revivalproject | Of Heart Breaks and other Intermissions

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Of Heart Breaks and other Intermissions

WHO: Jonathan Sims & you~
WHERE: Various
WHAT: May catch-all
WHEN: What remains of May
WARNINGS: He has cigarettes and feels terrible. Horror themes may pop up?

Cigarette Break [ hospital ]

A large slab of rubble a little away from the hospital's the emergency entrance has come to be Jon's preferred place to take a break. Or to just linger around to pass some time between cleaning up. Or to dwell on what sits on his mind.

It's that piece of rubble Jon can be found on. Sitting cross-legged and leaning against an even bigger piece of rock, a cup of tea next to him and a cigarette between trembling fingers. It's not lit and Jon makes no move to light it. Instead, he simply stares at it. He knows exactly who has left these anonymously for him and that... It still hurts.

Just another rejection, right? Those just seem to be happening to him... No one really wants him, no one needs him. Even here at the hospital. Not that he has any medical training to offer. Or any helpful magic. He's hardly even any use at cleaning this place up.

And he's getting tired of it. Tired of feeling useless. Tired of getting rejected. Tired of not knowing what to do.

Altair should arrive at the hospital soon, right? He has meant to talk to the Chiss. Though at this point Jon wouldn't mind any interaction that doesn't end with feeling rejected.

Reality Break [ around the city ]

Taking some time away from the hospital as well as the library feels necessary every now and then. There are still plenty of areas he hasn't explored yet and wandering about... Well. Aside from trying to fix things, what else really is there to do?

Jon spends a good amount of time in the Northern part of Temba. The gaping hole in the ground that used to be a mine is quite effectively keeping his attention for some time. Whatever has happened here to cause this damage... He wants to know. It has to have been dreadful. He also makes it to the hangar, wandering inside and instantly feeling just as lost as he has been on his first visit to this place.

He still can't believe these are actual space ships. But he doesn't enter the one he has been assigned to either. Just takes a moment to stare.

The entire North-Western area, not far from where he has claimed some small personal place for himself, is entirely peculiar. He will wander along the fenced-off structures thoughtfully. No one would stop him if he were to try and break into one of these, right? Has someone ever tried? All he needs is to find a way over or through these fences... Though as much as he contemplates the possibilities, Jon makes no move to try entering. If the tunnels have taught him one thing, then it's to at least attempt to prepare for such excursions.

Heading towards the forge..... Now that's a mistake Jon realizes once he draws near enough to spot the structure in the distance. And there he stops, guts twisting uncomfortably as his mind helpfully replays Tony's words to come by the forge for him to finally fix that broken front camera on Jon's phone.

A crack Tony remains responsible for in a way. Just as the man is responsible for invoking false hopes and false security and- Christ. The Archivist mutters something under his breath before he turns and makes to leave the area again before everything comes bubbling up yet again.

Lunch Break [ amphitheater ]

The large amphitheater is empty when Jon enters it. At least a center area at ground level is, and he doesn't bother to check thoroughly. At least he isn't walking into another training session and just may be able to distract himself and his mind for at least a short while. He crosses the entire area until he reaches one of the lowest benches and sets his satchel down on it before pulling out his tape recorder and the book Cayde has given him.

Right. It's about time he gets to read and record this. And as the library lacks a room that doesn't ruin any recording attempts through excessive echoing, one of the theaters will have to do. The acoustics in them has been the most acceptable during his testing.

He sets the recorder down at the bench and presses down the record button before stepping out into the center of the theater, opening the book once he has taken his place and opens it on the first page, muttering a little at being reminded just what the Exo has done to the book "...Jesus, this is a mess." But he still clears his throat.

"An account of Cayde-6, Hunter Vanguard of the Last City. Recorded by Jonathan Sims. ..." And he proceeds to read what Cayde has written between the actual text of the book, finding it easy and soothingly familiar to let himself drift off and let the written words carry him and his mind away at least for a little while.

God he really has missed doing this, hasn't he...

If anyone is to wander into this, they get the chance to test just how jumpy the Archivist can be. If they were in the theater from the very beginning, maybe enjoying a little nap on one of the upper ranks, they can either enjoy the reading, or yell at him to shut the hell up.

