scared of trenches

you left a hollow where your body cut an alcove olivier jacobs desk clerk @ the cliffsides. aspiring film maker.

[olivierjacobs]

THIS CHARACTER IS DECEASED.

Name: Olivier Jacobs Occupation: Desk Clerk at The Cliffsides, aspiring film maker Age: 29 Sexuality: Heterosexual Species: Human Hometown: Port Leiry, OR Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits: Creative, Idealistic, Absent-minded, Cynical, Impatient

Biography

At almost thirty, Olivier looks back on his life with a lot more regrets than he thinks people his age usually do. Born and raised in Port Leiry, he kept mostly to himself throughout school - always feeling as if he had loftier dreams than his classmates and that they ‘didn’t fit into his dreams’. Of course, this lead to him not having many actual friends who wanted to stick around him for very long, but to him that doesn’t mean much. After all, his whole goal from the moment he hit middle school was to get out of the city and move south towards California.

None of those goals ever came to fruition, no matter how hard Olivier worked in high school and even at his time in University. Most of this was due to his lower social and economic status in the city, still stuck out in Tucker Creek with his sickly mother and drunk father.

To help put himself through college, but still accruing a massive amount of debt, he started to work at The Cliffsides - where he learned much more about the poorer side of Port Leiry than he ever wanted to know ( honestly, saying something - he thought Tucker Creek had the worst of the worst in it, considering most of the people who gave him hell day in and day out were the neighborhood kids he grew up with ). But he also found it rewarding. It gave him inspiration to actually try and start filming more on his own.

He has no skill with script writing or anything of the like, but he has a vision and it’s one he wants to share with other people. There have been more than a few times where he’s caught suspicious happenings or people on tape, but has never brought any of it up and he never plans to. Instead, he just tries to forget about the tattooed people with odd-looking weapons or the loud howls he hears in the middle of a full moon.

It’s none of his business, and he’d like it to stay that way.

Wanted Plots

HOTEL RESIDENTS - People who stay at the hotel or use the hotel for their work, Olivier tends to try and help out if they need it but knows to stay out of their way too. Usually ends up being the one to call security for them.

ACTORS - Those Olivier likes to keep in his indie films, even if they aren't the greatest. He swears he's improving.

SUSPICIOUS HAPPENINGS - With Olivier constantly seeking out interesting things to film, he's definitely caught something supernatural on camera. He doesn't believe it's anything to be worried about, but he does delete the footage. This could be anyone who knows that Olivier has seen them and wants to do something about it, or is unaware and Olivier is waiting on the right moment to bring it up.

[kingofthehunt]

"You don't. Mhm." He's missed this. The rush, the power. The feeling of superiority, the anger making his blood boil, and also the hate. The pure hatred for a disgusting species, ruining yet another seemingly good soul.

"I had such high hopes." If Elias can't have what he wants -- a peaceful life with Oz -- then this is what he's supposed to do. Become stronger, become more evil, become the savior. Slip right back into his role.

Elias grips his hair and yanks his head back, drives the knife deeper into his skin, leans down to whisper right agains this face. Mocking his prey. Just how he likes it. "In your next life," he starts, "I think you should become a hunter. Because this life, dear," he smiles, happily so, "Is over."

There's no holding back when Elias allows himself to loose control. He grabs the necklaces from where he's tossed it, wraps it back around Olivier's throat and pulls it shut, tight around his throat. "I'm sorry.", Elias whispers right into his ear, "I could have made this more fun."

It's an easy play -- making his victims think they have more time, more minutes, when he just grabs his knife again and cuts his throat. Blood spills onto his floor, onto his carpet, and Elias just lets go. Of the knife, of Olivier, of that one small part inside of him that still feels love, still feels peace. He gets up from the ground, breath hatching as he watches the disaster unfold, searching for remorse deep inside his bones.

But there is none.

Elias feels like coming home.

[olivierjacobs]

Next life? Thoughts have become incoherent with the driving, thunderous beat of his heart - Over? Words jumble together, do not form sentences. It's just pictures and flashes and regrets -

It all parses down to one simple sentence: Of course he'd never fucking make it out of Port Leiry.

