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Below are the 8 most recent journal entries recorded in
Ptolemy Jones speaks for the fire crabs.'s InsaneJournal:
| Wednesday, April 4th, 2012 | |
| 7:27 am | It's a bit harder catching up on things now that tour's over, but everyone seems to be, uh, busy. So that's good. Congrats on the new song, mates. After having heard it every half hour on the radio at work, pretty sure I could sing it myself. Though I do feel out of the loop. Can I stand anyone a pint and a chat sometime this week? |
| Saturday, March 31st, 2012 | |
| 11:39 am | [backdated to the evening of 3/30, warded to the band] If you guys could consider not getting up to anything spectacularly interesting tonight, I'd appreciate it. I've gotten word there will be a thestral-fighting ring tonight in the old city's necropolis, and since I really don't know when an opportunity like this will come again, I'm going to do my best to I hope you all have a good evening despite the lack of an intrepid faithful scribe dogging your steps. Best, Ptolemy Jones |
| Saturday, March 24th, 2012 | |
| 8:19 pm | [Warded to the Weird Sisters] [OOC: Ptol would have shouted to look at their journals just before/as they entered the interview room] BAND! Sorry for the unexpected outburst, but you should be aware what a Quick Quotes Quill entails - and that's what these interviewers are using, which is -- horrible. They will absolutely, one-hundred-percent, twist whatever you can say to make it as salacious as possible. I recommend you stick to as bland a question or an answer as possible. This is nothing about actual quotes and all about taking what they can get and fucking with it to sell copies. I wish I could help more. Keep it short, sweet, and try to get out as soon as you can. --Ptolemy |
| Monday, March 19th, 2012 | |
| 10:16 am | I was planning to spend the next show in the pit with the fans, but I don't think my leg is up to it. Now I'm a bit at loose ends. I'd offer to be a frond-waver onstage, but I think that'd kind of slaughter the general ambiance. And make taking notes difficult. Anyone have an idea for where I could stick myself during the show? I don't want to get in anyone's way, but I'd really like to be able to see both the crowd and the stage if possible. |
| Tuesday, February 21st, 2012 | |
| 9:14 pm | Hi, Just wanted to let everyone on the journal network know that I've signed the preliminary non-disclosure agreements, and that your lawyer will probably be contacting each of you shortly to hammer out the details. Also. On top of the bog-standard contracts and paperwork -- well, I've spent the last week doing research and getting ready for the tour. Apparently most of the press you've been dealing with have been extremely unprofessional, unethical, and just generally have been horrible people. But I know just saying that isn't enough - anyone can say it, after all, and not necessarily mean it. To show you how seriously I take your privacy, I've made an Unbreakable Vow to that effect. Outside an Unforgivable curse or other form of extreme coercion, I will not reveal ANY information which any of you consider confidential to any outside sources. If I do, well. You know the consequences, and so do I. I hope this helps make you feel more comfortable about having me along on this tour. Please let me know if you have any other concerns, and I promise I'll do my best to address them before my assignment officially begins. I look forward to meeting you in person soon. Best,  |
| Sunday, February 12th, 2012 | |
| 3:21 pm | Hi, Weird Sisters et al I was given this journal by Mr. Chittock last night after he hired me to be the embedded RockWiz journalist for your upcoming European tour. Since I've got it handy, I figured it would be polite to go ahead and introduce myself. Especially since, well, I'll be underfoot quite a lot, as I gather I'll be staying on the band's tour bus. I promise I'll try to be as unobtrusive as possible. So... hello, then. I'm Ptolemy Jones. I'm a journalist for RockWiz, and have previously worked freelance for Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone (RockWiz's Muggle sister magazine), and a couple other publications. The goal is to have either a spring or summer series of RockWiz articles, or a special edition issue based entirely on the band, but nothing's set in stone at the moment. I can provide a list of my previous works and references if you're interested, but to be honest, I usually cover more political stories. Apparently my magazine and your manager are hoping to present a new, less genre-biased perspective on wizarding rock, so, ah. Here I am, I suppose. If you have any questions or concerns, I'll be available here or at the RockWiz offices. Otherwise, I'll see you soon. Best, |
| Friday, February 10th, 2012 | |
| 10:14 am | | how Ptolemy R. Jones potentially got into this mess | “I… would prefer not to?” Ptolemy said, as soon as he could find an opening in the spiel his boss was spouting, something about a fresh new perspective, and a plum of an assignment, and being the envy of all her staff. “I mean, thank you, for the opportunity, but—it’s music. Not really my area.” He brightened and started digging in his messenger bag. “But I’ve got an idea for an exposé on the London Owlery, their breeding standards are really going downhill and there’s something hinky about--” “Fuck the owls,” Mariam interrupted, and jabbed at him with her quill, sending flecks of ink all over his shirt. “And damn straight it’s not your area. It’s perfect.” Ptolemy squinted at her, then, when she seemed content to continue smiling at him in a forbodingly gleeful manner, concluded that now was not the time to defend the owls. Later, he promised himself, and drew himself up to