Mental Break(down) [ library ]

The shelves of the library remain depressingly empty, even as Jon slides Cayde's book onto one of them with the neatly labeled tape recording of its content sitting right on top of it. He sighs, shoulders slumping as he lets his hands drop to his sides.

It's just as empty as he feels, isn't it. How... fitting.

Why does he even still bother to try? It's not like anyone here needs or wants him around. Even the Agrii have gotten very quiet. Maybe their captors have been attacked and wiped out by now. That United Federation of Planets T'Pring spoke of doing away with this potential threat. It's possible, right? And they are not trapped on this planet for good.

So why does he still bother trying? Can't he just give in at last? Cast off whatever shreds of humanity tie him down and be the monster he can still hear Helen encourage him to be? Turn this city into a hunting ground. Draw out dark secrets and terrors and leave everyone with their own, personal nightmares until his actions get him hunted down by all these heroes.

A humorless, shallow laugh echoes through the empty library halls. Heroes do need monsters to hunt, right? Maybe that's his place after all.

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While Jon misses Tony's expression or the reason behind it, Tony actually will receive a couple of answers to this little list of questions he sent over the following days - All recorded as voice messages, of course. And primarily questions that ask for plain facts.

He does wince a little at seeing his phone being cracked open this easily. Tony walking away? It stings in a way that hardly makes sense, given that obviously he has needs the desk to properly work on the phone. Though it takes some effort to stay where he is for Jon. To not get up and follow to watch. So all he gets is Tony's voice as he mumbles to the pieces in front of him.

"...you speak to it." He observes pointlessly. Because he doesn't occasionally talk to his tape recorders.

"She let me undress her, no reason to be rude," Tony explained absently as he fit everything back together. He only turned around again when the case was back on the device, tools away, and he was turning it on to check his work. The crack no longer marred Jon's camera image, and the focus didn't seem misaligned so--oh, god, is that what Tony looked like? No wonder Jon didn't want anything to do with him when he walked in here. Tony raised a lip of disgust at his own image, then took his time with the camera trying to push his hair into some kind of order that was never going to be satisfying under these conditions. Giving up on the project didn't stop him from shifting mercurially into a smouldering smirk that was gone the moment the shutter clicked. "Good. I'll put it on your tab," he concluded and tossed the device carelessly across to Jon, realizing his mistake at the apex of its arc with what was mostly disappointment. Jon was not going to handle that with grace.

Grace? Grace is not something the Archivist is blessed with, that it true. Certainly not this Archivist. And he is well aware just how badly this is bound to go. It wouldn’t be the first time he caught something with his face. Which is likely going to happen unless Jon manages to catch the device before it reaches him.

Of course there is no guarantee for him to make that catch - And yet he tries. By pushing himself onto his feet much to quickly, trying to grab the phone in the air with both his hands only to miss and... Have his chin catch the device after all. Which naturally results with other Jon and his phone tumbling to the floor. Not because the impact was too hard, but because Jon still hasn’t recovered enough for that leap.

At least the phone takes no new damage and Tony can look forward to the day that Jon accidentally sets the photo he has just taken as his lock and home screen given that his knack for technology is easily on par with his grace.

That was almost funny, until it wasn't. There was no way for Tony to react fast enough to catch Jon's fall, fully anticipating him fumbling the phone but not faceplanting in the meantime-- he hadn't even been standing. Tony was on his knees again next to Jon as quickly as he was able, one hand rubbing reassuringly down his back and the other sliding under him if he needed the help to sit back up again and show Tony the damage. "Shit, don't break it again with your face, there's plenty of ways to get me to come over without destroying something beautiful. Did I tell you yet that I was in Little League? I've never seen a worse catch in my life, that was honestly remarkable, you should be studied."

“...I don’t appreciate being studied right now.” Jon mumbles disapprovingly into the floor, but does pull his phone out from under himself before pushing himself up enough to more or less sit on the ground and inspect the device in his hand for any new damage. His other hand readjusts his glasses.

“I... i think it’s okay.” Just a Short sigh following his words before Jon makes a rather simple observation. “That really wasn’t necessary.”

That small cut on his chin? Already in the process of healing. So he’s okay in that regard.

