Make your Statement, face your fear.

[beholding_archivist]

WHO: Jonathan Sims & YOU
WHERE: Jon's Calibration Room
WHAT: Explore the Archivist's mind
WHEN: During the Calibration Event [ June 3rd - July 10th ]
WARNINGS: EYES - Body horror, possible mentions of unsettling events including kidnapping, death and dreadful monsters

The Archivist's office is a mess. Most offices are. Especially offices located in basements. Offices that belong to equally chaotic archives. And the archives of the Magnus Institute are incredibly chaotic. Gertrude Robinson has seen to that. And yet the mess in this office isn't hers. It's the mess of the current Archivist, right now seated behind his cluttered desk, appearing even smaller than he actually is, the small lamp on the table serving as the only actual source of light in this room. In front of the Archivist sits a small pile of statement files on a dining plate, but his attention isn't on the files, it's on his visitor.

There are more of these files spread all over the room. Cardboard boxes full of them stacked high and pushed into whatever free corner has once existed in it. Further boxes are stacked less high or are plain lying around, some closed, some opened, some rummaged through. Other, smaller boxes that aren't filled with files join the previous ones. There are also a few metal shelves covering part of the walls. And file cabinets. There are more files in these as well as more boxes and books. Most of them scientific in nature, some deal with the arcane, myths and legends. Various types of tape recorders and boxes of tapes are also widely strewn about as well as loose pages of paper, the occasional tea mug and cobwebs. For some reason or another there are at least a dozen fire extinguishers to be spotted throughout the room, and it likely isn't due to the clearly used ashtray or the golden lighter with a cobweb design engraved onto it on the desk near the Archivist's dust-covered laptop, untouched cup of tea and the sole human rib. Aside from more stray sheets of paper and some writing equipment, a single book also resides on the desk, its title introducing it as A Guest for Mr. Spider.

Though there is more to be found in the various shelves as well. A knife as well as a cleaver, an unsuspecting whistle that seems to be surrounded by an odd fog and will vanish should one try to reach for it. Underneath one of the shelves, there even is a plain cardboard box filled with C-4 plastic explosives. Further up, a roughly football-sized dark sun dares the visitor to look at it to plunge them into utter and complete darkness. The frisbee some may recognize as a certain someone's shield seems a little out of place as it lays unassuming on one of the higher shelves, covering an odd little action figure from view.

But maybe one feels more compelled to look out of the window, suspiciously present in this basement office. Outside lies the vastness of space, set to incite the feeling of falling right into it unless one pulls away from the sight in time. Or the human-sized mannequin standing motionless in one of the corners, wearing an ancient gorilla skin along with its top hat and a wide, leery, painted-on grin. It has no eyes. The pulsing, black and red veins creeping along the walls of the office and present themselves in varying sizes and thicknesses may also draw the visitor's attention. Or the seemingly harmless and somewhat misplaced looking yellow door draws them in, just there on the wall behind that coffin lying on the floor as if it belongs there. Thick chains are wrapped around it with a padlock holding them close, key stuck inside and inviting the visitor to unlock it. Just ignore the large letters carved into its wood imploring you to 'DO NOT OPEN' the casket. It'll be fine.

Yet... How tempting all of these things may be, the visitor may be unable to entirely ignore the MASSIVE EYE taking up the entire ceiling of the room, glowing an eerie green and watching their every move. Or any of the other eyes scattered around the room. The walls, the cabinets, the shelves, the side of the Archivist's desk, the corners, the floor, the Archivist's forehead. All shapes and sizes and colors and all of them watching the visitor unblinking, unjudging. Just following their every move around the room - Just as the Archivist himself does.

Maybe you want to look around, and maybe you just want to take a seat in that single empty chair before the Archivist's desk. There is just enough room between it and the casket to not feel too cramped in. As for the trap door next to the Archivist's desk... Now that one won't open just yet.

Comments

what's in the box what's in the box what's in the box -ooh c4- wait no

[deal_me_in]

"Well this is...cozy."

