[ Ian's not a morning person — he fights with everything in him to stay under for at least twenty minutes every day, wrestling with the universe and life, bargaining with himself with the sweet sweet consolation of coffee. Today is no different; he doesn't notice the new sheets, the new pillows, the new smell. Not for a while, not until he either emerges of his own volition or the sound and presence of another person startles him. In either case, his head will pop up from beneath the duvet, curls askew, lips parted, confused as all-fuck and too groggy at first to really comprehend.

Absurdly, he greets anyone in the room with a calm yet confused: ]

Hey, man.

[ Tone light, brow furrowed, a quick scope of the room to confirm yep, nope, definitely not his apartment. After that, waking up comes pretty quickly. His slowly rising anxiety levels stay hidden behind an impressive facade of calm, his chill reminiscent of your typical stoner despite the fact that he clearly hasn't partaken since waking up. It'll lead to a really interesting combination of total freak-out and mellow tone, a nice reserved toned-down panic attack with an oft-repeated manta. ]

What the fuck. But really, what the fuck? What the fuck is this?

( part 2 )

[ Or maybe catch him a few days later standing out there on his front stoop before a placid-faced Robbie holding a gelatin mold, posture calm and nonconfrontational. He's locked in something of a stand-off with them as they hold up the jiggling, completely unappealing tray. ]

Nah, no thank you. We appreciate the gesture, but that's okay. We've got plenty.

[ Followed in turn by a wan, "Oh, I insist! It's Aunt Myrna's secret recipe!" ]

That's cool, man. I'm sure she's great, but I-- honestly, like I've got an entire dining room table of food right now, it's just gonna go to waste.

[ "Nonsense! I'm sure once you try it you won't be able to get enough."

Ian's patience seems as endless as his resolve. ]

I think we're gonna have to agree to disagree on that one. I really appreciate what you're doing, maybe we can do some other kind of thing — I don't know, like coffee? Maybe next week we can do like a dinner thing?

[ "We'd love to have you, but only if you're returning this tray after you've eaten!" So pleasant, so unphased, so not taking the hint. Ian, equally as polite, does not seem to be baking down. Firmly but kindly: ]

I'm not taking that. I'm sorry. We're at maximum gelatin capacity. Gelatin quota exceeded.

[ And so it will go for an impressively long time if nobody intervenes. ]

[ If his initial panic upon arriving had been immense, it's nothing compared to his complete freak-out when shit hits the fan. That television switching on sets the hair on the back of his neck on end, sends goosebumps down his arms, has a nervous twisting happening deep down in his gut. He stands frozen, confused, knees locked in the middle of the living room trying to understand what that garbled Poltergeist style voice is saying. When the knock does come, it startles him with an outright visible jolt.

”Trick or treat.” ]

Ahaha, nope!

[ Announced declaratively, before he lurches forward to slam the bolt shut on the door. ]

Fuck that, fuck that whole entire thing, I've seen enough movies to know not to open that shit. That's how they fucking die every time, doing some dumb shit like just opening the fucking door--

[ To whit, the window breaks. Anybody in the vicinity is going to be a victim of his hands forcefully dragging them back out of the way unless they shrug him off, accompanied by an urgent repetition. ]

Back door, back door, back door, go, go-

[ When in doubt, run your ass off.

Right until he runs into one on the street and actually sees it in all its absolutely horrifying glory. Muddy and wet and more importantly, decomposing. Decomposing, and standing. and staring in a fucking halloween mask. A dead kid, a rotting corpse. They don't have shit like that where he's from.

He goes blank. He just goes fully blank, frozen like a deer in the headlights, pulse pounding in his ears and his perception of the world sort of tilting left before snapping back, then right before snapping back, light headed and uncomprehending. ]

[ A few randos:

→ Catch him coughing up and choking on a poisoned peppermint, clutching his throat in obvious distress.
→ He'll be wandering around the block party with his party hat still on, sup-nodding people and chewing on chips like it's the most casual thing you've ever seen. He'll greet just about anyone with a pleasant, "Hey, man." He can also be caught singing the obnoxious Halloween song.
→ Catch him accidentally slipping up in a discreet corner somewhere with a creeping glow snaking up his hands right before an innocuous object shows up in it; house key, fork, pencil, whatever he needs at the time.
→ Anything else; I'll roll with it. Hit me at rifting for your q&a needs. ]