When it was clear enough that Jon wasn't suffering from severe head trauma, Tony allowed himself to laugh, a bubbling, hysterical giggle that he composed quickly with a shake of his head and schooled his expression back into a somber frown. Okay, it really wasn't funny anymore now. He gave a brief touch of a knuckle under Jon's chin in apology for the dent, his expression very briefly genuine before he was bouncing up on his feet again. "What wasn't, that performance? I know, you would have been better off just staying where you were, my aim wasn't that bad," he said as he headed back toward the desk, and the direction Jon seemed to have been looking in when he explained the statements. They hadn't been on the table, so Tony took a guess at a cupboard to peek in. "You're going to eat," he announced, "and we're going to pretend that wouldn't have happened if you had been taking care of yourself, and then the next time I see you were going to start working on your balance. Just get aligned, get focused, fix your back a little bit before you start shrinking. More." He returned with a tape player and started to hand it to Jon, only to withdraw and hold it aloft expectantly, waiting for Jon to get himself together and off the floor or ask for help if he needed it. This would go very differently depending on the answer.

“Right. That’s... Not a terrible idea.” Jon agrees. To the part of getting around to that statement as well as the balance work, actually. As long as he isn’t being asked again to wield a long piece of steel, he is rather willing to work with Tony there.

He keeps half of an eye on Tony when the man wanders off to fetch the recorder, and casts him a somewhat pouting look for not simply handing the device over. Fine. He hasn’t been planning to keep sitting on the floor anyway. And there choice he is wordlessly presented with isn’t exactly a difficult one for Jon.

“Can you please help me stand.”

The thing is, Jon isn’t above asking for help. Never really has been. And the few he tried to fend off any assistance haven’t really worked out well in his favor. In his experience there isn’t anything wrong with requesting some assistance. And this is by far not the first time he has required help to get back onto his feet. It’s far more embarrassing to struggle and not get up in tune end as far as he’s concerned.

"I've never had a bad one," Tony muttered as he held the recorder out of the way against his shoulder with a lopsided smile, as though he hadn't just thrown a phone at Jon's face. As much as he appreciate Jon being able to ask for help when he needed it, Tony frowned, not liking to find out that he needed it. So, he was staying. He crouched to offer a shoulder to Jon and help him up with an arm around his waist, immediately disliking this reversal and stretching to his full height to pick him up off the floor again instead. "Where do you...go?" he asked, not sure if Jon even rested when he was busy not sleeping or eating or getting fresh air.

“You know, you don’t need to carry me.” Jon points out, a little bewildered at being - yet again - simply picked up “You can just... help me walk. Around my desk. I can work there.”

Of course he plans to do some more work aside from listening to the tape. What is this odd thing called rest, please?

This was really starting to make Tony hate himself, he could feel his face doing that thing he always loathed to see on Pepper's when she found him in the morning. In punishment for making Tony have those thoughts, he hiked Jon up over his shoulder and was not particularly smooth as he turned on his heel to head away from the desk and the work, without a proper plan yet. There was a bank of windows on the landing overlooking the entrance hall, that seemed like the cozy kind of place to sun a feisty cat. "I think I do need to. I think somebody should have been carrying you for some time now, because unless you think you can detox and come out the other side of this thing alone, you're just creating new problems on top of the ones we already have, and I haven't even figured out an itemized list of those yet. Everyone is scattered across this fucking place, I can't even keep track of who knows how to feed themselves or has a bed or is having a fucking baby, and you've got me dealing with this."

"Wha- Wait! What are you- Where are you taking me?! Tony. I..." Of course Jon protests at being carried away from his desk and towards- The entrance hall? He even puts up a valiant effort of attempting to struggle free. Not that his actions are met with much that can be considered success, but at least he can claim to have put up a fight?

Sort of?

It's an admittedly short-lived struggle, though. Especially with Tony voicing his various frustrations.

"W- w-wait a second!" Jon tries to cut in while at the same time trying to twist himself to at least remotely be able to look Tony in the face. Again, with rather limited success. "I'm not some drug addict, Tony. I don't need to... Detox. And that aside, you can't possibly try and solve every problem people have on this planet. It doesn't work that way!"