His air is stolen from him with the necklace wrapped around his throat, then stolen forever as the knife digs into his throat and spills his life over the floor beneath them. There's a moment of panic and fear, where he claws at the gaping wound to try and shut it, to try and stop the flow of blood.

But it's too much, too great. It's a lot like falling in a dream, he realizes - too weak and sleepy to fight back as he slumps forward and breathes his last.

[kingofthehunt]

Elias loves the moment the instincts take over, and he gets to deal with dumb, dumb witches. They're almost as fun as the powerful, challenging ones. The ones that leave him bleeding and desperate for air. "Don't be pathetic," Elias whispers to himself like a silent prayer, "give yourself a chance."

The door, is locked.

It's glass, so he could break it, but Elias is faster, catches him by the neck and rips him back, pushed him back into the room with so much force that he almost stumbles with. "So much wasted potential. How does it feel, knowing you're a disappointment? Do you not know what witches truly are?" His knife finds his throat, and Elias pushes. Not deep enough to kill or severely injure, but to cause fear, and mostly, excruciating pain. He then brings the knife to his nose, smells it, taking in a deep breath, before holding the knife out for Olivier to take.

"Go ahead, take it. See what it feels like to possess real power."

[olivierjacobs]

He's almost out - he's almost - The force of the grab yanks him back and Olivier feels embarrassed by the tears pricking at his eyes, warming and spilling over. He doesn't understand, isn't sure he ever will. The magic that he'd been taught - the very little bit - feels so far away from him in the moment.

There's a hiss of pain coming from between his teeth and a pathetic whine catching in the back of his throat - a sound that he wasn't even sure he knew how to make. Of course he knew what witches were, he'd been.. he'd been trying to become one, but he hadn't realized how dangerous the idea of it was.

The knife is held out for him and he's left a heaving,panicked mess. How long will this go on? Will he be broken by the time it's over? Heaving out a sob, he grabs for the knife clumsily - breaking his skin on the blade.

"I don't.." He heaves again, sniffling, tries to remember and speak the latin aloud for a simple protection spell.

[kingofthehunt]

Olivier reaches for the crystal, and Elias' eyebrows jump up his face. It's a slow process when satisfaction settles in his features, caused by confirmation of his theories. "Oh, I was going to talk about it with you." The man raises from his seat once again, whips his knife out of the sleeve of his shirt and twirls it until it settles in his hand nicely, "It's just -- sorry dear, but you've gone a step too far for conversations."

A beat passes, in which Elias just looks down at him. "You could have been like me.", he remarks, "I could have morphed you into someone who learns from me. I could have made you one of the best. You had potential." Humming, Elias twists the knife, pointing it at him, "Instead you became what I hunt. A nasty animal, now begging for forgiveness. Tell me, do you run like a bunny, or will you hide like a deer?"

Elias looks at the glass wall he's facing, then makes a shooing motion with his hand, "Go, run. See if I can catch you."

[olivierjacobs]

Above all else, he's confused as to what's happening - as to why this is happening. There's a knife now, being toyed with, being pointed at him - like he'd done something wrong. Had he done something wrong? What does Elias even mean? Will he get answers or ..?

As he talks, Olivier's heart speeds up - thrumming like a jackrabbit against his chest, as if it can sense the danger while Olivier's mind just settles on confusion, rather than fear.

There are words in his throat, so many words and questions and quips and snarks, but they all die there - as Elias calls him an animal, as Elias compares him to a bunny or a deer.

"Dude, this is-- Whatever roleplay you're into, I'm not.. I don't want that." He's trying to make sense of it, not realizing that he's stepped into the lion's den and face to face with an apex predator. The magic he'd thought he'd learn is a far gone conclusion at this point, he has nothing to defend himself with and he'd been on the cusp of learning that he could transform things, warp them, bend them to his will.

He stands, shakily - trying to remain calm - and takes a few steps backwards before instinct takes over and he turns and runs for the door.

[kingofthehunt]

Elias places a set of freshly written scores in front of Olivier, and starts thinking about poison. There's many different types, for many different occasions. Something that makes him feel ill for weeks, that infiltrates his body from within and leaves him gasping on the floor as his life slips from his fingers. He thinks of knives, and guns, and pushing him down a fleet of stairs, and all his options circle down to him taking a seat on the opposite side of the table, taking a sip of his red wine.

