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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Vincent remained still and quiet as the stranger answered. The place mentioned was not familiar to Vincent either, London, and he felt somewhat justified in assuming this was a part of this man's origin world. At the mention of the casket, Vincent looked back to the wooden box. "Pull me in?" He asked, unenthused and monotone save for the spacing of his words - indicating he was working out the imagery of the casket reaching for its prey.

The Archivist gives a soft sigh "Some of these will make you feel compelled to step closer and trap your attention on them. The casket as I know it will do just that. make you want to open it and step inside. And it's... More than a mere box. It starts to sing when it rains."

And it's a horrifyingly beautiful tune.

Vincent took a moment to look around the room once again. Though some decor and sentient(?) pieces of the room are odd compared to any other typical office, Vincent is not alarmed. He returned his sight to the unfamiliar man.

"I accept your right to refrain from further explanation." Meaning, he didn't want the stranger to feel compelled to tell all his secrets - however, "I will listen to what you share."

"Actually... I don't mind answering questions on most of these pieces. I have seen some of the memories they trigger already and- They aren't pretty." He responds, then inclines his head a little "I'm Jon, by the way. I don't think we've met."

And sure this is one way to make a first impression. Especially with dozens of eyes watching.

"Vincent." He reciprocated, his crimson eyes continued to scan the room slowly. Vincent is six feet tall and wears his traditional red cape, which trails around him. The cloak moves almost like a breath, expanding and contracting ever so slightly. He has gold metal plating on top of his black boots and a leather suit that fits him from head to toe. On his head is a crimson wrap with ebony strands of hair sprouting from the folds.

"How long have you been here in this world?"

It's a bit of an eccentric look, perhaps, what with the claw and everything. But it's not necessarily terrifying. His height could be intimidating... Though Jon is used to most men being notably taller then him.

It's the question that makes the Archivist pause. Given the circumstances it seems like an odd thing to inquire about.

"Oh. Months, I believe? It... It does get a little hard to follow the passage of time here. And we may not share the same measurements for time to begin with." Different worlds, different rules.

Vincent reflects on the topic of time. It was different here than it was on Gaia. "Where I'm from days were twenty-four hours." He glanced over to Jon. He wondered if London's hours were the same for the other man or if twenty-four hours seemed unusual.

Vincent had a difficult time acclimating to this world, and when he first arrived, he spent quite some time keeping to himself and avoiding others. He didn't recognize the length of time in this world right away. He's accustomed to being idle in any part of Gaia that time was of no consequence.

"Twenty-four hours is what we use on Earth as well." So that's convenient. "But I don't think anyone has measured the exact length of a day here on this planet yet." Since that proves difficult for various reasons. First of all being, as with everything in this city that anyone wants to attempt is the lack of proper equipment. And those phones... They are hardly any use.

Vincent reflected on earth as a noun. Other names came to mind, synonyms: land, topsoil, dirt, and even verbs for it, such as unearthing a root, a plant, a flower. His attention dwindled on the reference of earth and turned to the thought of expertise. What expertise could one hope for to unlock the secrets of this world? Farming? Communications? Vincent had yet decided on what he would pursue.

His eyes idled back to the coffin. Vincent was some feet away from it, with Jon's warning he considered stepping even further away.

"What other pieces would you share with me?" Vincent inquired, his eyes then turned to Jon.

Jon takes a look around, then shrugs. "Whichever interests you most, I suppose. Almost everything here is tied to one fear or another. The entities these fears manifest in as well as their avatars and creatures."

He points up towards the black star, followed by the mannequin and the dark veins running along the walls, introducing each in turn. "The Dark, the Stranger, the End. Fear of darkness, the unknown and death." He moves to point out the book on his desk next then the rib nearby and the odd, yellow door. "The Web, Flesh and Spiral. Fears of being manipulated, mutilated and madness. Over there are the Hunt, the Slaughter and the Lonely." Jon points towards the shelf holding the knife, the cleaver and the whistle before the last object hides itself in its fog. And he moves on to the fire extinguishers, the C-4, the oddly placed window and finally the big eye above. "The Corruption, Desolation, Vast and the Eye. Including the Buried which we already covered, that's all of the fourteen fears and I... I don't suggest directly encountering any of them."

Vincent watched, carefully, while Jon pointed out the features of the room. Each of them seemed to have some title, like the names off fortune cards. None of it resonated with him, however, but he continued to watch and pay attention. Finally, Jon revealed what they all meant, tieing it all together for Vincent. "Fourteen fears.." tied to one fear or another.. Vincent understood now. His crimson eyes then returned to the maker of this room. "Only fears here?" What of joy, sorrow, or anything else?

“Joy, as an emotion, exists in my world. Just as any other emotion as well. But there are no dedicated Entities serving as direct opposites of these... Dread Powers.” Jon explains further, then simply shrugs again. “Sorrow is closely tied to the fear of loss, which you can attribute equally to the End and the Desolation. But sorrow isn’t a fear. It’s the result of a feared event having come to pass.”