If Jon's weak flailing even had the effect of making Tony roll his eyes, it didn't show. Tony had to put more effort into climbing the brief flight of stairs to the grimy glass bowl overlooking a wilting, weed-choked garden and more crumbling buildings beyond it. He tugged the jacket from around his waist in his free hand to pile against the window before depositing Jon into it with the recorder pressed to his chest, and bit, "Watch me." Tony knew he couldn't solve every problem, but the problems people chose to make certainly slowed him down. He was used to the Avengers Mansion where he knew if Pietro had worn through his shoes or Hank's medication was making him constipated, and the only reason the whole building didn't fall down around them every other day was because Tony was solving the problem. It did fall down because he wasn't paying attention. If Jon didn't want to deal with this one, fine, it was Tony's problem now.

He pressed his back against the opposite side of the window bank to slide down to the floor, watching Jon through half-lidded eyes as he tried to call up the bugs that had made him abandon D.A.T.A. at the bench in frustration and slowly unwrapped his hands. The code was incomplete on the network, but at least the network was there to occupy him.

Watch me. Tony says, and Jon all but blinks up at him, finding himself with a tape recorder in his hands and sitting in this little nest Tony has created from his own jacket. It's still warm and the idea that it might very well smell of the man is... It's distracting. So Job tries to concentrate on the recorder, takes a moment to take out the tape inside to check if it's the right one before pushing it back in and closing the recorder with a soft click.

Right. This one should do.

Seeing that Tony has settled down not too far from him, though, has Jon's attention drawn over to him and he tilts his head slightly "You... Sure you want to stick around for this? N-not that I want to chase you away. I enjoy your presence! But... They can be- A lot. To listen to."

'I enjoy your presence' was a weirdly crafted enough line that Jon may have only been able to salvage with that accent, if it wasn't tarnished by the horror show he put on at Tony's arrival. It didn't really matter what Jon enjoyed anyway, Tony wasn't going anywhere just to find out from someone like Altair that he had fainted and slowly expired on the library floor. Tony's lashes barely fluttered in acknowledgement and he said absently, "I've heard worse." He wasn't anywhere near confident that was true, not with the theories he had about how Jon had to deal with his hunger problem, but Tony had his doubts about how visceral the experience of listening to a guy tell a story on cassette could be. He had studied for exams in rowdier atmospheres.

Jon observes the reaction, then takes a moment to mentally go over it before he gives a small nod, along with a muttered “...alright.” H eyes drop down to his recorder and he exhales, then gently presses down the play button upon which the recording begins to play back.

The moment the voice of a to Tony unfamiliar young man, who would introduce himself soon enough as Martin, begins to speak, Jon’s eyes drift shut and he settles into Tony’s jacket, breathing evenly almost as if fallen asleep. He is far from asleep, though. Just drawn in completely by the statement read by his last remaining assistant. The cannibalistic tale of an abandoned amusement park and the narrow escape of the victim.

Would it surprise Tony to learn that Jon has scavenged this particular tape upon his return from the carnival?

It’s only after the recorded conversation between Martin and Peter Lukas that the tape clicks off, curiously enough without Jon actively pressing the respective button. But he does stir back into consciousness, blinking a few times and inhaling before giving the recorder an odd look “...what?”

There were enough familiar names on the recording that Tony had to assume the whole production was incestuous, and Jon already knew most of these details, including who both of the speakers were. It wasn't immediately obvious what this had done for him, though--either for his hunger, or for his unique connection to home. It really wasn't clear if this was welcome. The story itself didn't seem that awful-- kids making bad decisions, a creepy amusement park, zombie movie stuff--but Tony never found zombies that hard to deal with in the first place. Vampires were much more insidious.

By then, the strips of scrap he used to keep his hands out of the fire were in a ragged pile between his knees and Tony was testing the new scabs on his hands by slowly flexing them, fingers working in a counter-rhythm as his focus shifted between the tape and the code he picked apart. "That it?" he eventually prompted. It was soft, but clearly still irritable, as he added, "That all you had to do?"

Jon looks over at Tony when the man asks his questions. That Tony doesn’t appear as affected by the recording as Jon would have expected from people he knows at the Institute comes with a certain relief. But maybe that’s just it. Tony doesn’t work for the Institute. He doesn’t belong to the Eye. He might experience the statements in a whole different way.

It’s a thought that puts a little smile to Jon’s face, and he nods, leaning forward to set the recorder to the floor before giving a verbal response, voice gentle “Yes. That’s is. I feel better now. Though I’d rather not see another carnival in a while.” A pause, and his voice drops “And I worry about Martin. But... Little I can do about that here.” And nothing Tony needed to hear.