"And did that form of success come through magic and manifestation or through actual hard work?" The glass hits the table hard, and a few drops of red wine splatter across it. They hit the score paper -- soak it like a bloodstain, slowly traveling down all the way to Olivier.

"You know, I seriously had high hopes in you. In your career. You had an actual chance compared to many other students and artists I've worked with. You had an eye for the horrors of this city, I just didn't expect you to become so fascinated that you succumb to them." Humming, he looks over at Olivier. "I thought you could become my student, be like me. It just seems like I have set my hopes too high."

[olivierjacobs]

He almost reaches for the scores, ready to have his hands on the thing that will finally have him get out of town, finally have him pursue his dream - but he hesitates, because Elias sits down and asks about magic.

Of course, Olivier now knows about it, but he's not.. there yet. Instead, his eyebrows furrow together in confusion. He'd been warned not to say anything, not to gush, not to celebrate. "..hard work, the fuck you mean, magic?" Really, though, with magic at his fingertips - he'd definitely been planning on using it for personal gain, despite the warnings not to.

Red wine splatters over the scores and Olivier jumps, sitting up straight in seat.

"Succumb to them? The fuck are you talking about?" And then, anxiety overrides his thoughts and words spill from his lips before he can bite them back, "If you're jealous I've been taking lessons somewhere else, then, fuck - man, we can talk about it." His hand instinctively goes to the crystal around his neck. "It's not like they taught me much, anyways. The fuck kind of horrors are you talking about?"

[olivierjacobs]

closed for: @kingofthehunt

The project - the short, and the music - was coming along nicely. His extracurricular tutoring had been as well. Though, he wasn't quite sure he believed in any of the shit his teacher was spewing at him - he still tried to listen, keep a crystal looped around his neck with a thick, black cord and herbs in his pockets.

He'd wandered the flea markets and stopped in some of those kitschy touristy places, too, wondering if he could make sense of whether it was actual powered shit or not.

Skepticism was what he was good at, and though, he hadn't been able to cast anything yet, his tutor assured him that it'd be soon. Within a week or so, at least.

He plopped down at Elias' dinner table, not thinking anything of the crystal around his neck or the way it dangled loosely in front of him, and leaned forward. "So, I had a breakthrough. Finally. Isn't that awesome?"

[sntsatticus]

"Figures." Most are, she muses with a long drag of her blunt. She knows how to flatter a married woman enough for longing looks, but she never quite manages to charm them enough to take her to bed. How does bald old men keep doing it, she will never know.

"What? Flirt with moms? Yeah, a lot." It is, it seems, the only thing she does nowadays. And flirt with her strange professor. "You don't? You are missing out, they are really good."

[olivierjacobs]

"I mean - sure, they're really good or whatever and I've seen plenty of shitty teen movies with that premise." He still doesn't get it, though, not really. If anything, finding someone to fuck around with is the last thing on his mind. He just wants to do his stupid fuckin' movies and leave this rotten ass place.

Who knows what happens after that?

Frowning, he gestures around - "I'm gonna.. peace out. I ain't built for that sorta convo, not really." And he just wants to dip. Go home, and hide under the porch for a while to brainstorm.

[autumnshowell]

Autumn thinks on it. It'll take another dozen or more agonizing rounds of thought before she decides on it, if she ever decides on it. They're trashy. They're tacky. People judge. All her mother talking in her head. But then, what is she, worried about the opinions of friends she doesn't really have or jobs she'll never get? Still.

"I don't think there's a single spot on me I'd call bony." It's a self-deprecating joke - she gets what he means - and she grins to him with a warmth in her smile. "I don't know, maybe I'll think about it - I don't know anywhere to get one - where'd you get yours?"

[olivierjacobs]

His lips twist a little bit at the self-deprecating joke, unsure how to respond to it without calling attention to it or making her uncomfortable but.. he just offers a soft smile, hoping it comes through that it's not necessarily a bad thing. The moment passes, though, and he's grateful for it.

"Okay. So. It's a bit of a weird place. But - I swear, the guy's awesome. So like, just - It's at a funeral parlor type thing. Seabrooke, if you've heard of it. Mikala's the artist and he, like, fucking slaps, so."

