblings Jon is the shortest, built to stand at 5′8, although his hair and hat certainly adds to that. The Spine, in contrast, is by far the tallest, just shy of a foot taller than his younger brother at 6′7. Hatchworth is only just taller than Jon at 5′9 (and a half!) and Rabbit is neatly between her brothers at 6′2, although her hat and sturdy heels also lend some extra height.
❗ ↷ ♪ While it doesn’t exactly bother Rabbit that The Spine is taller than her, if too many people mistake him as the eldest she may start to complain that he’s already tall enough, and that he really doesn’t even need a hat, does he? (Despite the fact that his fedora makes hardly the difference that hers or Jon’s does, and even Hatchworth’s bowler is taller.) The Jon is always quick to pipe in that “it sure looks cool, though!” and his sister will grudgingly agree—before suggesting that a sombrero would look even COOLER.
❗ ↷ ♪ “GOOD afternoon!” comes a cheery voice, though it can’t be past ten yet. “Do you like fairs? Well! Unfortunately we haven’t got one of those. But!,” And here the voice lowers into a stage whisper of secrecy, “it wouldn’t really be a fair without MUSIC, and we do have some of THAT!”
❗ ↷ ♪ The speaker is unmistakably not human, morning light shining gently off bronze face-plates arranged in a friendly smile, gloved hands wrapped proudly around the straps of red suspenders. This is not the first time The Jon has participated in street advertising for the band, but it is the first time he’s gotten lost from the other members. Still, all’s well that ends well! And if Jon can manage to bring even one new listener to the show, that would count as a Very Good Day.
❗ ↷ ♪ There’s a gasp, loud and close enough to the man that it’s obvious who’s being gasped at—and even if it wasn’t, then the words that follow certainly make it so.
❗ ↷ ♪ “You’re even taller than The Spine!” Soft whirs accentuate movement as the burnished automaton cranes his head back, one hand on his hat to keep it in place, staring in open wonder. “How did you get so TALL?”
The year was 1942. Peter Walter I sat in the sun room of Walter Manor, having finally been pried from the basement laboratory at the insistence of his son, Peter Walter II. This had been a common conflict ever since Peter II had grown old enough to realize that his father’s obsession with creating automatons, while a scientific miracle, had gone past the line of unhealthy. Peter I wasn’t keeping track, specifically—he no longer kept track of much, not the number of mechanical beings he created nor how he created them—but as he watched the dusky glow of sunset caress his pale hands, he mused that more often that not, his son would eventually leave in some manner of upset and Peter would remain hunched over one of the many worktables, half-formed mounds of metal and wires drawing him in until they filled his lungs and eyes and mind. Until he hardly felt like a man, himself.
But this time he had been to tired to resist Peter II’s firm-yet-gentle reprimands. And so he found himself in the cavernous room above the ground, watching the sun take his place below the horizon. Peter I could hardly remember the warmth of sunlight. The beauty of it hurt his eyes, his tired, tired eyes. He knew tiredness, an old and intimate friend, and so it was that he knew that this was a different sort, that things were changing. Time continued passing as was time’s nature. He was dying.
Gaze now fixed on the lace-like tops of trees, to the burnished sky beyond, Peter I thought of death. And while briefly he lingered on the slow approach of his own, much like the gradual arrival of night in front of him, he was not afraid, for his death had never concerned him. No, in this hour of ponder with his hands motionless in his lap, away from the haven of his work room where he could armor his mind with metal and rewire it with sparking circuitry, he allowed himself to think, for the first time in years, of Delilah. Beautiful, clever, brilliant Delilah; oh, how he loved her still. As he had a million, no, countless times beyond that, he wished that he only loved her more than his desire to be loved in return. A breath escape him softly, stale and ghosting on memories. He’d forgotten how beautiful the world was, how graceful the trees, how captivating the skies, but he could never forget the beauty of Delilah Moreau.
❗ ↷ ♪ The Jon has a very real aversion to wearing pants without suspenders! It would be inaccurate to call it a phobia, but much like Rabbit’s stutter it’s very much a part of him. Even before acquiring the infamous red suspenders he had quite the collection, which has continued to grow despite the fact that Jon almost never wears them. Still, there do come certain days where he may just wear another pair OVER the red ones!
❗ ↷ ♪ Belts are, well, good enough, but for Jon they just won’t do—what if they don’t have enough notches? What if your hips shrink?!
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