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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

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.

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.”

The mannequin didn't say 'fear of the unknown' to Tony so the gesture just made him frown; he knew exactly what that thing was, and that was that he hated it. He was twirling the mug he brought idly by the handle around his finger until he set it down to accept the photo from Jon, but it only left him glancing between the image, the mannequin and the archivist, not any more convinced that it made sense for a whole person to be excised from an otherwise intact memory. Magic didn't make sense by design, though, and Tony had to settle into the distasteful acceptance that magic was going to be infecting anything he wanted to learn in this room.

"There's a whole lot of different kinds of shapeshifters and-- a whole species of them, in my universe, in fact, have you met Teddy....?" Getting off track fast. "When they're good, and they take over the life of someone you thought you knew really well, finding out later is like..." There wasn't anything appropriately comparable to that kind of squirming invasion, the self-doubt and resentment for not seeing it sooner, that made Tony's face scrunch, fingers curling with a shiver, except maybe the feeling of those worms under the skin, by the sounds of it. He kind of understood that part, was all he meant to convey, and with his tongue still pressed to his teeth flicked the photo back to Jon. "Sorry about your friend. That's cruel," he concluded. "Martin makes it, huh?" he directed instead, right, that was the name, Tony did recognize the voice.

"Martin... So far, yes." Jon nods, but the confirmation also comes with a concerned shrug. "But you heard the tape. He's getting very tied up with the Lonely and- I have no idea where that will end. But... I can't blame him? After only Basira returned from the Unknowing, with Tim being dead, Daisy seemingly dead and me-" Another shrug. It can't have been easy for Martin having to deal with that and Peter Lukas all by himself.

"But no, I actually haven't met Teddy yet. He has been mentioned to me, however." By Tommy. As part of the information Jon has forced from him. There's no need for that little detail at this moment, right? Or to get more into detail about Not!Sasha.

"You say he's a shapeshifter?"

Lonely wasn't nearly as abstract and mystical of a concept as any of this other stuff that was cluttering up Jon's head, so it was easy to feel an ache of sympathy for Martin, and for all of the people left behind on home worlds wondering where their friends and family had gone if the world did keep spinning in their absence, and of course for the few residents scattered across this alien city who spent the long nights alone feeling as far from each other as they did from home. Every facet of this experience was lonely, and Tony had to wonder why Jon didn't find that the most terrifying of his monster menagerie himself. It didn't come on as suddenly as a worm infestation, maybe. Jon coped better with the isolation.

Tony cleared, his throat, searching the desk around his hips for something else to prod at idly, feeling like not only was every object in her a minefield but so was trying to direct the conversation to something more positive, like Martin's survival. "Yeah, he's--" Tony started to explain, not sure how much of this was appropriate to reveal. The shapeshifting part, Teddy was pretty shameless with. The ancestry, maybe not something for Tony to reveal. "He's one of the Young Avengers, you know, they're all crazy powerful. That's his thing. I've heard he does a pretty good me." On the desk, he spotted the lighter that he took up, about to ask if they had to open the window.

Edited 2020-06-18 19:39 (UTC)

It's true that Jon has been very used to being by himself with very few and not necessarily too close friends for at least the last decade. He has formed friendships with his coworkers in the more recent years, but already has started losing those friends as well. So- Yes. The Archivist is rather used to being lonely. And yet he still isn't exactly fond of it.

Hearing a few words on Teddy and having the Young Avengers referenced makes him smile a little, even if it's leaning towards the unhappy side, which he hopes Tony doesn't pick up on. "They are all incredibly powerful kids that try to do good." Which remains a nice thought. Even now that Billy has uttered the request to maintain a distance to Jon as well. Obviously he is already losing some of the friends he has made here as well.

He only remotely notices Tony's hand reaching for something on his desk, though Jon makes no move to stop him. Should he be surprised that it's his gold lighter that caught Tony's interest? Probably not.

The static returns, but the room remains the same for the most part. Some of the more obvious items flicker away with the crackle of static, such as the coffin, the mannequin, the window, the dark veins and the yellow door. The clutter is different and Jon makes it a point to leave his chair and taking a step away from his desk, leaving behind an agitated looking near-duplicate of himself. The scar on his neck is missing and his hand is still intact as well. And he is glaring at an elderly man occupying the chair across of him. On the desk are, as always, a running tape recorder - And a metal pipe.