[sntsatticus]

She nods. The case is placed back in the safety of her pocket as an inhale of her own is taken. Smoking of any kind is a distinct way of tormenting her lungs; they burn when the smoke is held long enough to fill them, incapable of finding relief when she exhales slowly. She relishes the pain, cherishes it as a dear friend. It is what separates her from the ghosts ever so present.

“I feel that.” Unquestionably for different reasons, she is sure. People are loud in their grief, in their judgment. Nikko prefers the silence that comes with solitude, even if it brings her the pain of loneliness. Her gaze follows his, and she sighs.

“People can be too loud, at times.” She motions above her shoulder, looking at him with curious eyes. “Would you like for me to leave, now?” She got what she wanted, even if the quiet company would be appreciated. “I'm sure I can find an older woman to bother. Hey, is your mom single, by any chance?” She doesn't know if he has one, but it doesn't hurt to ask.

[olivierjacobs]

He's almost ready to say yeah - they can talk later, but he's stunned into silence, staring at her for a brief, quiet moment while he tries to gather himself. Olivier's unsure if he should laugh at her, indulge her, or just shrug her off.

"An.. older woman?" A small bit of a laugh comes through. "No, my mom's.." He pauses, grimaces. "Happily married." To the shittiest man in the world, but hey - no skin off his back. He just doesn't go around there much anymore. What's it to him if Nikko finds her and gets her?

"That something you do often?"

[zaidenmayes]

It's never not an enjoyable experience for Mikala to see his artwork keeping well on his clients. While he would always have a diehard affinity for the funeral industry, tattooing is the only thing that could ever come close.

He reaches out to grab Olivier's wrist, maintaining a light grasp as he eyes the tattoo, taking in the linework and verifying there isn't any blurring nor missing bits of ink.

"Attaboy," is how he dubs it satisfactory, then releasing his grip.

"I'm always cooking up something, love—" It's one of the limited ways he fills his scarce free time, head buried in a canvas or his sketchbook. "Send them my way. I'd love to put some artwork on them." Beat. "You, as well, if you're looking to add more."

Of course he's appreciative of business and, more than that, to actualize his ideas and etch them into skin.

[olivierjacobs]

He's not expecting Mikala to touch him, but he doesn't jerk away and instead waits for him to be done. The same hand is pulled up to run through his curls with a hefty sigh. "Yeah, she's a little - I dunno, worried or apprehensive or something about it. I'll see if she's really into it and give her your addy. Her name's Autumn, if you run into her later."

At the offer for more for himself, he nods, and looks down at his hands. "Yeah, I was thinking about it. Probably this weekend." He doesn't give an entire shit about looking a specific part or wanting to fit in - he already feels like he doesn't, so why not make it true?

"I wanted to stop by and talk about the, uh, other weird shit you do, too."

[sunshincwitch]

“Hell if I know, he wasn’t exactly the smartest of the bunch. I think it involved a scheme to sell the feathers to hippy chick etsy sellers and make a big buck. Problem is he never could get the tail feathers without a near massacre.” A slight fib, he wasn’t selling to etsy hedge witches, he wanted the feathers and blood for his own magic but that was a little harder to explain to a stranger. “Oh you have no idea, working in the cafe I see so many people who are desperately trying to look like they are writing a book and barely type a single word in the three hours they sit in the window taking #goldenhour photos for their #writerlife. Sometimes I’m nosy and look them up, I know I know you aren’t supposed to pay attention to names and credit cards but come oooooon” she drags the word out in exasperation, rolling her eyes dramatically. It didn’t help that Brewed Awakening had a very fun vibe and unique decore, it really was photo bait but she really just wished people like that would go to starbucks instead  “Especially if people who are actually there to do work cant get a table because of posers who just want a following on tiktok.” she stalls in her mini rant to consider his words and his position, trying to figure out if he is just being modest or self deprecating. “I think people are usually the worst judge of their own work, you should show me some time, let me determine if its any good or not”

[olivierjacobs]

Olivier can't help but laugh. He'd been around a bunch of people over the years - college and the motel - and more than a handful of them had had their own harebrained schemes or whatnot. He's not surprised that he's gonna hear about more from someone like this, whether she was in on it or not.

