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[ Unlike the last time Jon has appeared on this network, this time it's very intentional. And it's very obvious that it is intentional. Apparently he has found himself a usable desk (presumably in the hospital) and has taken the time to prop up his phone appropriately to address his fellow involuntary inhabitants of this lovely place.

It's also rather obvious that he has been using this desk for a few days now at least. There is a comparably neat stack of paper in front of him, two or three notebooks, an assortment of pens, two different types of tape recorders along with some tapes and an empty mug all rather present and no, he doesn't really care about the slight mess. He himself looks a little messy himself, though that's just his normal state of being perpetually tired. But... There are more important things right now, right? Like... How to even start. ]

Uhh... Good evening.

[ That's just remotely awkward. But okay. ]

I have- I mean. I already spoke to a few of you. Either through this network or at an actual encounter in person and... I suppose you might have noticed me at that little welcome home party the Agrii have set up, but... Let's not talk about that. That was... Dreadful.

[ He pauses a moment to sort his thoughts, then goes on. ]

To those I haven't met yet: Hello. I'm Jonathan Sims and I have agreed to help with the hospital.

[ Here he makes a short gesture with one hand to indicate his surroundings. He is indeed at the hospital. Maybe that's your clue to avoid needing medical help anytime soon?

He drops that hand back down. ]

Further, I have decided to take on the task of turning what is left of what appears to have been a library once back into an actual library. To be more precise: I plan to make recordings along with written pieces and store them there once the place is cleaned up. These may serve for our own reference, but also for the Agrii if they are so inclined. My hope is that by teaching them about ourselves, our worlds and our language, we can achieve a more successful way of communicating with them. Learn to understand what they want and need and- You get the idea.

Now what I need is to find a suitable format to record on. While I work with magnetic tapes a lot myself for certain reasons, I am not unfamiliar with digital recordings. Also I am well aware that some of you come from worlds that are technically far more advanced than my Earth happens to be, so I... I would be interested to know if there are more practical formats available. Preferably ones that allow for video as well as audio recordings and don't necessarily require additional hardware for playback. Your universe's version of the data points to be found across this city, for example, just possibly without that direct access to a person's mind. Given that we may soon have access to a functioning replicator... It should be possible.

[ He lets that hang there, then takes a moment to try and think what else he might have to add. He ends up with a short shrug and half a sigh. ]

I guess that's it. If you have a suggestion you believe might work, I would very much like to hear it. And before you ask: Yes, I am planning to keep a purely digital library along with a physically accessible one.

Thank you.

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To his credit, Jon doesn't back away when Tony approaches him. But that may just be him being stubborn. Just as he stubbornly locks his eyes on Tony's almost as if to dare him to try anything funny. The Archivist also makes no move to stop the other man when Tony took hold of his wrist and almost gently pulls the recorder from his hand. He doesn't need that one. Christ, for all he knows, there is already a new one sitting under this pile of debris, faithfully recording away.

Though despite his stubborn display, there is a slight twitch at the corner of his lip when the first question is being asked. And he ever so slightly narrows his eyes at the second. Just why does this man keep on asking.

"Fear." Jon answers plainly, deciding to take the risk against better judgement. But that, also, is just what he is. His tone drops notably when he goes on, almost as if trying to bury itself within the words he speaks.

"I see fear. Fear, and the truth. I am the avatar of the Ceaseless Watcher. Beholding. The Eye. The manifestation of the fear of being followed, exposed, watched, judged... Of having your darkest secrets known. The drive to know and understand. The fear that you are suffering for the sole sake of someone watching. That is what I am."

The words simply hang there for a moment before Jon finally exhales and a decent part of all that stubborn tension in him seems to seep away.

If he didn't get anything else out of Jon for asking, it seemed like Tony would have been satisfied with that exhale, his shoulders dropping to mirror Jon's as he gave another appreciative pat to Jon's arm. That wasn't so hard, was it? Jon was clearly struggling with shame and a very private kind of horror for his own, personal existence, but Tony responded to that tone with a mild, "We've got one of those." 'We' as in Tony's dimension, and while Jon's language made it seem like his situation was more chthonic than cosmic, that was really a question of which was the snake's head and which was the tail. The pertinent details was strikingly familiar. Tony turned enough to chuck the tape recorder into the scrap pile with the rest of the metal garbage and continued, "We just call him The Watcher. Them, I don't know. They show up whenever something big happens-- an important event in the greater story of the universe, to be the witness. Fear is usually involved, it's always a war or an assassination or the opening of some Pandora's box, you know-- a flashpoint, an evolution." Tony didn't think this was helpful information at all, but Jon had earned a break from talking. "Most people find that terrifying. Change. The future. Something you can't know, not for sure, not even the Watchers." He licked his lips between his teeth and raised his eyebrows with a question that he couldn't quite articulate, a vague inquiry into Jon's general state of affairs, before adding, "So, you're a real pervert, huh?"