It's the nicest thing he can think of to say as he walks around, or tries to navigate the cramped space. Cayde feels like one misstep will cause a domino effect of an avalanche. He also has a nagging feeling that he's missing some important detail, but even so he takes it in stride as with everything else around the cluttered room.

Besides, there's so much to look at. Disturbing things, sure, and apparently he's not the only one doing the looking, but there's STUFF.

No blowing up his mind, Cayde.

[beholding_archivist]

"Hardly." Jon comments from his place at his desk, hands clasped idly before him as he watches the Exo maneuver through the accumulated items and terrible memories.

He isn't entirely sure what he is waiting for to happen right there and then. Yes, this place looks mostly like his office, but is this a dream? If it's a dream, then why is Cayde there. And when will the dream turn into a nightmare...?

Hey you're the one with the C4 just -sitting- there

[deal_me_in]

The only reason he hasn't touched anything yet is because he can't make up his mind on what to poke at first. The fact that there are things that look like weapons are highly curious, unusual even, for someone like Jon to have. He eventually circles closer by the desk, if only to have a closer look at the stuff there.

"Heh. I know a Mister Spider. Well, there's no 'mister' about him, really," he chuckled, his eyes already roving to another thing, tugging his attention elsewhere. "This place is like some twisted museum." He turns, shoving aside that feeling again, because surely there's a reason why he's suddenly in...

The Exo slows to a stop, a scowl tugging at his metal brow. "Actually, yeah. That is a good question," he muses to himself before beginning to turn towards the Archivist behind the desk. "How'd we-"

His cloak flutters and falls again as he suddenly halts from his pivot, glowing eyes settling upon the coffin sitting there. "...you seriously need a new decorator," Cayde mutters, inching his way over to eye the words of warning carved on its lid.

Part of being the Archivist entails blowing stuff up, Cayde

[beholding_archivist]

Jon keeps following Cayde's movements with his eyes, the one on his forehead remaining on the Exo while his regular ones follow his notion towards the book "I don't recommend reading that." He says matter-of-factly. "I saw it devour another boy when I was eight." He has tried to move it elsewhere, but apparently he can't change anything about this room.

He takes a deep breath and glances at a few other items he would rather hide from view, briefly closes his own two eyes before shrugging "I don't know. I don't even know how much of this is real. I... Remember going to sleep. Which I don't really do anymore. But my dreams... They usually aren't... This." A pause. "I know my dreams. I remember where I got every single one of them. This? Is wrong."

"As for that-" Jon looks impassively at the casket. "It leads into the Buried. Also known as The Choke or Too Close I Cannot Breathe. The fear of being trapped. Claustrophobia. That the weight of the entire world comes crashing down on you. It's... Not pleasant heading in there."

Can I just sign up for the blowing stuff up part

[deal_me_in]

The Exo pauses and looks back towards Jon, grimacing. "And you kept it since then?" The book. Why would you keep a book that you saw had eaten someone. "Why don't you just burn it?"

He straightens from studying the coffin, arms akimbo as he eyes the rest of the room. "I like my trophies but this is super weird. ...sleep? I do that every now and then. Maybe that's why I can't remember how I got here. Also you've got a little..."

A hand gestures vaguely towards his own forehead. "...something...extra. Actually, a lot of extras. Did you know you have an eye problem?" He squints up at the one up top, having the immense urge to want to poke it.

of course she's touching bones because death is her life

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa hates wandering into these rooms, hates seeing snippets of people's lives that they might never reveal otherwise. It isn't fair, to take something that should be given. This messy room seems to be Jon's and while it's packed to the brim with things of all sorts of interest, it's the rib bone that draws her interest.

Bones are no stranger to her. Death has been her life since she was a girl, starting with her lord father, and she'd been through a battle against the dead before the light came again. She'd used a dagger against wights. She'd destroyed bones come to life again.

As she draws her fingers along the curve of this bone, however, she wonders what memory it holds.

