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"Certainly not in Louisiana. It's far colder here and there aren't any gators." It's his attempt at a joke, of course. He's trying his very best to normalize this very abnormal situation. Maybe if he shifts his focus, maybe if he pays a little less attention, she will appear to be more... whole.

"That makes sense..." He trails off and gives her a smile that is more of a grimace than anything else. Up until recently, he's spent more than half the year across the pond. It's no wonder she hasn't visited earlier. London was surely more difficult of a feat than Boston.

John neither wants to look at her hand nor accept confirmation of the fact that he's been in denial about for years. "I didn't realize the dead were paying that much attention to me. Perhaps I should be quieter..." His eyes widen at the realization that the statement carried an insult to her. "I mean everyone else. All the other spirits with any interest in getting to me."

Is it really good to see him? He thinks that if the tables were turned, he might feel a little jealous. He's died countless times in this long life of his, yet she dies once and this is the result? Not some perpetually perfect imposter, parading around with all of the other mortals like he fits in. "If you did, I may not have picked it up. Seeing as my jaw was on the floor."

"May I ask how it happened? You don't need to tell me if it's too difficult."

She nods, testing another step past the door and closer to really being inside the home. "Yeah, not in Louisiana..." she paused, chewing over if that was really the right way to describe it. Maybe it is because their meetings were shorter, more sporadic despite how close they grew. Over time, over the country, no one spot had a solid hold for her. It is just him and his memory, and the version of her he knew. Which, if she looks in the mirror, may be younger than she expects. She feels very wide eyed, if not naive.

"Yes, it's hard to get out to places where I don't have a lot of people who remember."

There's a sharpness in her laugh that comes unbidden. "I'm not alive," she holds her hand up as if to prove her point. What she is she can't say these days either, but alive certainly doesn't fit the bill.

"Well, the same way anyone dead hears you. I think it's a little like a prayer for angels or gods. It filters through and finds the right spot more or less." Lucy can nearly see the thoughts flit behind his eyes as he tries to filter through everything he's has said to her. It's the same face Mal had when they met at her not-grave.

"It's good to see you too, by the way. I don't think I said that yet, right?"

#ghoulishundertakings #➤ v . i m m o r t a l ┊ ❛ life lasts too long for most of us ❜

[ofcongress]

#n e way <3 #➤ s . m y c r o f t & j o h n ┊ ❛ lost in your current like a priceless wine ❜

[ofcongress]

John focuses most of his attention on how Brendan has decided to decorate, gaze flitting between his knickknacks to his furniture to what sort of books he has on his shelves. Of course none of this could possibly be done in a non-judgemental manner. This is John, after all.

"Seeing Lucida arrive brought back memories of when she died." He trails a finger across Brendan's table and is surprised to find it's not coated with a layer of dust. "Specifically meeting you and how much of a prick you were - are, sorry."

He fixes his blue eyes on him and smiles as he offers himself a seat at the dining table. "Are you not convinced it's her? Who else could it possibly be?"

He shuts the door behind them, tamping down on a response. They’re at his place now and if they get into it, it’ll be him footing the bills so, for the sake of his pocketbook and his sure to come headache, he’s giving himself space not to take every piece of bait.

“I did.” There’s a feeling he can’t mark in that response. He can’t tell if it’s horror or not. He certainly hopes it is, that’s what anyone with sense would feel, but Lucy wasn’t known for having a lot of sense and from his experience with her friends he can’t say any of them do either.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when something is trying to go against pretty much every rule in the book — it’s hard,” he scoffs, bitter as black coffee. “Look, as soon as I know what this is I’ll be able to answer that better. However, I’m a strong believer that past actions can indicate how current ones will go, so you’ll forgive me— or don’t, I don’t care — if I’m skeptical. What exactly is your goal in coming here?”

