#jacky-bobby

[campbluelake]

h.a.g.s., past tense | jacky-bobby | endgame

Never one to willingly participate in magical rituals for good reason, Jacky-Bobby Jackson makes an exception. Looking back on his time at the camp, he found himself doing that quite a bit.

Rules like "don't bother forming any attachments" and "don't let anyone know you as anything other than a stoic" fell by the wayside.

He made plenty of exceptions, even going as far as to get his clothes muddy in the name of fun. He openly laughed in an amusement park, of all places. Played games that he absolutely couldn't afford or imagine in his childhood. Swore in a manner that he hadn't since the 1940's. Sang in front of everyone. Shockingly had a slumber party. Stayed up all night making train after train for a group that were practically strangers to him.

They got him to break the most important rule of all. They got him to care.

On the best note, the summer gave him a longer moment with his son. Buddy had made something special out of the campground. Time would tell if Bob would adequately carry on the family legacy.

His faith in that's still a work-in-progress. Jacky-Bobby plans to stick around for a while yet, to make sure that things turn out smoothly for the camp here on out. No matter where Jacky-Bobby ends up in the world, he'll keep the camp in his periphery, acting as its guardian to swoop in at a moment's notice.

And in his heart, he'll hold onto all of the good times he had here.

"Should anyone ask, I didn't contribute to anything. . .," the pause is palpable, "magical. For the record."

He'll grant that magic's maybe good for one thing: saving all of the people he considers friends.

Jacky-Bobby lifts a hand in Ines' direction, giving a small wave.

"I've changed my mind on what I told you earlier. I could use an apprentice or two, after all. We'll talk."

Witch hunting. Demon hunting. The skills were transferable. Her natural talent could use some guidance. Who better than Jacky-Bobby Jackson?

"And, Malyce... If you're still interested in some of the things we talked about before...the road trip, the training, that's fine. We'll talk, as well."

They were brothers once upon a time. With some work, they could be again.

"That goes for just about all of you—the talking part, I mean. I'm sure there will be at least one summer in the future where you'll find yourselves in need of employment, yes? Come back, and have a real summer at Camp Blue Lake. Most of you have proven yourselves worthy."

The exceptions to that know who they are, hopefully.

"Do keep in touch. I'll be sure to put in a good word."

[campbluelake]

A Bigger Cage | Jacky-Bobby 6.6 | Reflections

Rather than participate in the proceedings, witch hunter Jonathan Robert's content to play the part of a silent observer. Unlike with Malyce, he held no murky feelings of hesitation when it came to Abby. They'd been diametrically opposed from the very start.

Even under their veils of being what they both thought were modern renditions of a stuck-up preppy boy and a Garfield-loving artsy girl, their true instincts won out. They could never get along, with their inveterate opposition, something at their core of whatever counts as their souls.

What stayed his hand from burning Abby alive was his incorrect belief that she was some harmless fool who liked playing with plants and trinkets. Spilling the blood of some herbal witch wasn't worth his time nor energy. His curse needs a more sure-fire remedy than that. It'd take hunting down the right curse maker to break himself out of the agony of eternity.

But after all that's happened here, he's realized that he needs to expand his witch hunting criteria expeditiously. He's been far too conservative in his practices. Magic, the blight that it is, must be eradicated. It poisons the hearts of gullible men; it deceives and it destroys. There's no such thing as a 'good witch,' that's never been so clear.

The vision of the barbaric massacre of Briarwood fails to garner sympathy from Jacky-Bobby. His opinion doesn't sway. If anything, the wasteful methodology of the hunters (they're actually not worthy of that name) annoys him. Hundreds of years of progress have benefited his profession, refined it into a sophisticated art.

He'd have found her, vanquished her, and reduced her to ash. No innocent people would've died as long as they stayed out of his way.

Abby's memory of Vual, forced into his head like the last flashback, only serves to sicken him. Cider won't taste ever taste the same. It'll reek of cloying artificiality, just like this made-up environment and the witch that runs it. Jacky-Bobby's sure, after laying eyes on the demon, that he can take him.

He chafes at the restraints that his distance from Hell brings. One day, he'll take a hard fall off of his immortal coil, the shackle that it is, and he'll turn that Duke into a pauper. A demon of nothing, of no-meaning. He'll do it for Malyce and all the misguided dreamers like him. Hell will be his, no matter how long it takes.

It's a mercy for Vual that Jacky-Bobby's trapped on earth.

At Abby's offer, he audibly scoffs, the most noise he's made in a long while. Staying might mean more time with his son, but it wouldn't be right. Buddy deserves peace. They have to let go and be grateful for what they had. That's the reality of life—the love in a goodbye, and how it persists and transcends above all else. It's a shame that lesson can't get through to Abby.

He'll gladly take on the burden of suffering. Eden be damned, Jacky-Bobby will live on his own terms.