He shrugs, not judging her on her hobbies, though. He's done the same a lot, too. Mostly to make sure no one's a full on creep, but he can wave that off and excuse it any day of the week.

"Tell ya what - next time I stop at the coffee place, I'll show you a little of what I have." Another shrug accompanies this statement, trying to wave it off as if it's no big deal. It's a huge deal. It's everything to him, but he needs to feel.. and seem nonchalant. "I've got a few things on a spare phone at home."

[sntsatticus]

"Ah, yes. I remember your face now.” Cheap motel rooms were perfectly suitable for cheap hook-ups. She doesn't like to think how she was never worth more than that.

She nods in gratitude, but at the information Olivier lacks one of his own, she fetches inside her pocket until deft fingers find the pink gum case she carries with her. There's enough to share, she knows, as she presents it to him. “Pick your poison, dude.” The small space didn't allow for a great quantity, but there was a blunt or two, some pills thrown inside. She lights her cigarette, holding the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds before she nods again. “Nikko,” the smoke lacing her words calms her down. “And yeah. People can be too much, sometimes. Too loud. What about you?”

[olivierjacobs]

He stares down at the case and then glances back up to her - not expecting that she'd just pull out something like that. Not that it matters way out here. He moves to pluck out a blunt - the smaller of the two - and lights it when the lighter is handed back to him. He takes a small inhale and blows it out with a blink.

"Nice." With a soft cough. "I mean - sometimes, yeah." That people are too much. He glances back towards where the people are crowded up and his lips tweak downwards a bit. "I mostly just end up watching them instead of engaging. It's, uh, easier. I guess."

He has a few acquaintances, but not anyone he'd call a close, close friend. Call it misanthropy or whatever, but there's no one he'd call when he had a problem. And he sort of prefers it that way. Sure, he'll hang out, or say hi or have a good time with people. But at the end of the day - they're all too loud, too much, too real.

[zaidenmayes]

"I appreciate the attempt." Does he? Does he, really? If nothing else, Mikala can play the part of amicable with flying colors. He even maintains his slight grin for a bit longer, if only because the mental imagery is entertaining.

Melted unicorns and rainbows. Liquefied butterflies. What a hilarious nightmare.

"I suppose it's the right time and place for it, with everyone having too much fun to care." Almost everyone, but he doesn't need to be a pessimist.

Finally, he shifts the conversation towards a common ground, giving a nod towards Olivier's general direction, "How's it healed?" A tilt of his head. "The last tattoo I gave you," he clarifies.

[olivierjacobs]

Olivier has no misconceptions about ever making Mikala truly laugh. In his mind, he's more concept than man - which isn't necessarily a bad thing. He enjoys it.

"Right, yeah." And he senses the conversation trailing off, and doesn't want to push it - lest the man just walk away from him. But he doesn't expect the question lobbed over at him. Instinctively, he goes to lightly rub the back of his wrist - where vines, leaves, and one blossoming flower are freshly adorned. He lifts it up for Mikala to inspect if he chooses.

"Been doing alright, actually. Lotion, sunscreen." So much of the latter. "Doing everything like ya told me to do." He pauses for a moment. "Any fun new designs in the works? I've been trying to get a friend to stop by and check your work out."

[kingofthehunt]

"That's okay.", Elias points out. "Sometimes, I want to do everything all at once, too. Usually I then try to combine as many ideas as possible into one project. You just have to be careful it doesn't get overwhelming. Try to pinpoint it down to what you want to make the audience feel. Music is everything -- the image of a happy family can be made to turn sad the moment melancholic tunes start playing. I would advise a slightly repetitive tune, always slightly altered to the emotions you want to portray."

Elias listens to the idea, pauses. "Interesting.", he says slowly, "Then maybe a tune that is repetitive in it's first two tones, that makes the audience think that what's coming is entirely the same as the last time, but then it drastically changes and ends with the reveal of what the woman sees. I'd picture those moments in complete silents, like a release of the panic that may rush through her body?" Elias asks. "Instruments I was thinking, a wire brush on the drums. Violin. The cello? Hints of a guitar, lighter tones. We can throw in.. strings of a harp, if you'd like to go for something like nymph-sounds."

