"Whereas both parties have been represented by independent counsel of their own choosing..." "The parties agree that neither shall contest the validity or provisions of any will, account, trust agreement, or..." "In the event of separation or divorce..." Wait, really?

[Jack makes an exasperated noise.] Turlough, is this really necessary? Why do we have to sign a contract just to get married?

Somehow I feel like I got the worst of the bunch.

( OOC: open to action! for those who run into him at the Blue Light or elsewhere about town, his shirt reads as follows -- "I WAS MIND-CONTROLLED INTO MURDERING MY FATHER WITH A GOLF CLUB AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT". )

H...hello? [The face that peers into the camera is that of a small boy, one who looks very confused and at least a little frightened.] Papa Suchong? Mama Tenenbaum?

[He looks around, as if watching for someone to come by, but he's alone. And then he looks even more frightened.]

I don't know where I am but I'm not supposed to be here and if I don't get back to where I am supposed to be then Mr. Fontaine is gonna be real mad. [It all comes out in one breath, and he stops to look around again before he continues.] And I don't know why it's so bright outside the window or why I can't see the ocean anywhere but it's scary and I shouldn't be here and — and... [By now, he looks totally distressed.] Can someone come get me? Please? I don't wanna get in trouble with Papa Suchong or Mr. Fontaine.

So... Today is supposed to be my birthday. That's what it says on my passport, anyway... That's what I believed for the past couple of years. Now, though...

[He looks uneasy, as though he's not really sure why he started this message in the first place.] Now, I don't know what to believe. I don't know if this is the day I was actually born, or how I was born, or if I even have a real birthday at all... I don't even know how old I'm supposed to be. So, I guess... I don't how to feel about this day anymore. I don't know if I should even care about it, much less do anything for it.

[He starts to say something else, then pauses, rubs the back of his neck and gives the camera a weak smile.]

Any suggestions?

Uh, so... I get that there's a curse going on today, but. Uh.

[Jack is way too flustered over this.]

If anybody feels like kissing me — uh, especially while I'm at the bar... Could you maybe, uh. Warn me first? Please?

( ooc: Jack is tending bar today, so open action at the Blue Light, or out on the streets if that's your fancy! give him all the victory smooches. )

If anyone ever catches me talking like I did this weekend — seriously, if I ever sound like that again...

[He sighs.] Just shoot me or something. I mean it, I'm not kidding. Please.

[For those who know him, Jack is looking somewhat unrecognizable again today. Instead of his usual sweater-and-jeans ensemble, he's dressed to the nines in a three-piece suit, and while the jacket is currently draped over the back of a chair, it altogether seems to fit his broad frame maybe a little too well. He looks more interested in the lit cigarette in his hand when the video begins, but by the time he starts to speak, he makes direct eye contact with the camera, his stare more self-assured than perhaps it's ever been.]

The great chain of industry cannot be pulled wantonly by any one man... It does not bend to any higher authority, whether that of the government or any god, but can only be moved by each man struggling in his own endeavors, free of and unfettered by any regulation that would aim to hold him back.

[By this point, if it weren't for his face and voice, his only recognizable characteristic would be the chain link tattoos on his wrists, visible past his rolled-up shirtsleeves. He pauses to take a drag off his cigarette, and gestures with it as he continues.] Or so it should be, at least in a city of this scale. Even in a world far removed from my own — not just my own, but your own, whatever worlds each and every one of us has been stolen away from — the metaphorical hand of the authoritative elite strangles us just as tightly.

But I see no reason why this should keep any one of us from taking action — from pursuing our own ideals in the face of those who seek to keep us in misery. I notice a number of you who already do just this, and I commend you for it, but why not all of us? Should the threat of a curse or the dangling hope of returning home prevent us from striving for innovation, for fortune, for the absolute pinnacle of what we as people can be? Or should we be content to lead our lives as the deities see fit?