“I owe you a drink. Or possibly more. For putting up with this- With me.”

Edited (Fixed it! ) 2020-05-15 01:48 (UTC)

Tony took a deep breath that became a sigh as he dropped his head back against the window, eyes still heavy lidded but the twitching tension finally melting from his shoulders. He didn't know what to do with what Jon thought he owed him and flicked a loose hand dismissively-- Jon could have easily hidden every part of that from Tony and left him guessing every time he did some weird shit again, or worse, left him to find out from someone else that Jon had entrusted with the details. He would rather be 'putting up' with Jon. He had put up with Tony plenty.

"We'll be out of this soon," he assured Jon quietly, still confident despite the mounting evidence against them, and a dry patter of dust sighing down the steps as the rotting building gave a groan and settled again as though to mock their efforts, "you'll be giving him shit about whatever decisions he was making without you in no time." Tony hadn't really come around to the idea that they just forgot their time here upon returning home-- he couldn't imagine it would be that easy to extract the frustrated notes of panic Jon was capable of under the manipulation of Tony's hands, and he closed his eyes finally to breathe a laugh at the thought that he could only give another dismissive gesture for.

There is very little reassuring in Tony’s words. Instead, Jon finds himself faced with a couple of very conflicting emotions. And it shows in the deep frown forming on his face.

Of course he wants to go back home and... Face whatever it is Lukas has been planning to use Martin for. Of course he wants to be there for his friends who might very well need him. Of course he wants to leave this crumbling planet and it’s destroyed city. Of course...

Of course he has to put to words the question they were both facing.

“...do you believe we will forget? When we go back?” The though and actually phrasing it puts a knot into his guts. He doesn’t want to forget. At least not everything. Not everyone.

It was starting to become clear that the less Tony had to say, the more likely Jon was going to be able to follow his thought; if his mind hadn't just gone to the same place Tony's had, he didn't know how to place that wan expression that was back on Jon's face when he shot Jon a sidelong look for the question. He couldn't imagine it was entirely himself that was making the thought so depressing to Jon, he had been tinkering away at a little life for himself here in Temba, and it sounded like he didn't have a lot of good things to be left with back home, but Tony started to smirk as though he knew it was. He rolled up onto his knees to reach across the window bay and grab Jon by the ankles, dragging him off of the jacket and across the dusty, stone floor until Tony could brace himself over Jon's shoulders and press a kiss to his brow. "Do you think that would stop me from coming to find you?" he asked, and his grin made the question sound like a wicked threat. "You're racking up a tab, boss. You wouldn't believe my hourly back home."

Having been busy enough wallowing in his own bleak outlook of forgetting and being forgotten, Jon doesn't notice that Tony is making a move until he is yanked across the floor, his own yelp of surprise being cut short by the other man appearing over him and effectively leaving Jon staring wide-eyed up at him.

"Tony! That's-- Jesus Christ-" He stammers at first, one of his hands instinctively coming to rest on Tony's upper arm while Jon properly sorts the situation into its current perspective.

Well. Trust in Tony to utterly derail his brooding if he deems it necessary, be his methods appropriate or not.

Jon lets out a faux sigh of admitted defeat before musing aloud, offering one half of a shrug to the observation he is about to make "If that's a promise, then I suppose it means I can't try to get rid of any of that debt prematurely."

"You can try," Tony corrected as he stretched again over Jon to collect his jacket, dragging it with what looked like about as much effort as he had put into dragging Jon across the floor, "but I doubt whatever beans you're going to trade me here is going to put in a worthwhile dent. What are you on, some kind of librarian salary? I'm going to be garnishing your wages for the next sixty years, easy. That lens cost you your first born's college fund. I am a luxury, Mr. Sims." He sat up on his knees with another dangerous smirk to pile his clothes together, then gave Jon's thigh a pat that could have been reassuring if he didn't threaten, "I'll be there to collect, with interest." Dimension hopping wasn't really Tony's area, but between his more enterprising debt collectors and the promise of a real mindfuck of a magic monster to dangle in front of Strange, it wasn't a totally empty threat. He had seen some people make bigger moves for less.