Ah, Sansa wants to meet the Boneturner~ Bodyhorror warning for this one.

[beholding_archivist]

The memory that flickers to life morphs the dark office into a long, curved corridor lined with mirrors and the floor covered by a carpet seemingly as endless as the corridor itself. Intricate and captivating spiral patterns decorate the walls, the frames of the mirrors, the carpet. It feels easy to get lost in it.

And yet the corridor itself isn't the core piece of this memory. No... This memory isn't about the Spiral. But it's really hard to miss the two beings standing face to face within this corridor. One being the Archivist, the other... Well. Jared Hopworth used to be a man. Now he is a lot more. In the most literal sense. More flesh, more bones, more organs than a person should possess. His hulking form looms over the Archivist expectantly while the much smaller man casts a worried look up at the mass of flesh, one hand clinging to his tape recorder, the other raised placatingly "Alright! Alright." He says, pausing briefly "Is it, uh… Is is going to hurt?"

The huge man shifts his mass slightly, indicating a shrug "Dunno. Doesn’t hurt me." Without much more hesitation Jared reaches a huge hand towards and into the Archivist's body, whose sounds of agony make it perfectly clear that whatever Jared is doing does hurt. What exactly this is becomes clear moments later, when he pulls his hand out of Jon's body again, holding that very rib Sansa has moved her finger over.

"That’s yours. What’s it for?" The Boneturner asks, hardly sounding interested in the answer as the Archivist struggles to recover a little before uttering a response "Um… A, A-An anchor"

Jared makes a short noise that might be one of simply accepting the answer "Huh. Right." He pauses for a moment, then reaches out again "Anyway, this one’s for me" Again, the Archivist makes the pain of the procedure very much known, yet manages to remain conscious while Jared pulls another rib from his body only to examine it somewhat skeptically "Huh. That’s a weird one. Not sure I like it. Still. Mine now."

The Archivist is left sputtering weakly, struggling for words "I supp… I suppose it is."

"You said I could leave." Jared mentions after pushing Jon's ribs into his own body, not at all seeming bothered by the action. The Archivist nods, just barely "Y-yes. Just, uh… I-If you start walking that way, I-I-I’m sure there’ll be a door for you." "There’d better be." Jared replies and turns to move away.

Jon is left standing where he has been standing this entire time, shaking, but holding his rib "Y-Y-Yes, I, uh…" That's all he gets out before simply collapsing on the spot.


The memory ends and the corridor shifts back to being the Archivist's office. Jon's eyes linger on his rib from where he is still sitting at his desk, hands clasped before him and lips pressed into a tight line very much matching his frown. The one eye on his forehead remains trained on Sansa, never leaving her.

"It... Wasn't worth the pain. In the end." Jon comments without looking up at her himself.

oh boy

[theladyofwinterfell]

"By the Old Gods and New, that's terrible," Sansa says, taking her hand from the bone. She's no stranger to pain or seeing horrible things but she's never going to be used to seeing them happen to innocent people. What she knows of Jon is a kind man, someone who doesn't want to hurt people. This isn't a person who's martial or cruel. He's someone who helps, so far as she knows.

"I've seen such things before," she admits, turning to look at him. "My...my second husband was fond of flaying people alive. I bear the scars of it but not where you'd see in my clothes normally. I'm no stranger to pain or gore but I do wonder what the purpose of it was. Why did you allow him to do such a thing?"

Sansa cannot see why it would be voluntary unless he had to do it to help someone else as a selfless act. She's keen to know the answer.

[beholding_archivist]

It's true that Jon doesn't actively wish to hurt people. And yet there is that lingering part of him that has come to enjoy observing the terrors and agony of others. A part that is directly tied to him becoming the avatar of Beholding for sure.

"Your own husband?" The Archivist inquires with a frown, looking up at the woman fully now. Of course he is well aware that such violence exists even back in his own, modern world. But looking at Sansa, standing there, he can't help but wonder why. And yet that's a question Jon has always been asking himself when hearing or reading about such dreadful events.

