WHO: Killian Jones
WHERE: 6I inn
WHEN: February 21st
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Mild animal death?

February 17

He's heading for the river to do some fishing when he sees the first flash of red among the dead leaves littering the forest floor. It's an unusual place for such a bright color, especially at this time of year, so he bends over to pick it up. He notices first that it's addressed to him, complete with title: Captain Killian Jones. Then when he turns it over, there's the flame insignia that keeps popping up everywhere, the one that no one has been able to figure out what it means. He knows what it means this time though. It's a message to him from whoever's behind this.

He's heard about these letters, but thankfully hadn't gotten one of his own yet. He's not interested in playing their little game, so he tucks the letter aside and continues to the river. By the time he's got his nets set, curiosity has gotten the best of him, and he pulls the letter back out to read it.

This one's different from the ones he's heard about. This one promises that if he sacrifices another living creature, he will be allowed to return home. And for a moment, he contemplates it. It says living creature – it's not like it says a person. But no, in the end, despite everything that's waiting for him at home, he can't bring himself to do it. Despite what he's heard about the letters, he tears it up and tosses it in the river, letting the current carry it away.

February 18 & 19

The second letter he finds waiting for him in his kitchen when he goes in to make breakfast, as though someone thinks that yesterday he may have failed to notice the first one and they want to be sure he gets this one. Still uninterested in what it directs him to do, he tosses this one in the fireplace without reading it, not even caring to watch it turn into ashes.

The third morning, the letter is next to his pillow when he wakes up. Whoever is leaving them for him is getting more insistent. By this point, when he's had two days to think it over, two nights to dream of home, it's harder to resist what the letter is telling him. He might be more used to worlds like this than ones with modern conveniences, but he really does miss hot showers. And Emma, most of all. If the letter is to be believed, he could see her again. But could he really leave everyone here behind? Maybe the best way he can help them is from the outside, and to do that, he has to be able to leave.

But the desire to see Emma again, that's the real deciding factor. So he has a plan, and he'll be free of the letters and get to see Storybrooke and all of its residents again. When he heads out into the woods, it's not to go fishing. He chooses a likely spot and stands and waits, until at last he catches a flash of movement. It's easier than he expected: just lifting his foot and crushing the snake underneath. All he can do now is hope it's sufficient to meet the requirements of the letter, and wait.

February 21

He's determined this morning. Not that anything can be changed today; he knows better than that. But he also knows the power of working together, and that the only way they'll accomplish anything is if they do.

He picks up a spare piece of wood and writes a message on it with chalk: "Town meeting this afternoon." Then he props it outside the door of the inn and hopes the message gets around.

That afternoon, he picks up the chalk again and starts making notes on the chalkboard. Four columns' worth: scrub color, request, reward offered, reward delivered. Then he fills in the columns with his own information: black, sacrifice, return home, and an emphatic NO. Then he turns to address whoever has gathered so far.

"I apologize for bringing you here from whatever you were doing, and I know we've discussed those letters before. I don't know that we came to any kind of conclusion about them, because I don't know that we can. They may have seemed relatively harmless before, or at least concerned with minor requirements, but they're not anymore."

He holds up an unburned portion of his that he fished out of the ashes before coming here. "This one told me that if I sacrificed another living creature, I would be allowed to go home. This one lied. It wasn't home. It was an illusion that lasted for a day, and then I was aware that I had never left."

He points at the chalkboard behind him. "I don't know what we can do about these letters, but they've shown no sign of stopping. I figure we at least ought to know what we can about them. If you've received one, there's room on the chalkboard to fill out some details about them. It's not much of a start, but it's a start. Maybe we can find a pattern. Maybe there isn't one. But we won't know if we don't keep track. And of course, theories are always welcome, whether you've gotten a letter or not. If you haven't gotten one, consider yourself lucky. And keep an eye out."

That's all he has to say. Stick around and have a conversation if you want. He just wanted everyone to know that the letters are still coming, and that they've upped their ante.

[ooc: I've also got a spreadsheet for this information here. Anyone should be able to edit it.]

WHO: Killian Jones
WHERE: The inn
WHEN: October 30
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS:

---

It's a nice day for a walk. Well, no, it's not, really, but he doesn't really have much choice, does he? It's either walk around the village or stay in his house all day. True, that last option may be tempting, especially with the temperature turning cooler, but now that Emma's been gone for what he assumes are months, it's easier to get up and go about his daily routine.

Life goes on, like it always had.

He starts his day out in the usual way, heading to the river to catch some fish for the day, to share with the lunch crowd and some to take home for himself. It's when he's on his way to the inn that he notices a tree he's never noticed before. A tree with the juiciest-looking pears he's ever seen. Which is strange by itself. He doesn't remember seeing pears here before. Still, they're tempting. Very tempting. He's used to the lack of fresh foods when at sea, and the lack of fresh foods here for most of the year. But that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy fresh foods when he's got them.

He pulls a pear off the tree, and takes a bite, and it's a delicious pear. It's not a typical pear though, which he won't realize until he's inside the inn. He drops the fish in the kitchen and heads into the main room, where he finds some people doing apparently nothing. It doesn't matter much whether they're actually doing something or not; he picked a pear from the wrong tree and they'll be getting a scolding anyway.

"Arrr, ye scurvy dogs! There's work to be done. The lass in the galley needs some assistance, and if someone doesn't swab the deck I'll make you all walk the plank!"

The pirate's not drunk. He just shouldn't have eaten that pear.