Jon's attention is drawn to where Tony has patted his arm and he regards the spot that has received the wordlessly sympathetic gesture as he listens to the brief introduction to The Watcher. And he can see the parallels - And the differences. The Eye is but one aspect of fear. One of fourteen entities of fear.

Tony's Watcher seems to encompass them all. Maybe even more than that. Maybe serving more as a neutral party truly dedicated to little more than observing, witnessing. The role doesn't sound too different from his own, for the most part lacking the tie to an evil dread god bend on changing the Earth to its liking and allow it to fully manifest in reality. So... No. Maybe it's not the most useful information, but to Jon at least it's not uninteresting.

Being called a pervert, however, brings a twitch to his eye and he casts a daring glare up at the other man,deciding that very moment that he won't tell him that the recorder might just vanish any moment.

"Please be aware that I can force you to tell me your darkest or most embarrassing secrets. And I make it a habit to record these as well. If I wanted to, I could simply know which movies made you cry and how often you disappointed your parents. So I ask that you don't call me a pervert - Or force me to do either. Believe me that it wouldn't be fun for either of us." The last bit may be a little exaggerated. But Jon is reluctant to make it known that being compelled is a pleasant experience. Which does make sense in a way. All of Jon's victims were very willing to share what he asked of them after all. Yes, he can forcefully extract knowledge as well, but for the most part he rather makes people want to do something.

But making it sound unpleasant feels safer to him.

That was supposed to be the kind of joke that Tony knew would get Jon talking again, and while he knew well enough by now to expect this energy in return, he found himself chuckling at how exactly Jon thought he was defending his honour here. They really were from very different worlds, that would have been obvious even if they had been born on the same ground, and Tony raised his eyebrows in adoration at what he could only describe as a reluctant threat from a very eccentric man. To share his laugh, Tony asked in a stage whisper, "Do you think that makes you sound like less of a pervert?"

The threat might have carried more weight if Jon had left it at 'darkest or most embarrassing', because emotionally damaging secrets was just one of the many things Tony was rich in, but movies that made him cry and exactly how disappointing he was, to anyone, never mind his dad, weren't the kind of things he could keep under his mattress under normal circumstances. It would take some real work to get Tony anxious over a unique shame; he didn't have a lot. "Come on," he encouraged, sweeping back around to their physical job, "we'll make you a dirty movie later." They had been trying to accomplish something here, after all. "Do you not feel fear often yourself then, is that what the storm did to you?"

The Archivist visibly flinches at the first comment, sputtering something incoherent and taking a step back. The second comment leaves him flustered and while he's glad that Tony already turned away, Jon makes sure to look elsewhere himself "Christ, you are dreadful! Could you just stop that?!"

His new perspective lets him notice that the tape recorder has vanished, and he makes it a point to get himself very invested in a new piece of stone, huffing slightly at the latest question "And that is none of your business."

The best response that Tony had to that rebuke was that he was making it his business, and while Jon had come around and admitted to his far more personal Fear thing, he seemed to be weirdly resistant to helping Tony figure out what power the storm had over him. Maybe when Tony had his own experience with the effects he would be more welcomed into that club, but he had been kind of hoping he could help all of them avoid it altogether the next time a storm rolled through town. He was the new kid, he was getting the message loud and clear now, he was trying to put in the menial labour that was expected of him here and obviously he had a few piles of rubble to climb before the fraternity really opened their doors.

He crouched at the edge of this pile, sweeping aside some smaller pebbles of poured stone where the small dent they had made revealed a few crafted pieces that had sifted to the bottom of the pile, hardware of some kind that could have been part of anything from a security system in the stacks, or the data points. It was a good find, either way, and while Tony carefully collected them, he asked, "Why does that get you so worked up? D'you ever fix your camera?" He wasn't going to quickly forget what had set Jon off the first time they had talked, but Tony realized he hadn't really noticed if the crack was still there when he had messaged today. It seemed to suit Jon.