And he is glad that she has gotten away from that situation, apparently. Tyrion wouldn't harm her. That's a thought Jon finds some relief in at least.

Her question... Now that makes him take a breath.

"I... ah... I needed an anchor. To head into the Buried." He unclasps his hands and gestures towards the coffin. "A friend... She was in there. I hoped if I left something- A part of myself... If I left that outside... That I could find my way back. That I could get us both out."

So much clutter

[backoff]

Cloud froze in his spot as soon as he entered the room. The feeling of all eyes on you is instant and he shirks back almost instantly but tries to not bump into anything. He notices that his exit isn't behind him any longer. How could that be? He had just fallen asleep too. Was this a dream? Was he in someone else's dream? It's an odd familiar feeling that he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

The many eyes on everything seemed extreme. Cloud starts walking around the office. It's very messy and different from offices he's used to seeing. He tries to round a corner and immediately whacks against some of the cardboard boxes. "Shit!" He grabs hold of them before they start tumbling forward into anything. It takes a moment to get them rebalanced. His eyes scan the room again and this time he sees something. He spots the Archivist but he's not entirely sure what he's seeing. Cloud's mouth is partly opened and his eyes drift downward to focus on that single empty chair.

He carefully maneuvers his way around everything. It now became a goal. As Cloud gets near, he reaches out to touch and grab the empty chair ignoring the rest of the room.

[beholding_archivist]

The Archivist follows the young man's movements with his eyes, hands clasped on the desk before him. He knows this room is a mess, but he also knows that there is little he can do about it.

Two of his eyes blink at Cloud's struggle with the boxes, the third one doesn't. He then follows Cloud's trail towards the chair, not fully sure what to expect to happen from that.

Touching the chair itself does not trigger a specific memory, but rather flashes of different people sitting in that very chair across the Archivist, talking to him as he listens and takes in their stories, tape recorder running on the table between them. The snippets of tales make no real sense, but aside from the feeling of dread from each of these people as they recount their terrible encounters, each of them radiates a compulsion to share their experience with the Archivist.

It's that same compulsion Cloud will feel pulling on him, urging him to sit down, make his statement and face his fears. The Archivist doesn't judge. He merely watches, listens and records.

[backoff]

Cloud's fingers tighten on the back of the chair as he sees the flashes of memories. It's fuzzy and hazy on what the people were talking about to the Archivist at first. The feeling of dread sinks into him, slowly weaving its way to his gut.

There's something coming over him. Cloud's felt a similar compulsion before but it was meant to be used against his will in a different matter. He can't help but slide immediately into the chair.

"I want forgiveness from someone that's not possible anymore. I couldn't protect her. I had no control over myself." He clenches his hands into fists as they rest against his knees. Why was he giving this encounter away to the Archivist? It's fresh, it's been on his mind.

[beholding_archivist]

Even the Archivist isn't entirely sure what sensation overcomes Cloud when he touches the chair, but he watches regardless, feeling his own curiosity rising. When Cloud sits and one of the tape recorders on his desk begins recording, the Archivist simply inclines his head a little at the device, but primarily his attention remains on his visitor.

Oh. Guilt. And loss. Not having been able to protect someone and yearning for forgiveness that has slipped well out of one's reach.... Yes. The Archivist is very familiar with that feeling. He, also, longs for forgiveness.

He doesn't say it, however. Instead, he just nods encouragingly "Tell me what happened?"

This is a dream, right? No one in here can possibly end up getting terrible nightmares from making a statement. Or at least that's what the Archivist hopes.

Hey Asshole!

[doubled_speed]

To step into the mind of someone he hated so much was probably a dangerous decision. But here Tommy was anyway, stepping into the place and not immediately moving to touch anything. His eyes dart around, quick as you like, taking in most everything as he ignores Jon and wanders around. Interesting.

"Dude, Cap Spangle's shield? That's creepy."

[beholding_archivist]

Oh dear. A potentially troublesome visitor. But... What can he do aside from watch?