#ghoulishundertakings #➤ v . i m m o r t a l ┊ ❛ life lasts too long for most of us ❜ #i'M SORRY HE CAN'T HELP IT

[ofcongress]

@ghoulishundertakings from here

"It's good to see you too, Brendan," he responds with a grin, wiping his Louboutin oxfords on the mat before stepping inside. "I'd be flattered to think you chose Boston because of me, but I know better."

John has been avoiding ghosts at all costs for a very long time. On one hand he doesn't want to give himself away, on another he doesn't want to go through the emotions of recognizing some long-lost friend perpetually trying to drink a beer at the Green Dragon. He'd much rather pretend to be normal.

"I did." His voice is little more than a whisper. "She found me, actually. Seemed to be difficult for her, but she did." John's not interested in another fight and he does a very good job at not rolling his eyes at Brendan's dickish comment. "You don't think I'm going to be civil about this?"

#ghoulishundertakings #➤ v . i m m o r t a l ┊ ❛ life lasts too long for most of us ❜

[ofcongress]

Ulbrickson & Bolles matching+mirroring+in sync

#➤ m y c r o f t h o l m e s ┊ ❛ handsome as hell ❜ #posts this and then disappears into the abyss

[ofcongress]

someone: hey John why aren’t you considered the first President of the US?

John, growing progressively more irritated: you know that a good question. it’s likely because I was the first President under the Declaration of Independence, but Washington was the first President under the Constitution. could also be because people were obsessed with Washington because he was taller and had great thighs. read any book on Washington and the historian will obsess about his great thighs, which I don’t think should be the focus at all. let’s talk about how he was a bit of a dick and had bad teeth, instead. I also say bit of a dick sarcastically because… you know. meanwhile I have all of my teeth so…

#anyway back on hiatus I go

[ofcongress]

updated the pinned post - gonna go on a lil hiatus

#ooc #not that I’m too active anyway

[ofcongress]

                                               John Hancock

                                ( January 23, 1737 - October 8, 1793 ) 

❝ Some boast of being friends to government; I am a friend to righteous government, to a government founded upon the principles of reason and justice; but I glory in publicly avowing my eternal enmity to tyranny. ❞ 

#➤ a b o u t ┊ ❛ unpredictably predictable and predictably unpredictable ❜ #tbt to when i made all of my graphics like this 10/10

[ofcongress]

I don’t know if it was part of his obsessive need for accurate detail or if he just hated the man and wanted petty vengeance but I appreciate that John Singleton Copley spent hours flawlessly painting John Hancock’s 5 o’clock shadow not once, but twice

#the man was incapable of painting hands so u do u #➤ a b o u t ┊ ❛ unpredictably predictable and predictably unpredictable ❜ #➤ v i s a g e ┊ ❛ he looked every inch an aristocrat ❜

[ofcongress]

The rest of the founding cats are done plus King George cat cauee I couldn’t not make that

#important

[ofcongress]

"I can't relate," he says with a hint of a smile. "I make friends everywhere I go, hence why you're my friend."

John isn't an easy one to make uncomfortable, unless one knows the particular buttons to push. He counts himself lucky that so very few even know where to begin to discover said buttons.

"I could be. Or I could be a very old man who has been around people his entire life and developed a habit of watching what they do." He folds his hands in his lap and lets out a breath. "I work in government, so everyone around me has a big personality. You do too, though I'm not sure you see it."

His gaze falls to his hands when she begins to speak about Mycroft. She's right and he knows it. In fact, it's painful to think about how very right she is. How self-assured Mycroft is and how Moriarty would potentially try to burn his world down around him if he ever stepped too far out of line. He thinks about what they have together and the future they want to build and that with every good that comes from their relationship comes another opportunity for insurmountable pain. All because he got wrapped up in something too big for him to understand when he was in college. Now there was no going back and John, despite how much of a big game he talked, could not save him from it. Oh how he would give anything to save him from it.