"I apologize, but not everyone appreciates being called a pervert." The Archivist grumbles while pulling some smaller pieces of wood from the pile, pointedly not looking over to Tony. No, he didn't connect the question to his reaction towards being asked about the storm again. This is, in fact, a little less prominent to him than the teasing.

He tosses the wood in the wood-corner and proceeds to pull a piece of stone free that obviously he won't be able to pick up. But he can stubbornly push it across the floor, which he fully intends to do. Just watch him!

Though being asked about the camera at least earns Tony a brief pause in Jon's adamant irritation "What- I... I used the back camera." Which may seem more complicated than just accepting a crack going across your screen, but when, precisely, isn't Jon prone to make things complicated?

It really wasn't meant to have been a storm question, for once, so Tony didn't have a particularly good rebuttal; lighten up, Tony was just playing with him, was not going to have a transformative effect on Jon's personality. If it did, Tony knew it would be Mr. Hyde he was dealing with, anyway. The scrape of the stone across the ground had Tony turning to see what he was struggling with now, and, to his credit, didn't completely laugh out loud in exasperation at Jon's insistence when he'd had a perfectly reasonable invitation to get back to his pencil pushing, but Tony did drop from where he sat on his heels onto his butt to watch the production from the floor, elbows propped on his knees to pass his treasures through his fingers idly like poker chips.

The back camera might have explained the unmarred image, but it said a lot more about the lengths Jon might go to to control the image he presented, because that was a goofy way to have a conversation just to look a little normal and Tony did snort at that visual. At least that revelation made his resistance to Tony's teasing seem less the result of some sexual trauma, but it could still very well be some kind of homophobic panic. Jon really needed someone to show him how to be more malleable if he wanted to sell a convincing story to the public. "Good, I'm glad that's all, because I've been meaning to tell you, you really fill out those pants well. What's your squat routine like?" Tony tested, his steely stare not quite matching with his blandly innocent smile.

Jon plain freezes in places at those words, his rock only about a meter where he has been meaning to push it. He blinks twice, still pretty much frozen, the heat of embarrassment easily turning his face red as he turns his head to locate Tony and cast him a flustered glare of disbelief.

"What are- Where-- W-would you-!"

It's somewhere among that stuttering that he realizes that he's still VERY MUCH presenting himself to be mocked. Jon pushes himself up faster than necessary and staggers backwards a few steps, face red and eyes wide and WHAT has he done to deserve this?!

"S-Stop making fun of me!" Jon manages to protest, not quite managing to glare, but giving it a valid try.

Jon couldn't even begin to play it off-- Tony fully expected to catch that breakdown on his face, but Jon really lacked the skill for any improvisation. Either he never socialized at all, or he was so rigidly in control of all of his social interactions that no one was allowed to take him by surprise. It was much harder to believe that no one on his planet had ever flirted with Jon. Tony put his free hand up in defense, insisting, "I wasn't making fun of you," which wasn't strictly true but he was the one that chose to struggle with a rock and put his own workout regimen on blast. The flirting wasn't supposed to be anything but flattering, and that Jon went straight for 'making fun' must have been from lived experience. "Did you get bullied a lot in school or something?" Tony surmised.

"Right, you weren't." Jon replies, obviously not believing Tony and more than a little reluctant to return to moving the rock. Instead, he remains where he stands, still flustered, but eyes properly settling on Tony.

"What is it with the personal questions all of the sudden?" He asks instead of answering - actually asks. Tony might notice the compulsion prodding at his mind, attempting to lure out the man's intentions. The truth. Of course Jon has been bullied, and he has watched one of those bullies being devoured by an evil book that almost got him first. But he isn't quite willing to tell that to this man that enjoys embarrassing him so much.

Rather, he wants to know what Tony's game is here. And he is almost willing to forcefully drag that information out of him.