The Archivist clasps his hands together quietly, the numerous eyes scattered around the room all trained on the mutant. When Tommy eventually points out Cap's shield, Jon raises a brow and looks up towards the item in question. Then he shrugs.

"I don't know. It's... Not mine." Neither the shield, not the toy made to look like it. Though he has a guess why it's here.

[doubled_speed]

"Why's it here?" Tommy counters, looking at the man in a leery manner. Clearly he wants to reach for it. In fact, he's moving closer, hoping to grab it. And stares up at it. Considering. "You got the hots for Cap to? Because seemed like you were all over Tony back there."

[beholding_archivist]

It's the question that earns Tommy an indignant look, the Archivist's fists clenching on his table. The observation that follows the question has Jon glance away, attempting not to appear too flustered.

"...Tony wanted it." He then admits. "At the carnival. He... Made me win one for him."

[afterform]

Vincent wandered into an unknown room with unfamiliar belongings. Despite knowing the familiar sight of books, files, weapons, recorders, and so forth, he could not make sense of the surrounding nor its collection of items. Although he could recognize most of the things for what they were alone, Vincent could not understand their meaning to whomever this room belonged. Vincent caught sight of the mannequin wearing what looked like skin, and he turned his gaze away. The sight unsettled him. Vincent then was beckoned by the sight of a coffin. Vincent's gut lurched, and he held his breath before he stepped forward toward the wooden casket. Familiarity sprouted within his mind alongside discomfort. Vincent could not understand the purpose of such a thing within the room full of odds and inns.

Vincent towered over the coffin for a long silent moment. He pieced together an association with this room founded on his past. Terror weaved unitedly with memory, and he constructed a personal tie to the owner of this space.

Whoever this place belonged to was less of a question as he imagined Hojo to occupy this space.

[beholding_archivist]

The Archivist observes his so far unfamiliar visitor, dozens of eyes following Vincent's every move. When Vincent nears the casket, the Archivist raises his head slightly, his hands folding on the top of his desk. He's familiar with the soft song of the coffin. The luring sounds as well as the agonizing scratching. And he knows it is trying to draw the stranger in.

Though the longer Vincent stands near the coffin, the more he will feel his breath being cut off and the walls of the already small room pressing in on him.

"I advise against opening it." The Archivist's voice cuts through the silence.

[afterform]

The advice broke Vincent's concentration, and he looked from the coffin to the man who spoke. His eyes narrowed with a groove to his brow. He did not recognize the man. However, he wasn't at all displeased to find it was someone other than whom he had in mind. He stepped away from the coffin that roused memories and came closer to the other.

"Where is this?" He asked about the room; his tone was calm and clear. He lingered a moment to examine the other man before his curious eyes wandered off once again to look around.

[beholding_archivist]

"Well, it looks like my office back in London. But apparently it's supposed to be my mind." And like anyone else Jon isn't too thrilled by having other people poke about his memories.

He gives a short wave with his hands to indicate their surroundings "Most of these are- Tied to dreadful memories and events. Some appear to be dangerous and I... I literally can't remove any of these. I'm not sure if the casket just a memory or if it will try to pull you into the Buried, but... I'm reluctant to find out?"

bitch you live like this

[in_extremis]

Being watched wasn't a new sensation, and Tony already knew exactly what to do when all eyes, as it were, were on him, but the green glow did make him hesitate enough to effect the performance. That buzzing flicker of power didn't seem to accompany it this time, and Jon looked placid enough, and so far there was no threat of permanent injury in these places. The psychological damage was debatable, but the quick assessment left Tony confident enough to flash his polished smile and wink up at the mother-eyeball, hand on his hip and head tilted like he could seduce it like he would a camera. When that didn't produce immediate results, he dropped the smile to complain, "Nothing?" as though the watchers had any way to express their enchantment with him, then tugged at the collar of his shirt to offer, "You waiting for a show?"