John's looking at her now, his own eyes suddenly looking rather old and pained. He sees her and he sees someone who does not scare easily at all. Yet she's terrified of James Moriarty.

"Very well. Let's only hope your employer gets what's coming to him sooner than later."

“I don’t make friends. Much better at alienating people.”

She usually prides herself on being able to make people uncomfortable. It can change the subject, flip the situation, force people to leave. Half of her life has been spent working in the subtleties like this. But something tells her this is t going to be an easy awkward out of a conversation- John has had time on his side. He has questions that have burned a whole into his brain and it’s going to be a lot of work to avoid giving straight answers he could use to get himself into trouble.

“What if I’m not? You’re making a lot of assumptions based on very little information.”

The latter. Absolutely the latter.

“I was a soldier. Leading has never been my thing.”

Maybe once. Back in the forces she had a team who it would have been nice to try that step with. The problem had always been her own self preservation, it’s hard to play for a team when you know it could end up with a bullet buried in your skin. At least those people had been worth taking one.

“No- I’m not fucking around here. Not with this.”

Would he take a flat out no? Would he just let it go?

“I know what would happen to Myc. He’s got family, he’s got you. Worst of all he’s got no fucking idea how cruel it’s possible to be to another human being.”

Mycroft took so many risks because as much as he seemed to assure himself he knew the consequences, how could he? How could you possibly imagine the depths of depravity, the pain of being living and dead at the same time? Ignorance was bliss. God, she prayed for ignorance.

“Look at me. Do I look like someone who scares easy?”

She pauses, giving him a chance to really look. Truly. To see something maybe the reforged steel hasn’t hidden, that he might see some honest fear in her body. Because there is only one thing left on earth that can make her feel it.

“There are no hypotheticals. This isn’t a conversation.”

#gunmetalgrey #➤ v . i m m o r t a l ┊ ❛ life lasts too long for most of us ❜

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"As if I'd want to shag you anyway," he parrots, making a face and then rolling his eyes. John is enjoying getting a rise out of Sebastian very much. Perhaps it isn't the most appropriate time, but...

Rather anticlimactic with how good of a shot Moran is, isn't it? John expected to have to at least be somewhat helpful, even if to prove that he's got some experience in this sort of thing. "I don't think I do, no," he murmurs, squatting down beside the unmasked man. "You sure he was after me? I don't go around shooting people for a living."

Sebastian's mood is souring the more time he's spending with John. "Fucking dick." He mutters, jaw tensing. He doesn't have the best temper when it comes to people taking the piss out of him. "As if I'd want to shag you anyway."

Moving to the window, he looks out, resisting the urge to make yet another snarky remark, choosing instead to head down the stairs. Would it be childish to just run away and leave John there? Probably. Pausing at the bottom step he glances around the corner, spotting someone at the end of the hall. The body slumps to the ground a second later as Sebastian catches him in the neck with a silenced bullet. Moving over, he pulls the mask off, looking at the man. "Do you know him?"

#fxckingmoran #➤ v . i m m o r t a l ┊ ❛ life lasts too long for most of us ❜

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Sometimes he thinks it's funny that his encounters with the supernatural have been few and far between. Living in Boston, an old and arguably haunted-ish town, he figures he should have seen more apparitions. In fact, he would like to see more apparitions. Perhaps he could catch up with a few friends...

"It's alright." John's far too polite to ever admit if it's not. "Out of town?" he asks, the first of probably a thousand questions, but he's behaving and doing his best to focus on the parts of her that aren't currently falling apart. He's frozen to the spot, fists clenching and then unclenching as a means of dealing with his unease. If she wasn't partially bone and sinew, he would have been more apt to give her a hug. "It's good to see you alive, Lucida. I suppose that's all that matters."

"You heard me? How did you hear me?" Sure sometimes he did have a bit of a big mouth, but... Hopefully he hadn't been doing or saying anything embarrassing as she was tracking him down. Oh Lord...