[campbluelake]

Where the Heart Is | Jacky-Bobby | 6.5 | RE: Max

"Yes, and that most precious place must be their beloved home. I wager that our thrall is the survivor of the Siege of Briarwood, which, in the end, leveled the village and left 576 dead. It was a massacre."

Putting it into stark, plain numbers like that just makes it sound more horrible, as awful as it already is to think of. It likely took a miracle to survive that.

"Those already-cycled, fake mirages are likely to be some form of the thrall's friends and family members from way back when, populating the realm to assuage the thrall's long-since broken heart. I can't think of anything lonelier, and even more painful, than losing all your loved ones."

"...After getting to spend time with Buddy again, I can understand the thrall's behavior to some extent."

That desperation for even one more minute together—it ate away at Jacky-Bobby every day. Thankfully, he hadn't lost Buddy in a sudden nor violent manner, but if he had, he might've also deluded himself into thinking a mirage would be a helpful temporary reprieve for the heart ache.

That's the thing, though. It'd only be temporary, until reality set back in. It's not like the pain would ever completely disappear.

[campbluelake]

In a Handbasket | Jacky-Bobby | 6.4 | ATTN: Malyce

Other misgivings aside, Jacky-Bobby appreciates the apology to him and his son over this abhorrent misuse of their land. The mistreatment of Buddy is a lot less forgivable, however. He might not have been put through the misery of a life or death situation (seeing how he was already dead and all), but he was a victim in all of this, too.

And to think that it had been Malyce who'd reassured him that Buddy clearly looked like someone else was pulling his strings, that no one would attack him in some bid for revenge. Jacky-Bobby was more than ready to defend him if he needed to, even if it meant a trial. Luckily no one tried.

"Hm. I suppose you can't renounce your gift and walk away relatively unscathed, can you? I can't imagine Vual would put up with a broken contract. Do you have any ideas for what might happen to you, in the wake of this?"

Jacky-Bobby guesses he'll be smited or smote, whichever the proper word is. It's not like deals like the one he made has a simple take-back option. There's no extended warranty.

"You said to Yua that this will probably be the last time you see each other. Elaborate on that. If a portal to hell is going to swallow you whole, I'd like to know."

He could handle a fight with demonic royalty, if push came to shove and he had to save everyone in this room. Probably. He has transferable skills, at least.

[campbluelake]

Hunter's Mark | Jacky-Bobby | 6.3 | RE: Director

This is the part when, in ordinary times, Jacky-Bobby would launch into action. Weapons drawn, he'd snuff out that fiery green pentagram and vanquish the remainder of Malyce's soul. Witch hunts must be seen through to the end.

But what good is a witch hunter who lets a wizard sleep under his roof without suspecting a thing? Had Malyce been laughing behind his back the entire time, or was their every interaction laced with the dread of knowing that their time together was fragile? If it wasn't for his witch hunting mission being all that he is at this point, Jacky-Bobby would contemplate retirement.

All dressed up to strut around like a prized chicken, Malyce has never looked as childish as he does now. A boy that young should be out playing mumbley-peg with his friends, not once-upon-a-time gleefully plotting out everyone's deaths. So caught up in himself, Malyce never got away from his own misery. He just rubberbanded right back into it.

As so many of the others weaponized their hurt, their anger, their sadness, Jacky-Bobby quietly studies Malyce's face. He blocks out the fanfare, his eyes heavy from the weight of what he can only guess is disappointment in his heart.

It's a mercy that they hadn't met outside of this context. Elsewhere, they'd be strangers, and Jacky-Bobby would put a bolt between Malyce's eyes in the hopes his blood would lead to a cure to his curse. Simple business.

Some day, Jonathan Robert may have to answer for his crimes, too, in the middle of a similar tribunal, but that's a far-off future that may not come. It'd be silly to let his heart spill in any way about his feelings in all of this. Not his place. Certainly not his personality to be that outwardly emotional.

"Alright, then, Marion."

That's who he actually is: scared, quiet, lonely Marion.

"You have a lot of work ahead of you. Make this right."

He plans to keep him in his sights until he does.

[campbluelake]

He Ain't Heavy | Jacky-Bobby | Trial 6.2 | RE: Malyce Accusations

A man who's lived as long as Jacky-Bobby has is bound to have made a mistake or two in his life. Or a handful of them. ...Or a countless amount. It took him a while to have the wisdom to not bother forming any attachments—they always prove to be a mistake. It's not like he could stick around in a friendship for the long haul without any signs of a wrinkle or a hint of gray.

Everyone else gets to change, while he gets left behind, or more accurately, he leaves first.Better to disappear. Hide away; walk away. And with his line of work, attachments to anyone are especially unnecessary.

Emotional sentiment doesn't have a place in witch hunting. The witch gets revealed, and sometimes it's the waitress at the diner who told you she's going to finally move out of her small town next month, or it's the college student telling you he's figured out what he'll do with the rest of his life, or it's someone's aunt letting you borrow her niece's umbrella in the rain, or it's your "brother," a brother that's your brother from similar circumstance.