This was nothing, Tony was wasting his time and it looked like there was approximately eight thousand details to work through in this room. He wasn't even going to try to lead with the same offer Jon had given him, locking eyes with him instead with the promise that this was going to be invasive and Tony was prepared to debate him on the morality of it if he really wanted to. Holding Jon's gaze, Tony blindly reached for the file folder and mug he had spotted on the nearest shelf, intent on preparing a character to begin this interrogation.

just enjoy the comfy chaos

[beholding_archivist]

Whatever reaction Tony has been hoping to receive from the unblinking eyes around them he clearly is looking for in the wrong direction, for Jon's raised brow is still part of Jon's face and he is still sitting at his desk, hands folded on said desk and watching Tony through every single one of these eyes. He is just opening his mouth to say something to Tony about playing with the eyes when the man looks at him directly, prompting Jon's second brow to join its counterpart and before the Archivist gets to say a single word, the room shifts with a flicker of visible as well as audible static into - A remarkably similar room! The floor is the same, the walls are the same, the ceiling is the same, there are the same types of shelves and filing cabinets. It's definitely part of the same basement. Definitely part of the same archive. But it's not an office. It's more of a storage room with a small cot set up in one of the corner surrounded by fire extinguishers and currently occupied by a somewhat younger Archivist leading into the scene with an ear-splitting scream of pain.

How one can easily tell that this Archivist is younger than the one on Temba is fairly easy: He lacks any of his scars, has fewer grey hairs and wears an actually decent haircut rather than the partially outgrown mess the visitor may be more used to. He overall appears tidier - As long as one can overlook the pulled up pant leg revealing a bloody leg underneath, bleeding from a couple of holes left by having several comparably large worms being removed with a corkscrew by a- Person. A person crouching before him, her appearance entirely blurry aside from the fact that she is female based on her voice, which is perfectly clear to be understood.

Then there is a third person. A young man who is turning on a tape recorder mid-scream, muttering "And… there we go. Recording again. Did you get it?" His voice might identify him as Martin from the tape Jon played in Tony's presence. The woman armed with the corkscrew pulls another worm free with a nasty squelching noise, which results in another scream from the Archivist. Which she doesn't sound too impressed by "There. And I just want to point out that I didn’t make this much of a fuss." Gritting his teeth and still panting from the ordeal, Jon casts her a bit of a scowl "I think your removal was substantially cleaner." She doesn't pick up on the complain, but turns to Martin instead, holding up the corkscrew "I’m still not sure why you have this. Drinking in the archives?" To which Martin sputters "What? No, no, it’s for worms." And Jon tosses in a "What?"

Martin looks at both of them in turn and adds: "For pulling the worms out of people. Like now." This time it's the woman's turn to voice her disbelief "You, er… what?" This causes Martin to fidget a little "I used to carry around a knife, but I started thinking that, well, cutting into someone laterally wasn’t really the most efficient way to get them out, and besides which, they seem to be quite slow burrowing in a straight line so, given their size, th-the corkscrew just seemed to be the better option." He pauses for a moment, then elaborates with a gesture towards the other two. "Look, you guys got to go home every day, okay. I didn’t! I’ve been thinking for a long time about what to do when… well, y’know, this happens."

Jon nods in acceptance to those words. "Well… thank you." He has come to press a piece of fabric to his bleeding leg, probably a shirt, as the woman does the same to another wound, her attention still on Martin "That’s why we’re here?"

"Yeah. The room’s sealed, I checked it myself when I moved in." Martin replies with a nod and Jon adds to that with some added details. "Climate controlled, as well. Strong door. Soundproof. These old files are far better protected than we ever were. Alright, I’ll grant you it’s a good place to lay low, but -" "They could still come in through the air con." The woman points out, getting a bit of a shrug from Jon. "Not easily. And… not en masse. It is actually safe." Martin interrupts him with a short, yet doubtful scoffing noise, to which Jon casts his assistant a glare. "Except, of course, that we’re trapped."

"Why record it?" Asks the woman again, now turning to Jon, who cuts off his glaring to give her a confused look. "What?"