The composer leans back, analyses the younger man, "Is there a certain reason you chose the motel? And what kind of supernatural or horror species would you like the woman to melt into? Something abstract? Bloody?"

[olivierjacobs]

He listens - understands what Elias is saying. Music isn't exactly his thing, but he knows that composer and director need to work in tandem to create the perfect vision. Ideas upon ideas upon ideas makes his whole world spin out, and there's really no way to combine it all. It's something to keep in his back pocket for later, though.

Nods through everything Elias speaks about - thinking back to his favorites an dhow the music had come together. He sees the vision. "Complete silence during reveals would build tension great, actually." He murmurs, leg shaking as he sits. A nervous fidget he's never really been able to rid himself of.

"Cello as the main instrument would be lit, honestly. Really dark and heavy, not quite as scratchy and shrill as a violin, but could add those in too. For like accents and shit."

He clicks his tongue against his teeth at the question. "It's pretty horrifying there. Late at night, out in the middle of nowhere. Lots of times when I work the night shift, I end up just.. making up stuff about the sounds of the woods and the stuff I hear from the rooms." Which isn't much, really. Crashes in the rooms that are cleaned up spotless the next day, yelling, shouting, howling on certain nights from the forest -- probably coyotes.

"I think abstract. Something.. otherworldly."

[autumnshowell]

There's a starkly embarrassing moment where they're both sitting her together when Autumn nearly says something about how her mother would never let her live down getting a tattoo, no matter how small or discreet or innocuous, and she catches herself before voicing it, because she's a whole ass adult. "I don't know, maybe." She says, bringing the talk to a close, or so she thinks, and the break in the topic allows Olivier to talk about his Hotelier adventures, "Yikes, gosh," she says. "That's crazy." He goes back to the tattoo topic though, and she smiles, looking at her sneakers and shaking her head while he continues trying to sell her on it, and at first she's gonna shrug it off before he turns to show her, and she cranes her neck a bit to see it. "Ohh, that's cool..." She eyes it a bit, thinks about what she might get, if she were to go for it, and then she sits back. "Doesn't it hurt though?" She asks that like she genuinely might mind, like that might not be half the appeal.

[olivierjacobs]

He can tell she's waffling, but he doesn't want to pry as to why. Some people just don't do tattoos for whatever reason. Some people think it hurts too much. Some people aren't good with the idea of having to pick something to go on their body permanently. It's chill - but he does like to encourage her a bit.

It's fun to step outside the box. He just doesn't know if she feels the same.

"A little." With a slight shrug, as he lets his hair fall back down in place. "It's like scratching a sunburn, really. Irritating, but not overwhelming. Also depends where you get it - if it's like a foot or your ribs, it'll be worse. Or anywhere bony."

[sunshincwitch]

“That they are” she agrees with a light laugh, dusting herself off and picking up the scattered pieces of trash. “I had a cousin who raised peacocks. Monsterous things, as vicious as they are gorgeous and LOUD. I was never prepared for how loud they were” She understood raising animals to use their fur or feathers or whatever byproduct you needed for your spell work. But the Peacocks had been her least favorite, she would rather spend days out in the woods foraging for a rare mushroom than try and pluck a feather from one of the birds.

She followed in the way he was pointing, falling in to step beside him as she sipped her melting coffee. “I wouldn’t say ‘just’ a dude with a camera, unless you never shoot any film and just carry around the camera as a conversation starter” She’s almost affronted at the notion, barely holding back a lecture she has given half a dozen times to students in her cohort with a more art based study.

[olivierjacobs]

"Peacocks?" That's surprising. He doesn't know much of anything about peacocks, so his grin widens as he listens to the perils of owning one - or rather, being around someone who owned them. "Why'd your cousin want them of all things? I mean, pretty and all, but-- that's so funky."

He leads the way, hands shoved in his pockets. This time of day isn't so bad, and it's starting to get nice and warm up here in Port Leiry - not so dreary and cold and wet, like it stays for most of the year. Summer's about the only reprieve he has of feeling like his life is just a dead-end street.

"Ugh. I forgot people do that." His nose wrinkles a little. "No, I shoot stuff. It's just not.. very good stuff. Is all I mean."

[glamoroussource]

timothée chalamet photography by cass bird for gq magazine, october 2023