When he feels anything, anything at all in moments like that, when the hunt is over and it's time to strike down the evil, he reminds himself why they deserve it: the waitress poisoned the water filter system at her school for that magic, the college student's been hurting people with his magic, the aunt's turned a city into a mindless flock of followers,

and your brother, he's...

he's under everyone's gun right now for doing what he did. It's undeniable how well Malyce fits the profile. And with how sick that makes him feel, Jacky-Bobby knows full well that he's added to his pile of Uncountable Mistakes. He's gotten attached. An actual gun in his hand, and he'd have thought too much and hesitated to pull the trigger.

Mistake after mistake.

"I didn't expect to have to actually answer that question, on what I'd do if you'd actually gotten yourself involved in magic as some sort of warlock. I thought you were on one of your flights of fancy, but no."

Jacky-Bobby stops to inhale a breath, then let it out. The meditative speedrun does nothing to help his nerves.

"And a blood warlock at that. You know what I feel about those. But please, by all means, go on and explain yourself when you're ready. I have all the time in the world."

He'll wait. Right or wrong, he'll hang onto his hesitation.

[campbluelake]

Greatest Generation 💲 Jacky-Bobby | Trial 6.1 | RE: Warrick, Niko

All that's been awful for Jonathan Robert in his far-too-long lifetime can be traced back to blood rituals. If it wasn't for the disruption and spilling of warlock blood on his sacred campground, he would've died an ordinary man.

Instead, he's still stuck here, suffering with the curse of eternal life and a headache worsening by the minute. Here's yet another round of magic-based misfortune for him. Since disasters are themed to happen in threes, he can only imagine what the next blood ritual-related major event will be like. Hopefully he'll get a 100 year break before it happens.

Save it for 2101, please; he needs to rest.

Jacky-Bobby lets out a grumpy huff sound.

"What's wrong with being normal? I'm serious. Being special is something that you work for. Greatness isn't something that's packaged to you on a silver platter.

"Why, back in my day, I used to toil under the boiling, blistering sun for hours. There were days I didn't even have two pennies to rub together after feeding my family but you know what? I didn't go around sniffing for hand-outs. I worked. I knew the 'magic' of working for what I earned.

"I had pride."

The lack of discipline in the younger generations never ceases to amaze him. They were so taken in by the illusion of fast money and made-up lies on the silver screen and their little game machines. Their compasses were calibrated to point towards the wrong direction.

And it was sad, actually, that nearly everyone here had been made prisoner of someone already shackled by that mindset. The misery had to be shared and exchanged through the terms of their contractual...

he can't find a more elegant word than 'bullshit' in this moment.

Jacky-Bobby adds onto Warrick's point.

"Yes. Moreover, it was their belief that in saving us, they'd 'grant our wishes of love,' because we're oh so hungry and lonely. The absolute gall of that thrall! They're older than I am. They should know better by now than to play around with silly assumptions and storybook fantasies for people that don't want them."

"This contractor and the thrall... truly a match made through the f-words of hell."

That's fires. He remembered.

"And you."

Peepaw's eyes narrow, with Niko in his sights.

"You ought to watch what you're doing with that lantern. That's my boy in there."

He's watching him.

[campbluelake]

Hold On 💲 Jacky-Bobby | RE: Max's Return

By now, the process is as good as set in stone. Something terrible happens, putting pressure on everyone to take a fatal action. Someone gives in. Everyone investigates. Court goes into session, to find out what exactly happened. A conclusion is reached, votes are thrown into the fire, there's a reveal, goodbyes are said, and the execution happens.

That's the cycle, as it's always been, without deviations.

...And then Max walks in, alive and well.

(Jacky-Bobby has to wonder if this is how the market place felt when Eri blasted it with her grenade launcher. Big kaboom, reverberations to follow. A crater left behind. Dust. Soot.

That's all his head is full of right now: dust and soot and so much bewilderment.)

This is impossible.

He looks around, his eyes scouting for anything that'd give any indication that they're in the middle of a shared dream where they'll be protected from harm. If so, such protections are always temporary; a float before a crashing fall. The hallucinatory thrall never lasts. Magic begets suffering.

Last time he was here, he'd told himself to build himself a weapon for next time. Jacky-Bobby regrets not feeding into his paranoia. He could've had something with him to fire at... what, his confusion, his fear that they could still lose Kyousuke and that Max isn't real and somehow, someone's going to have to pay for this?

A price must be paid.

Normal procedures demand that, but Max has always existed outside of the boundaries of normalcy, hasn't he? Off-kilter, in a charming rather than off-putting way. If anyone could break the system, it'd be him.

"You... you're back."

He'd celebrate if it wasn't for the cold chill rushing over him.

(A price must be paid. There it is again.)

In all of his searching for a sign that the rug will be pulled out from under them, he hadn't found the person who mattered most. Panic quakes his heart and spikes into his single question.

"Where's Buddy?"