She gestures towards the recorder "Before, in the office. It, it was stupid going for the tape recorder like that, and then when you dropped it out there -"

"I said I was sorry. If I’d known Martin had another one stashed in here, I never would have…" Jon begins to apologize, but is cut off by her again. "No, it’s, it’s fine, just… I just don’t understand. I thought you hated the damn thing. You’re always going on about it."

It's with an exasperated sigh that Jon replies. "I do! I did. I just… I don’t want to become a mystery. I refuse to become another goddamn mystery."

"What?" The woman sounds genuinely confused.

It's Jon's turn to elaborate, and he does so with a small gesture towards the door. "Look, even if you ignore the walking soil-sack out there, and the fact that we are probably minutes from death, there is still so much more happening here."

Martin frowns, looking towards the door "I’m not sure we can really ignore the -"

Though Jon cuts him off before he can finish his sentence "Every real statement just leads… deeper into something I don’t even know the shape of yet. And to top it all, I still don’t know what happened to Gertrude. Officially she’s still missing, but Elias is no help and the police were pretty clear that the wait to call her dead is just a formality. If I die, wormfood or… something else, whatever, I’m going to make damn sure the same doesn’t happen to me. Whoever takes over from me is going to know exactly what happened."

The blurry woman inclines her head. "You don’t think that would… put them off?"

Jon replies with a sharp and bitter laugh. "I hope so. Only an idiot would stay in this job."

"Wouldn’t that make you an idiot?" Martin returns with a soft chuckle.

"Yes, Martin, that was my point." Is the last sentence this younger Archivist speaks before the earlier static returns and the memory flickers back to the office setting this dream has started in.


Jon remains silent for a few more moments, his attention now in the general direction where his younger self and the featureless woman have been sitting.

Once those moments have passed, Jon sighs and turns towards Tony. "That was a strong start. Glad to have you here."

[in_extremis]

There were so many eccentric objects littering this room that Tony hadn't anticipated the very mundane ones triggering a memory, especially not one with so much screaming. He was left standing with the file folder in a limp arm at his side and the mug hooked loosely around the handle, arm still up but cup swinging like it would be pouring across the floor if there were any tea left. They weren't really on Tony's mind anymore. He glanced between the fire extinguishers and the shelves before landing back on Jon, searching expression softening very briefly with what might have been an apology now, still not for the intrusion (apparently, Jon was the naked memoir type, this was barely a problem) but for that...sound. It was gone quickly for Tony to suddenly gather himself back on task, sauntering like he had intended to to join Jon at his desk, slapping the file down like he was adding to Jon's inbox before carelessly perching himself at the edge of the table, shoving back anything that might have been in the way behind him as he slid into a secure seat with a foot braced on Jon's chair. "First question: what's your problem with women?" he asked, not sure if that was entirely a joke to get Jon to explain the blurry image. It wasn't like Tony had seen Jon interact with many women, this wasn't a great display to lead with. This could have been its own pandora's box.

[beholding_archivist]

Jon doesn’t get a chance to complain about Tony sitting on his desk. Instead, he looks up somewhat confused, his two regular eyes blinking twice. “W-what? I don’t have a problem with- oh. Y-you mean.... Sasha.” At those words, Jon looks down first, then over to where his assistant has been crouching.

“She..... She’s gone. Taken by Not Them. The Stranger. Fear of the unknown, the feeling that something isn’t right...” Trailing off for a moment Jon first gestures towards the mannequin, then turns to his desk and opens one of its drawers to search through some of the papers there before pulling out a file folder and flipping it open in his hand before pulling out the photo of a woman and hand it to Tony “This is- This is the Not Them. It took her, then took her place in any way possible. Sasha didn’t look like this, though. I-... I found the tapes with her real voice later... Tapes and polaroids... Those remain unaffected.” Jon pauses. “This.... is the last time I saw her before she died and was replaced. We.... we didn’t notice. Not until much later.”