[He leans back a bit, giving a soft sigh.] This City cannot compare to my Rapture... In size, maybe, but never in beauty or grandeur. I'm sure many of you would rather return to your own homes, as well. But there's simply no reason why we shouldn't make the best of this place while we're still here.

[He pauses again, and for a moment, the expression on his face flickers with a lapse of his earlier confidence. But it's quickly gone, and he takes a final drag off the cigarette before he stamps it out and speaks it again.]

Turlough, milyj moj. We are still on for tonight, yes? I'm still hoping to make up for last time.

( ooc: as was mentioned over on the plotting post, Jack is currently afflicted by The Years That Never Were and believes himself to have been raised by Andrew Ryan. so basically, he's become mister junior objectivist entrepreneur! whoops. )

[Jack's sweater-and-jeans ensemble did well enough to keep out the chill of the Atlantic back home, but now it looks as though it's not faring so well against the heavy snowfall, not with the way he's shivering on camera. Of course, that's not exactly the most noticeable thing about him right now; that would be his left hand, just in view of the camera, scorched and charred and glowing red along his veins and at his fingertips. He doesn't seem to notice it, nor does he seem to be in any pain from it, even with the heat shimmering from his obviously burnt flesh.

But he doesn't seem to even notice that his camera is on in the first place, as he isn't looking anywhere near the device when he speaks.]

You know, I miss the water balloon fights. [He shivers and flexes his burnt hand, and a small flame licks up his hand and whiffs out at the glowing tips of his fingers.] Why couldn't we have a weekend of that instead of...well, this?

[He shivers again, gives his hand another flex, and snaps his fingers, causing his hand to briefly catch on fire — but just as before, it doesn't seem to cause him any pain. The loud hiss of steaming water can heard as he reaches for the device with his other hand, fumbling before managing to switch it off.]

You know, I don't know why I never tried this before.

[From the looks of his bare chest, clearly visible as he holds the camera away from himself, Jack's taken the full brunt of today's curse. By his surroundings, though, it also looks like he's outside.]

In the City, I mean. You'd have to be crazy to try walking around like this back where I came from. But here... [He gives a satisfied sigh.] I don't think I've ever felt so...liberated, I guess.

( ooc: open to action, feel free to run into him while he's out and about! )

If this weekend is anything like the last time this many people showed up, I think I'm just going to stay inside.

( ooc: buuuuut he won't! as with Elijah's post, tags will be delayed due to rl circumstances, but Jack is also out and about and totally open to any fourth-wall harassment! )

So, yesterday... [Jack looks significantly better than the last time he showed up on the network, but today he looks ill at ease. He doesn't seem to have gotten much sleep in the time since, either.] That was supposed to be our fathers haunting us, right?

I guess the City has a loose definition of what counts as a father. [A man who built a city at the bottom of the sea. A conman who sometimes called him boyo.] Either that or it couldn't pick just one.

[Then he sighs tiredly and drags a hand over his face.] Would've been better if it didn't even try. But that's too much to ask, isn't it?

[The video starts with some serious jostling around, but it soon straightens out and Jack's face comes into view.]

Is this... This is the City, right?

[He looks disoriented, perhaps more so than could normally be expected from those freshly returned to the City, but that's hardly the most notable thing about his appearance. There's a massive bruise on the left side of his face that stretches from his jaw to the corner of his lip, which itself is split, swollen, and bloodied; there are other spots and spatters of blood on his face, but from the lack of any other visible wounds, there's no telling if it's his own. He also looks as though he hasn't slept in far too long, but the bags under his eyes are nothing compared to the rest of his face.]

This place is really what I think it is? Not just... [He swallows, glances down for a moment, and his expression hardens.] This isn't just Fontaine fucking with me again, putting more shit in my head? Or... [His eyes squeeze shut.] I don't know. I don't remember. I can't remember.

[After a pause, he opens his eyes again, trying not to look too distressed.]

Does anyone know where I live?