When Jon could finally bring himself to make eye contact again, Tony gave him a wry grin with his tongue pressed under a predatory canine; if Jon was going to press Tony on how much of what he said was bullying or flirting, Tony wasn't going to make it easy on him. He was so prepared for that game that it caught him off guard when he answered, "I'm trying to figure you out, because I like you and I have to be prepared for what pressure is going to make you crack here." This wasn't untrue, and while it wasn't a secret that he was prone to testing people's boundaries, he didn't like the idea of just offering his hand like that and admitting he was ready to play chess with his foes and allies alike if it came to it. He had a hard enough time keeping friends without that tendency just being out in the open, seeing them as parts in a machine. Never mind the phrasing; Tony didn't say he liked anything, because he didn't have a good record of liking anything in healthy measures, so it was much safer never to admit that kind of thing to himself or anyone else. Trying to rationalize it before either of them could linger on a chink in the armor, Tony added, "It can be lonely here," which wasn't at all how he meant to phrase that--that was supposed to be, this was a big challenge to take on on your own, something, something, teamwork. It was Tony's turn to look to the mess in the library intently for an excuse to escape scrutiny, clearing his throat and bouncing back up onto his feet easily, only he was still holding his computer chips and these pants didn't have pockets. He tugged clumsily at a board that was sticking out of the rubble that he thought maybe he could haul out with one hand.

That isn't the answer Jon has expected. He isn't even sure if he expected to get an answer at all!

And yet...

This man that liked to display himself as even more of a pompous ass than Jon has ever done actually... Cares? It's not often that anyone tells Jon that they like him. Few people do and he isn't exactly working hard on changing those minds. And even in this instance the words are more the result of him applying some sort of questionable eldritch powers.

Which... He probably shouldn't have.

"Jesus..." Jon mutters to himself and steps forward, making his approach obvious to the man he just exposed more than he had previously exposed himself until he stands next to him, his attention more on what Tony is doing than the man himself.

"I'm sorry." He apologizes, voice soft and almost reluctant as he gestures with one hand the one Tony still holds - Whatever it is he has found within this mess. Jon opens up and holds out his other hand before simply prompting "Let me take that."

The approach caused an obvious tension in Tony's jaw as he bit his tongue, not eager to open his mouth again for once because he was really worried that Jon's model of social grace was contagious and Tony couldn't trust what might come out now, no matter how much he felt like he should have been filling this vacuum with some distracting bloviating. Neither of them had to address what Tony had to say, but one of them was going to have to change the topic so they could all ignore it properly.

It was only the apology that fit this puzzle together properly, because Jon's question had some so naturally and easily, and didn't seem at all like he was forcing Tony. In fact, he deployed it with less charge than most of his other responses to Tony; if he had a second thought, Tony didn't hear it. It was hard to know, then, what else he hadn't noticed. His glance Jon's way at his offer was cuttingly cold, trying to spot the angle that he hadn't seen through yet, and Tony kept this watch on him as he dropped the chips into Jon's waiting hand and with the smallest gesture, metals. He yanked the board free easily with both hands then, but found he was dreading Jon asking him another question with every step he took toward the small accumulation of woods, so as he dropped it with a clatter among them he said, "I hope that was fun for you." Tony really hadn't thought he had secrets to keep, and he wasn't enjoying reflecting on how naturally it came to him to obfuscate what he really meant. He pushed his sleeves back down as he headed back to the door they had entered through, shivering at the exposure.

The look he receives makes Jon's blood run cold. He can only bear it for a moment before fixing his attention on what Tony drops into his hand and he takes a more instinctive step back when the other man pulls the wood free at last.

And of course he doesn't miss the dread either.

The dread caused by him. Given what he is, he should feel good about that, shouldn't he? He should welcome causing people to dread him and wallow in observing his good work. But he can't. He knows what he has done was wrong and seeing the result - It's not a good feeling. Maybe he does still have some part of his humanity left after all. It may well be that part that feels a bout of fear itself at seeing Tony pull free the board - An item he might as well use as a weapon. Just bludgeoning the monster into a bloody mess on the floor and leaving it here.

None of that happened, though. But the remark feels worse than a physical attack. Jon winces and looks up and after the other man, his hand closing around the pieces of metal he is still holding. Seeing Tony leave like that causes something inside of him twist in an unpleasant way and before he knows it, Jon hurries after him, his free hand reaching to get a hold of Tony's arm.

"Tim, wait! Please wait. I'm sorry! This wasn't what I-" Now if only he had a more coherent idea of what to say aside from profusely apologizing. That he accidentally used another person's name has yet to dawn on him.

