revivalproject | Make your Statement, face your fear.

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Make your Statement, face your fear.

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.

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"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.

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."

"You gave of yourself to save someone you cared about. That's...that's a noble thing to do. It's a difficult thing to do, I think, and while most would say they'd do it when faced with the situation, I don't know that they'd be able to."

Sansa knows she'd endure Ramsay's knives as long as she had to as long as it meant her family was safe. She would give her body and her sanity for House Stark, if need be, and damn nearly had. She's touched that Jon would sacrifice so much for someone he cared about.

"My brother's name is Jon too, you know. He'd do something like that - he's always been excessively good."

Those words of praise make Jon look own at his desk again, feeling rather self-conscious all of the sudden. He doesn't deserve to be held in such high regards.

"I... I'm not sure if I would have dared to do it if I hadn't been convinced I couldn't die." Jon admits, now glancing back to the coffin "And yet- I still underestimated that place. It's horrible." Basira wouldn't have forgiven him had he gone in stupidly only to die. Returning Daisy to her at least made her forgive his recklessness.

Sansa mentioning her brother earns her a tiny, maybe a little apologetic smile as he gestures vaguely around them "I hope he is making better choices in life than I do, then."

"Jon? Doubtful. He thinks with his heart, not his head," Sansa says, laughing softly. "But I do hope that he is happy. He is free from crowns and kings and queens. He's in the North beyond the Wall now where there is no law, no bond, only freedom to do what a man wishes. It's better for him, I think, to be north with his direwolf."

She tips her head, curious. "Do you miss it? The place you came from? Or do you like it here better?"

There are a lot of stray pieces of information here. Tiny pieces that add the the mental construct Jon keeps of the world Sansa and Tyrion stem from. Not a modern world in the way he is familiar with it, that much has been clear for a while now. A world filled with dangers, kingdoms and war...

Her question interrupts his train of thought and Jon looks up.

"What-? Oh..." He swallows once, then casts a slow look around.

"I... Actually..." And this feels almost traitorous to admit. "I think I am... Happier here? I mean, I- I have been here for months and no one tried to kill me. No one tried to end the world... It's... It's so much quieter here. I'm not as scared here as I have been back home." Sure, he feels pretty useless most of the time, but he doesn't feel scared.

And then there is Tony, of course. Which isn't a point Jon lists, still feeling a little self-conscious about openly admitting that one.

"It is rather a bit quieter, isn't it? It's a relief, sometimes, to be away from that which makes our lives difficult from day to day. Waking up here and knowing I have a son and a husband and I don't have a kingdom to run and feed. I know it's selfish but know that at least one other person shares those feelings."

Sansa has been back and forth between home and the Fleet and now Agra 10 enough that she can truly relax here and not have to worry about being missing at home. She can have the relief of knowing that no time passes in Winterfell when she is here.

Jon gives a short chuckle and a shrug "Well, I... I'm afraid I have to save the world when I get back and I'm scared of that more than anything, so... Maybe it's okay for us to be a little selfish? No one seems to be missing us."Whereas in response Jon is well aware that he would be missing certain people here is they were to suddenly leave.

"Is it true that people sometimes return home and then come back here?" Sansa is easily the one that knows the most about this place, so he might as well ask.

"I did," she confirms. "When I returned, I had experienced two more years of my life but I still retained all of my memories of the place I was before. I don't know if it's the same on Agra 10 as it was in the Fleet but since our ships are here, perhaps it is the same. I remembered Tyrion, my husband, but not our chaste relationship as it was back home, the one we'd made there."

Sansa gives him a soft look. "They don't always remember, though. The man I named my son for, the soldier? He's come back but he doesn't remember our friendship or how close we were. He doesn't remember how much we loved one another and how we'd do anything for each other. It pains me but it's not his fault."

There is a nod from Jon at her words, but also a look of worry on his face. A look that is turned down and paired with a small frown.

"I'm mostly worried about forgetting everyone once I return home." There are people here he just doesn't want to forget.

"I didn't forget," Sansa says. "And I went home twice. I took the memories with me and frankly they ended up helping me. My best friend taught me how to fight hand to hand and it saved my life more than once, I can tell you that. It was unexpected in a lady like me."

Sansa tries to give Jon a comforting look the best she can. "I remembered. I can't speak for anyone else but you know that one person did."

