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009 †

[Well, that was fun! Teatime isn't too happy about being tricked, but that delightful little toy they had given him more than made up for it. He wonders if he'll ever get it back. He'd like that.

Oh, well. Another unusual happenstance, another belonging from home returned to him. He's never really had many personal belongings, so he has no idea what could be inside the box as he opens it.

The force of it knocks him against the wall and sends his glass eye sailing in the opposite direction-- oh not this again-- which means he, unfortunately, only gets a slightly good look at the fireplace poker sticking out of his chest. But he got a good enough look at it the first time around, so it's not that bad. Except for the dying thing. That's kind of bullshit.

Oh yay a ruptured sternum look at all the blood isn't this fun Susan you don't even need to physically present to ruin his life you bitch He manages to sort of half-crawl over to the phone how has his life gotten even more pathetic]
There wouldn't happen to be a doctor on the line, would there?

008 †

[Well, like most things in Teatime's life, Valentine's was highly traumatic and he will do his best to repress the entire incident in the most healthy way possible. At least he gets a present out of it, even though he doesn't recognize it at first. What strange lettering...

And then, it hits him: It's those books! The ones the wizard Sidney had brought along on their little... venture. Magic books, holding spells so old they aren't even magic anymore, spells that almost gave him the minds of every person on the Disc, spells that almost destroyed all belief...

Spells that are completely useless because Teatime doesn't fucking know magic. His life.

But, they still might be useful, so he'll be sitting on the front steps of his house, reading them. Maybe tracing a few symbols into the dirt, to no avail...]

007 †

[Mayfield, today you will find a nine year old boy wandering about the town. A normal sight, you say, but there's something... off about this boy: He's dressed far too nicely to be a drone child, for starters. Though he seems confused and lost, he doesn't say a word to any drones who approach him, instead staring up at them with a blank expression. In fact, that seems to be all he's doing. Staring.

And then there's his eyes. Like pinholes.

You will find young Jonathan in a variety of situations. Variety meaning two:

A: Sitting ram-rod straight on the sidewalk in front of his "house," obviously waiting for someone. ohdeargodmotherisgoingtokillhim

B: Finally giving up on that and trying to get a neighbor's cat to come over to him. Yay, cats.]

(Replies will be from dollybadtouch . And we can all blame Kalyn for that.)

006 †

[So, Teatime got the attack turkey.

And it's awesome.

So he'll just spend an hour or two stalking that motherfucker through the house before dismembering it in the living room in the most horrific way possible. The Macy's Day Parade bored him and he needed something to do.

A little while later, he'll pick up the phone.]


I rather like this holiday! Is it always like this?

005 †

[And, thus, things go back to normal-- for a relative value of normal, of course.

Teatime has long since thrown the school-supplied lesson plan to the wind with a resounding “FUCK. THAT. SHIT,” so today's lesson is, as always, a bit unorthodox. Hanging from the flagpole-- and when I say “hang” I mean “by a fucking noose holy shit”-- is a skeleton. For something from their woefully inadequate science labs, it sure does look lifelike! [1] The chalkboard reads: “Today's Essay Topic: Skeletons, and Why They Are So Creepy and Awful and You Hate Them.”

The teacher himself will be at his desk, writing rapidly in his Hate Diary a small notebook. Because actually teaching is for losers with no friends, Susan. Should you attempt to look over his shoulder and not get your face ripped off and shoved down your throat, you will find the pages covered in strange diagrams and a completely incomprehensible shorthand. Aren't you so glad that winter vacation is starting up soon?

[1] Please ignore the strange smell coming from the locked closet. And the mysterious, hand-shaped stain on the handle. It's really none of your concern.]

004 †

[Are there even dark alleyways in Mayfield? Well, there are now, and Teatime has been dragging random drones down into one all day. Why? Because he's a great Assassin who just so happens to be at the beck and call of the world's tiniest mafia don. Why? Because he is a loser haven't you realized this.]

Tell me what you know about the Smiths.

They've been your neighbors all your life, Jonathan! What don't you know about them?

Please don't annoy me, sir. Just tell me what I want to know.

Mother always used to say, "A close neighborhood is a safe neighbor--"

Will you please shut up?

Gosh, Mr. Tea-time--

...

[A few seconds pass. He looks down at the drone, still babbling despite the massive stab wound to its neck, and sighs, as if it were only doing it to inconvenience him.]

… This is frustrating.

003 †

[Because Life has a wicked sense of humor, Teatime has been given an occupation that gives him far more access to children than anyone should be comfortable with. He's not quite sure what he teaches-- maths or maybe Spanish was mentioned at one point, possibly-- or even what grade level. Not like he cares. He'll teach any student that shows up, and he'll only teach them the most important things!

On each desk, there is a sheet of paper. It looks like this.

But, lucky for his students and unlucky for a certain person who will not be mentioned, Teatime will be spending only the necessary amount of time in his room. The rest of the day, he will be going from class to class with the biggest smile on his face, like a child playing an especially fun game. He seems to be looking for something. Or someone.

Oh aren't you all glad it's the good ol' days before Columbine where nobody even wondered how many hidden weapons a person may have under their clothing? Just in case you're wondering, it's quite a few.]

002 †

[The first thing you'll notice is the blood.

The entire left side of his face is covered in it. It's in his hair, on his clothes-- no wonder he's walking a little haphazardly. Not that he seems to mind much. That's the second thing you notice. He's smiling, smiling through the blood on his teeth. Because insanity has a funny way of insulating you from trauma and pain. And reality.

You might not notice his eye, though, as the sunlight catches the dark glass. But, if you've ever seen him before, you'll know that certainly wasn't there yesterday.]

001 †

[Now, when one wakes up to find two rosy-cheeked young children calling you Daddy and jumping on you when you were quite sure that but a few minutes ago you had been killed, there are only so many ways one can react. You could scream. You could scream and then go examine your surroundings. You could question the children as to your location. Or, you could beat their faces in with a table lamp.

Jonathan's bedclothes are bloody when he goes to pick up the phone. Guess which one he picked.]


Hello! My name's Teatime. ["teh-ah-tim-eh"] What's yours?

HMD and Contact Post!

Hey.

Hey.

Heeeey.

This is my crit post. Please help me be the creepiest bastard I can be!

Contact: TrekFaerie on AIM

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who do I pray to to straighten out this
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Jonathan Teatime

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