"Well;" Jon says, pulling up his brows for a short moment before pushing himself into a sitting position, supporting himself with one of his arms and inclining his head slightly at Tony as he responds in a perfectly serious voice "You're a luxury- and I'm a monster. So you better hold your word or I will have to derive a ritual to summon you into my world rather than Beholding."

Jon manages to sound serious and maintain eye contact until those words are spoken, then instantly feels silly for them and drops his gaze away, feeling that familiar heat of embarrassment burning up his face. The hand that has been about to reach up to touch Tony's face equally falters halfway and drops back into his lap. Jon swallows, trying to find anything else to look at and takes a deep breath "I... I mean- I don't want to forget you."

What that esoteric summons was supposed to look or feel like was well outside of Tony's understanding and he could only chuckle at the threat?, invitation? that Jon didn't seem confident in, either, brow raised in a confused apology for what was going to be an ongoing willful ignorance of any kind of magic ritual Jon wanted to tell him about. That wasn't Tony's business. The expression warmed as Jon looked away, though, as Tony was glad to see any colour come back to his face at this point, never mind Tony's favourite one, and he almost pressed Jon on the details then to make him squirm and heighten the blush.

Jon wasn't supposed to go and say that out loud after Tony had worked so hard to put so many words between it and them, literally dragging Jon away from it. Tony was supposed to be being careful now, and it was backfiring, he hadn't even managed one day. He definitely couldn't say it back now. "That's impossible, look at me," he said, just a little too loud to his own ears, with a practiced grin as he grabbed up his jacket again to start tugging it on. His mistake this time, he realized, was staying too long, loathe to leave until Jon had evened out and longing selfishly for the touch that meant he was forgiven and had taken the intensity of Jon's anger well. The second one had probably coloured the first too much, Jon was probably fine, he could have gotten himself to the cupboard, Tony's stalling was cruel. "If you really think you could forget this face, we'll make you one of your tapes," he suggested, filling the space. "Statement begins," his Martin accent wasn't great, he had only heard it the one time, give him a break, "Subject was suffering in the paradise of a planet called Risa, nothing on offer appealing to his most cultivated tastes, when he was blessed by the image of the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Subject couldn't even maintain a conversation, so overcome with passion that he had to end the transmission." That Jon probably would have thought this one had fully lost his mind.

The point of forgetting someone he cares about or being forgotten... It has been a tricky topic for Jon ever since he accepted the position as Head Archivist. Gertrude going missing with Elias being dodgy about what happened had originally made him very keen on avoiding to become another mystery. To make sure he documents and records everything to make sure that whoever took his job after he himself might go missing as well knew what happened.

Then the Not!Them took Sasha. Replaced her and erased her very existence from everyone's mind - Safe for Melanie. Christ, the fights he has had with Melanie over there only ever having been one Sasha at the Institute... Only because him along with everyone else had forgotten her entirely.

And Jon still can't remember her face. It's gone. Her voice, preserved on a few older tapes, he managed to retrieve. But those are all that is left of Sasha. The idea of entirely forgetting someone else... It's outright terrifying. And yet this is... It's not something he feels like sharing with Tony. The man has proven wary enough about the creatures Jon has had to deal with back in his world.

Instead, he chuckles, pulling his own legs under himself and shaking his head mildly "...you know I can't possibly play you that tape. Ever." Because there are tapes of his thoughts and observations from his time on Risa. Just as there are from his time on Temba. Recorded accounts of events and thoughts and confessions.

Jon reaches his other hand up now, the one he hasn't dropped moments before. The one bearing a large burn scar he earned from an unexpectedly painful handshake. This time his hand makes it all the way up to Tony's face, where he brushes the back of his fingers gently along the man's jaw. Which is a rare enough gesture for him, never having been one to initiate physical contact not born from panic or fear. Though he lets his fingers linger briefly before remarking almost thoughtfully "The most beautiful creature isn't exactly the wording I used, however."

It isn't. It is the most infuriating prig.

He lets his hand drop again with his gaze and stands up with a small sigh, none of the previous struggle in his movements remaining. It's clear enough that Tony has better places to be than indulge him any further - And Jon has embarrassed himself enough for one day.

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Of Heart Breaks and other Intermissions

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picking him up is the Theme now, sorry

It’s a good theme~

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