"Y-you didn't?" He looks up at that, a rare form of hopeful surprise crossing his face. "Then I might- That-- Sansa, that's... Thank you for telling me this!"

And it's that moment that the numerous eyes spread over the room swivel away from being locked on Sansa and instead shift to focus on something else. One of the drawers in Jon's deck, which unlocks with a soft click, causing Jon to blink, then look down "W-what...?"

Inside the drawer lies a single key.

Sansa looks at the key curiously. She doesn't have an idea of what it could go to but keys usually mean locked doors or other hidden away things. She doesn't make a move toward it; this is Jon's mind after all and not her own.

"I wonder what that opens. Do you recognize it at all?"

Jon doesn't hesitate quite as much to pick up the key, then turn his attention to a certain place on the floor of his office where under a couple more boxes and files one may be able to pick up the trap door located there. And he nods.

"Actually, yes. It's the key to open up the trap door. Which... Shouldn't be in my office, but... It's here." He looks back up and over at her. "I think it's the exit of this place.

"Well, well. That's convenient, isn't it?"

Sansa hadn't minded what was in Jon's head. She's seen horrors of her own in war - both war with men and war with the dead - but she can understand why Jon wouldn't want his intimate moments shared with other people. She doesn't want to share hers.

"I am truly sorry I had to invade your privacy," she says, voice soft and contrite. "But I will never tell what I saw. It belongs to you alone and it isn't my secret to tell."

Shaking his head, Jon fumbles a little with the key. "It's alright. I suppose these places... They exist to reveal these things. Whether we like it or not. And in a way... It feels only fair?" After he has pulled so many secrets from other people simply because he can.

The key is set down on the desk.

"You don't have to leave right away. But you know that you now have the option to do so."

"Well, perhaps I'd like to have a cup of tea before I go," Sansa says. She doesn't want to make Jon think that what she'd seen had frightened her - it was frightening, yes, but it takes more than that to truly frighten her any longer.

"You ought to get to talk about things you want to talk about instead of memories they make you show. Surely there's a way to get tea in your head, isn't there?"

"Tea?" Jon looks surprised by that request, then looks around. Sure, there are plenty of tea mugs, but he wouldn't advice anyone to drink from any of them. And the only available door aside from the trap door is still Helen's door, leading into those endlessly spiraling corridors.

His eyes fall on the one mug sitting on his desk, the sparse remains of some tea left in it, long cold. Jon gives it a little nudge and has to chuckle "You know, if this were my actual office, Martin would have long since barged in here to ask if we want any tea. Unfortunately I... Don't really know how to acquire any in here without access to the kitchen." Do they have any power to alter their mind spaces, perhaps?

Sansa laughs a little and shakes her head. "Damn. I'd hoped you had at least a little. You're the only person who drinks it as much as I do. It seems the thing to do, when you're settling with heavy information."

She'd wanted to put him at ease a bit, if she could, and she thought the mention of something familiar might do it.

"There might be a door to your kitchen, though. It's your own mind."

Jon shrugs a little helplessly and nods towards the weird yellow door behind the coffin "The only door here at the moment is Helen's door. And we really don't want to try out that one." He explains, then adds: "Maybe we can have some tea once this is over. Or once we are awake again. Tony deemed it important to bring along the tea I keep at the hospital when we were all called here."

Just a small admission that Jon himself hadn't been thinking of it. Then again, he had hoped to be able to leave the tunnels after dropping off his first round of supplies. At least that one entailed most of the medications he has had prepared to be taken to the hospital on his next pass over. So at least they have those around?

"Well, at least we won't be completely deprived when we get out of here. It'd be a travesty if all we had to drink was that disgusting mess that comes from the machine."

Jon seems to actually have a taste for tea that seems close to Westerosi tea and she wants to find out which plants here in Temba can approximate the same.

"When we get out of here, I'll resume my search through the plants in this place for quality teas."

Well, at least Jon wants to believe he has a taste for tea, but he offers a sympathetic nod to Sansa for having to put up with whatever the Agrii consider adequate food. "I admit I haven't tried what that device produces, but... I take it that it's not exactly delightful."

This at least is one of the perks of being rather distanced from an actual need for food.

"And I am curious to learn what you find out. Regarding potential discoveries of local tea, that is."

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Make your Statement, face your fear.

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