politely refuse the frankly bizarre assignment his boss was trying to push on him. “Look, Tolly, you’re stagnating,” his boss said over his protests, kicking her legs up on her desk. Her skirt was – really short today. Ptol averted his eyes and tried to look anywhere else, but her legs were really just, long. And right there, and this was not helpful. “Please don’t call me Tolly,” he said weakly instead, and like the last ninety-two times he’d said it, Mariam showed no sign of hearing him. “In all honesty, some sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll are just what you need,” Mariam said, looking him up and down. Ptol clutched his messenger bag to his chest and managed to make a noise that he hope approximated a vehement denial, but she kept going, eyeing him with insulting dubiousness. “When’s the last time you got laid, kiddo? I mean, in all the years you’ve worked here, I’d say… maybe once?” How did she know that? “Is this a test?” Ptol asked in horror, scrambling mentally to recall the seminar they’d attended on sexual harassment. “Ma’am, I just, feel that my personal boundaries—wait, I can’t remember the rest.” He was pretty sure he’d saved the brochure, but it was in his office, which suddenly seemed way, way too far away. “Please don’t violate me.” Mariam just smiled. She looked like a shark. An evil, attractive shark that was his boss and was sending him on some sort of – musical tour? He didn’t understand how rocks were involved. Maybe it was a chorus of geomancers? “I just—why can’t I keep doing what I’m doing?” he asked plaintively. “I’m, I’m good at it! Exposés! Research far away from, um, most people. I just got a prize for it, I thought you liked that. The prestige. Of me doing my job, which is to investigate things. Not music-things. Other things. I’m just, I'm not an entertainment person, and I don’t—if you want someone who is looking to, um. To have all of those things you said, then you should ask Tony.” Tony was six feet tall and had bright pink hair and Ptol was pretty sure he had never shown up to work without being extremely altered on some charm or substance or another. Tony would be perfect for this assignment. He was pretty sure Tony even played something musical, unless his girlfriend’s name was Glockenspiel, which he supposed was also possible, but he preferred not to think about it too deeply. “That’s the thing. You,” Mariam said, still smiling the shark-smile, and jabbed her quill in Ptol’s direction again. This time he could definitely feel the splatter of ink against his face, in a tiny cold rain of droplets. Ptol was going to leave this meeting looking like he’d gotten a case of the polka-dot plague, he thought glumly. “You are perfect. A fresh perspective. A new, piercing look at the rock’n’roll lifestyle of an up-and-coming band from a completely unbiased background. You’ll see what a more jaded reporter might miss. Treat it like one of your exposés. Now pack your bags, I’ve got everything settled. You leave tonight.” “Tonight?" He didn't squeak, but it was a close thing. He was going to put his foot down this time. He was. "But—no. I won’t. I haven't done any research! And this, this isn’t—it isn’t in my contract. So, I think that you should choose, choose another reporter. I’m sorry, but that is—” Legs went down off the desk. Oh no. Mariam leaned forward, eyes narrowing. Oh god, she was going to eat him. He was going to die here, in this office, covered in purple ink, and then his kneazles would starve to death. “What was that, Jones?” “Nothing,” he said, and hung his head. Shit. Still, it was just a few musical events. Musicians. Ptolemy had spent weeks in the White Forest with bicorned water hippo poachers. How bad could a few musicians be, really? |
| Thursday, February 9th, 2012 | |
| 4:22 pm | | Ptolemy R. Jones | date of birth/age: 12 October, 1970 | 24 former house: Hufflepuff blood: Halfblood (wizard on mum’s side) job: Ace Reporter (usually re: industrial magical espionage and magical creature rights; ie, HE IS NOT SUITED FOR THIS ASSIGNMENT AT ALL) family: Mum, who is an expert in the biology of Magical Creatures, and Dad, who is a university chemistry professor | history | Ptolemy is an only child, and grew up in a very quiet household. His parents are mild-mannered, liberal, and highly intellectual. His father took the revelation of a wizarding world in stride, and is currently attempting to quantify wizarding chemistry and potions-work on the side. His mother is a biologist of magical creatures, and passed the love of all things cat, and all things animal, to her son. At Hogwarts, he was sorted into Hufflepuff, but the house was never a perfect fit. If he caught anyone abusing animals or otherwise innocent individuals, his temper flared up hot, quick, and unexpectedly strong, and he received his only detentions for dueling over the subject. Otherwise, though, Ptolemy spent so many lunches and evenings squirreled away in the library, most students probably assumed he was an especially quiet, mildly panicky Ravenclaw. He also got what he considered a completely undeserved reputation for being a good listener, mostly because he tended to go wide-eyed and helplessly pat shoulders when frazzled students collapsed on or around him during OWL and NEWT study sessions. Though generally taciturn and avoidant, Ptolemy has always yearned to make a difference, to speak for those who have no voice or platform to speak from, and so, to the shock of his family, friends, and professors, he promptly began writing for a variety of small newspapers after graduating Hogwarts. He's been doing surprisingly well, and is well-regarded in the field as a meticulous field researcher and a journalist of integrity. His focus has been uncovering corruption in the treatment