She watches as the realization dawns on him. It may be a haunting, but she's got no ill intentions. Still against the door she raises a hand in a small awkward greeting, her mouth pulling tense at the edges in an attempt at a smile. But, she worries if she moves too much it'll shake him again.

"Hi," she returns, softly. "I didn't mean to scare you." Lucy looks at her still upraised hand, and winces at the exposed tendons and bone. Like someone's first cadaver in anatomy lab. "Sorry," she says as she tucks the appendage behind her like it will wipe the visual away. "It's hard to keep myself together. Especially out of town. This is the best I can do." It feels like she is vibrating, like so many bugs under her skin threatening to break it all back down and send her back to the river if she doesn't try and focus. She's not certain she can keep it together long, but she couldn't ignore him. Maybe she should though. Reunions have proven awkward, ill timed things. She thinks all she heard was grief, if she just waited them out then it would be fine. Maybe Liv was right after all. She should have waited.

Realizing she's been quiet for a little too long after the question she blinks herself awake and takes a step forward as he rights himself, standing again. That feels significant, and while she has no need to breathe she exhales, relived. "Oh...I heard you. I just followed it. You were harder to find though. Outside of the state it gets a bit muddy."

#ghoulishundertakings #➤ v . i m m o r t a l ┊ ❛ life lasts too long for most of us ❜

[ofcongress]

We still have an hour before it starts to get light.

FELLOW TRAVELERS 1.05 ❝ Promise You Won't Write ❞

#➤ s . m y c r o f t & j o h n ┊ ❛ lost in your current like a priceless wine ❜ #John agrees that this would be eXTRA SUS

[ofcongress]

RAFE SPALL FOR HUNGER TV for millburned ♡

#➤ v i s a g e ┊ ❛ he looked every inch an aristocrat ❜

[ofcongress]

#➤ v i s a g e ┊ ❛ he looked every inch an aristocrat ❜

[ofcongress]

The 'Hancock' brings him quickly back to his senses and his eyes snap to meet hers. He's gone by Henchman for far too long now, so hearing his real name fills him with a sense of dread and foreboding. (It was especially difficult in 2008 when Will Smith starred in that movie).

"Hello." Truly it's all he can muster as he sits on the ground looking like a kicked puppy. It's almost made worse by the fact that she's called him pretty, as though he's unaware of that fact or the fact that some part of him would much rather be a skeleton six-feet-under than a nearly 287-year-old man. "Why does your arm look like that?" The question almost sounds childish, but he truly is curious. He's not one to be squeamish after what he's seen over the years, but... It's not a pretty look, truly.

John slowly eases himself off the floor, dusting off his slacks as though the house was anything but immaculately clean. "How did you find me?"

Lucy isn't quite sure what to do. No none had been really and truly scared to see her. Apprehensive, angry, sure -- there might have been a tinge of fear to all of them, but not this. She wonders if ghosts feel this way every time they appear. If so, she is more than a little surprised they do not give up and follow on to the next step faster. It would be exhausting to do this often.

Still, she reins in her frustration and her own sadness. The second is easier, she grieves her lost life more than she cares to admit, but she rarely finds herself frustrated these days. It's not an exactly fair trade, but is mollifying. There is little she can do nothing about if she cares to, and even fewer that would care to stand in her way should she decide to make her will known. She has the power she lacked, or perhaps simply could not access, and she clings to it, pulling herself together.

"Hancock," she says a little sharply, reverting to what feels most natural to her memory. "Please, I'm not here to make you fall over yourself." As if to prove her point she steps back to give him more space, her back pressing against the door, as far from him as she can manage without walking back out. She takes a deep breath and exhales a cloud of mist. "Look...it's not as pretty as you come back, I know. But I did my best, give me a little credit? At least a hello."

#ghoulishundertakings #➤ v . i m m o r t a l ┊ ❛ life lasts too long for most of us ❜