Edited 2020-04-22 11:52 (UTC)

The leaving was supposed to be a relief for both of them, Tony wasn't used to being chased after so he slowed automatically at the first command that wasn't even for him. They both must have been seeing something in each other that wasn't there, because Bruce would have been slamming the door behind him and happy to call Tony on his hypocrisy for manipulating and prodding so much information out of him, only to short out as soon as anyone tried the same with Tony.

Bruce never used any fucking magic powers on him, though.

Tony didn't quite yank his arm away, but clearly held it stiffly away from himself, like he was ready to disengage with it if Jon had that betray him, too. He wasn't ready to trust his own mouth yet, but feeling hunted and under pressure made him minimally patient while he watched Jon searchingly, waiting for him to either realize what he had said, or figure out where he was going with it. Too slow. He had to cut this off, cauterized, so both of them could have their space. Clearly, Jon had been on a world tour of freaking people out, he didn't even know what he should be apologizing for. "You let me know when Tim forgives you. We'll start a group," Tony offered, waving Jon off then.

As Tony has already correctly observed, Jon isn't the most adept at common social behavior - Especially since he seems to keep losing people close to him.

It's Tony's comment that makes him fully realize just what he has said, and the remark cuts deep, making it easy for Tony to pull his arm away while Jon takes a wounded step backwards, grief settling over desperate determination. Tim. Jon has heard Tim's last words when he woke up from his coma. The lingering betrayal and understandable lack of forgiveness before he gave his life to stop the Unknowing and avenge his brother.

How often has Jon wished he had been of more use during that event. More capable of protecting those he cared about.

And now he's doing it again. Hurting someone who meant well.

Guilt and shame interlace with grief and all Jon can do is look away, the hand that has tried to keep a hold on Tony clutching onto his own upper arm as if in search for something to hold on to.

"Tim is dead." He confesses, voice weak "...he never forgave me."

And it's moments like that that Jon wonders if these feelings of guilt and pain will go away once he fully stops being human. Once he, probably, stops caring at last.

Tony wasn't sure what to do with the information, frozen again when he really wanted to leave and searching Jon once more, trying to see where he had missed Jon's lies. If this was another manipulation, Tony was loathe to fall for it, feeling shortsighted enough for not noticing the way Jon had compelled him, but if it was true and Jon's demeanor wasn't an act...

Well, Tony wasn't a fan of dealing with that, either. Never mind that he was the one to drive the knife in, but none of his PhDs were in emotional support. That might have been evident in the way he muttered, "You're such an asshole." It wasn't done bitterly, but with the exhaustion of someone who was resigned to this awkward web that Jon had tangled them in and was familiar enough with the situation to know his walking away was the more volatile move. There was no telling what the fallout of that could be, but the worst that could happen if Tony stuck around to see it through was Jon getting in his head again. He gestured with a listless arm to get Jon's attention, eyes back up here, buddy, then raised a finger, not quite bringing it to his lips but a clear sign for Jon to keep his spellcasting mouth shut, thanks. As long as it seemed like Jon would agree to that, Tony swung that arm around his shoulders, burying his hand in Jon's hair, hyper aware of the texture between his fingers where the smooth slip gave way to the thicker, wiriness of the gray; Jon was too old to be pulling some shit like pretending a friend was dead, and Tony turned him back toward the problem they were supposed to be dealing with. Tony owed it to him to see that through, but he wasn't going to let Jon know that. "We don't have to talk to each other anymore," he explained, "but we're going to get some of this done before we lose the light."

Well, Jon sure could shoot that asshole-comment right back, but he does take note of the tone and he blinks twice before catching the movement of Tony's arm as well as the small gesture and before he knows it, there is an arm around his shoulder and a hand in his hair in a gesture that feels foreign to Jon but oddly comforting in its own unpredictive way.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself with a small, still shaky nod "I... won't ask any more questions." Jon agrees "But I don't like the thought of us not talking anymore." Tim has avoided talking to him for months despite them still working together. The few times they exchanged words, they fought. And Tim always made sure to blame Jon for everything that has happened. Rightfully, maybe. In some way or another.

"Let's try not to feel alone together, instead." A cautious, and maybe a little hopeful suggestion.

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The true reason for the camera is OOC-fail. I forgot about it \o/ And thus we have a new quirk.

he didn't have enough anyway, very normal

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I don't know if this is how it works

And yet you nailed it~

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Belated edit because I just saw this opportunity and I'm not above taking it.

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i didn't mean to do THAT

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