of various magical creatures, and in fact he recently received one of the most prestigious wizarding journalist awards, the Scribelarian, for his work on unmasking a ring of sylph and kelpie poachers. So, Ptolemy is currently experiencing the strange yet giddy feeling of being totally hot stuff. Well, sort of. For possibly the first time in his life, Ptolemy has the respect and admiration of his peers. This makes him both pleased and terribly uncomfortable. At any rate, he definitely doesn't think his current assignment of being embedded in a wizarding rock group for their European tour is at all an appropriate use of his skills, but his current editor is insisting. He has yet to dissuade her, despite deploying his puppy eyes and also desperate stammering. Ptolemy has no conception at all of musical history, genre, or even what instruments are being played, but his editor thinks his outside approach is exactly the take that is needed. After all, rock stars are basically wild animals, and doesn't Ptolemy love wild animals? Of course he does. He has attempted to voice a protest, but has been blithely shot down. He's faced down bloodthirsty poachers and murderous businessmen, but nothing has ever made him as nervous as this latest assignment with the Weird Sisters. It is probably also worth noting at this point that Ptolemy has never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. He’s essentially a virgin, despite the three awkward hook-ups he’s had in his lifetime. Two ended in black eyes and broken noses (flailing limbs at fault), and one appeared to actually be pretty decent, or at least he'd thought so at the time. But then it ended with the other party strolling out the next morning without leaving a name, a number, or any sort of contact information or indication as to the satisfaction of the encounter on their part, so he could have been wrong. He probably was. | personality | Ptolemy is withdrawn, prone to being given nicknames he loathes (he hates PJ, tolerates Ptol, and very VERY grudgingly accepts Tolly from his mum and a few friends), and is generally just not a people person. He gets on better with cats, and it’s only after years of battering at his shell that his few friends have unearthed the quick-tongued, sarcastic man underneath. He had few friends growing up, mostly due to his ingrained desire to fade into the background, where he would be less likely to embarrass himself. He’s actually quite good at being ignored – his parents continually talk over him, even now that he’s an adult—and as such, he is often privy to confidential information. He’s not the most magically adept, but the way that he blends into the background and goes unnoticed is, perhaps, partially magical in nature. On the rare occasions his temper is raised to the point he overcomes his innate shyness and becomes confrontational, he’s a formidable duelist. In general, however, Ptolemy is uncomfortable in his own skin, uncomfortable with the skin of others, and generally convinced he is going to die alone, surrounded by kneazles. He has zero experience with drugs, very little experience with alcohol, and, as previously stated, basically no experience with sex. He is bisexual, but has only been with women in the past, mostly because women were the only ones to approach him. Ptolemy certainly is far too uncomfortable and insecure to approach anyone himself, though he is an expert at yearning and pining from afar. People who approach him generally get a rambling digression, a wide-eyed stare, and a disappearing act, after which he beats himself up for being a loser in private. But perhaps, at least, his work and legacy will live on, even if he does die alone with his cats. Ptol is trying very hard to be satisfied by that. His writing skills are really the only thing about himself that he is totally and completely confident about - if you want to see him work himself into an indignant froth, suggest he take up a Quick-Quotes Quill. Or worse, compare him to Rita Skeeter. He's, to put it lightly, not a fan. Ptolemy will never speak up on his own behalf –though he did stammer and protest a bit and attempt to worm out of his current assignment, on the grounds that he is both totally unsuited and also likely to be totally traumatized by it – but he will go to the mat for anyone he feels is being unfairly treated. He also flatly refuses to sensationalize, embellish, or otherwise mangle the truth - if he's going to publish a story, it will be as accurate a portrayal of reality as possible, regardless of whoever that might offend or piss off. | appearance | Ptolemy is skinny, the sort that is generously referred to as wiry. He’s actually fairly tall when he stops hunching, which is seldom. When on previous assignments, he has spent weeks in the wilderness, blithely enduring filth, parasites, danger, and poor nutrition, blinded to discomfort in the service of his cause and his story. When not on assignment, however, he is fastidious to a fault, and prefers regular bathing, constant healthy nutrition, and clean surroundings. His hair tends towards unruly curls, which he tries to curtail whenever possible. He has piercing blue eyes, which previous sort-of paramours have mentioned dotingly. This mostly embarrasses him and has contributed towards his tendency to keep from meeting the eyes of others in public situations. However, if on a story, he employs the piercing eye technique in full, and tends to make recalcitrant subjects quite nervous. His fashion sense, when off assignment, tends towards the casual (clean) t-shirt, hoodie, and jeans. When on assignment, he dresses appropriately to the situation (this once involved a yak suit), but he prefers the armor of a suit, tie, and collared shirt whenever possible. PB: Jesse Eisenberg |