Which is actually something Jon has spend some time lamenting over while Sansa has been pregnant. The permanently lingering fine fear of losing a child generally emitted by parents, which is equally a sign of their love, but something he can pick up as a very distinctive fear.

The Archivist exhales and casts a look at his visitor. “I know it doesn’t sound pleasant, but where other worlds have superheroes and power of light, mine only has these Fears. Existing next to it and waiting for their chance to fully manifest and make my Earth their own.” Which by now has become simply a fact to him.

Vincent was having a difficult time keeping up with Jon. Emotions, entities, Dread Powers, he didn't understand how any of this tied together, though he appreciated the effort Jon was putting into explaining it to him. He realized Jon was comparing the emotions with the Dread Powers, but it was too far beyond his conceptualization of how things worked on his world.

However, he was unsatisfied with Jon's response. "I mean to ask you.." He started, his eyes looked over the room. "Is there anything in here that represents joy for you?"

"Joy- For me?" Jon asks, clearly baffled by the question. While he wouldn't necessarily consider himself a stranger to joy in general, it's yet not something he expects others to have any interest in. Especially not people he hardly knows.

"I'm afraid, but if you're looking for entertainment, I doubt you will find it here." Unless you enjoy watching people suffer.

"No." Vincent wasn't sure what sort of entertainment Jon thought he was expecting. He found it troubling to think that the other couldn't account for any joy in their life - at least in this room. No desirable foods, sights, smells, encounters to be found here, only dread, only fear.

There may be one or two hidden ones, but those are memories Jon is reluctant to share with a stranger. The fears, however.... those are safe. He knows fear.

As it is, he shrugs and shakes his head apologetically. “I’m sorry. My life has... Ceased. To be filled with simple joys over the past years. Instead, it has many rather complex and dreadful things to offer.”

He found it strange the man apologized for, what Vincent judged to be, a traumatic life. Jon's experiences did not appear to be things he ought to feel apologetic for, as these horrors seemed to be outside of his control. "Why do you apologize?" He scrutinized the other. "About your circumstances.. did you bring these fears upon yourself?"

"W-what?" Jon sputters at that, raising his hand defensively "I- I mean... In a way? Maybe? Not knowingly, though, just-" He struggles a moment to try and find a suitable way to put this, "It's part of my job?"

"Your job brings out these fears?" Though Jon did apologize to Vincent, that didn't mean Jon necessarily felt guilt or remorse for his job. "And you apologize for that?"

"I research them." The clarification is accompanied with a sigh and by Jon placing his hand on a stack of statement files on his desk. "The Institute I work for deals with supernatural encounters. People leave their statements with us and we- We look into them. What we find isn't always pretty." He lifts the hand to gesture around in slight irritation. "And I'm not apologizing for my job, that's- Christ... It was a manner of speech. Please don't hang too much on it."

He cocked his head; crimson eyes scrutinized Jon, then he looked around the room as gestured by Jon. Vincent had a history of researching the paranormal phenomenons on Gaia. The concept was not new to him. "What do you do on this world?"

"I work on rebuilding the library and help at the hospital if there is need for it." The Archivist replies, yet his irritation is becoming more apparent and he narrows his eyes at the other man. "Is it a habit of yours to make people feel like they're being interrogated?" And he raises an eyebrow. "I don't even know who you are! Why don't we start there. Some basic introduction. I'm Jonathan Sims. Archivist at the Magnus Institute, London. And you are?"

Vincent stills and reflects on Jon's response. It appeared the other was flustered; having forgotten, they've introduced themselves already, and Vincent reciprocated. Perhaps it was a part of the dream's mechanics, and Vincent could recall dreams in which he experienced cycling or repeating events over within them.

Vincent was curious to see if he didn't respond, would Jon recall? If not, then he would introduce himself again. It did not matter, but he did want to reiterate that Jon had the right not to answer any of his questions but encouraged Vincent to ask anyway. "I still accept your right to refrain from further explanation.. You need not answer me."

The exchanged names, indeed. First names. And while Jon remains willing enough to answer questions and elaborate on them, some of the question this man has posed have leaned into odd directions. And now the questions are on Jon's side.

"And I think I wish to refrain from doing so until I know who exactly is asking - And why." He clasps his hands together in front of him, returning Vincent's scrutinizing look. "A man named Vincent. No surname. Dressed like a vampire-emulating goth lost in a steampunk-setting. Asking questions that are either an interrogation or simply fishing for an excuse to draw that large gun - Or make use of those dreadful metal claws on my neck." Another pause. "Are you a trained assassin?"

The man's paranoia appeared to have been stimulated somewhere along the way. Although Jon had provided the rationale as to why he was uncomfortable, Vincent still could not quite understand the escalation. "Vincent Valentine." He scrutinized the other before adding, "I'm not here to harm you. I did not intend to come here." He gently reminded the other.

"I will not ask any further questions." Despite assuring Jon he was not here to harm him, he did neglect to answer Jon's question about being a trained assassin.

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Make your Statement, face your fear.

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That's my ooc-fail for tagging while tired. I simply forgot - But I'll own it XD

c: it's okie dokie, no worries!! ♥♥♥