It's Jon who speaks first, clearly irritated. "You keep talking about these… powers? These forces arrayed against you. What are they?"

The man lets out a sigh, verbally rolling his eyes. "I’d hoped you would at least know that much by now. But I suppose you are simply the observer, and making these connections is not your role. Gertrude could be much the same at times." Which isn't a response that sits well with the younger version of Jon, who snaps back. "Just tell me!"

The tone does very little to impress the unknown man, who answers regardless. "There are… entities in this world. Beings of vast, dark power. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say they are ‘next to the world’, rather than in it. Their true existence could not function in the universe we live in, at least not as it is now. They have nothing in their pure state that could be present in the physical world so they sit in…"

"Different dimensions." Jon cuts in, and the man shakes his head. "No, I don’t think so. If there are such things, then these beings are linked inexorably to ours. They are not within our world, but they can… affect it in certain ways: reaching out with their will to change things. I don’t know where they come from or how they came to exist, but they are, from what I can determine, effectively eternal."

This earns the man a frown. "Are you… are you trying to tell me all of this is at the behest of… evil gods?"

"Oh, there are certainly those who see them as gods. A few even go so far as to try and worship them, but I don’t find it helpful to think of them like that. Perhaps you could liken them to one of the old pantheons, each with its own rituals, agendas and spheres of influence, but I find simplifying them in such a way makes them harder to truly understand. The gods were conceived of by humankind as a reflection of themselves, their motives and actions divinely powerful, but in essence purely human. These… ‘things’… I find them hard enough to understand without trying to force human frameworks onto them." The man answers. And the Archivist keeps asking. "So the creatures are, what, priests? These books their holy texts?"

"I told you it was an unhelpful analogy. Let’s try another one. Um… Imagine, you are an ant, and you have never before seen a human. Then one day, into your colony, a huge fingernail is thrust, scraping and digging. You flee to another entrance, only to be confronted by a staring eye gazing at you. You climb to the top, trying to find escape and, above you, can see the vast dark shadow of a boot falling upon you. Would that ant be able to construct these things into the form of a single human being? Or would it believe itself to be under attack by three different, equally terrible, but very distinct assailants?" Another answer.

"So the books, the monsters, they’re part of these beings? Just extensions of them? Fingers being pushed into our world?" Another question.

And while he sounds a little bored about having to answer them, the man keeps doing so. "The books are, I think, their essences in a purer form. The other things that stalk us, from what I know of them, they have varying wills of their own. All in service of the thing they’re a part of, but not directly controlled by the mind beneath them. At least, inasmuch as these entities have something we could recognize as a mind."

"Like a… a, a muscle, spasming on reflex?" The Archivist tried and the man nods slightly. "Yes, that’s actually rather good."

"It would explain Michael’s identity issues."

"Michael? Oh… that, that’s what the Distortion calls itself these days, isn’t it? That one is part of a power that my assistant Domingo used to call “Esmentiaras”, which I believe translates as 'it is lies' or 'it is lying'. At the time, of course, we just used it as a way to classify books. I call it the Spiral. It deals in fooling the senses, in making you see and hear things that are not there, in drawing you into mazes and making you doubt your own sanity." The man explains and the Archivist narrows his eyes before adding: "Fractals."

"Yes. It seems to have a particular fondness for them."

Appearing satisfied with that, Jon moves on "What about bones? Does one of them manifest with, with bones?"

The man sighs again. "You’re thinking too literally. Examining the physical categorization, but ignoring the meaning of the thing. What are the bones? In the Distortion, your “Michael”, the structure of a skeleton, an established reality in your mind, is twisted and warped into an impossible form. But in other cases? Are they a symbol of slaughter and butchery? Are they the familiar made wrong? Or are they simply part of the messy, physicality of flesh?"

This isn't something the Archivist appears to have an answer for, so it is his turn to sigh, though in a more resigning way. "I’m sorry, this is a lot to take in."

"Well, do so quickly. We’ve wasted enough time on your questions." Comes the already a little impatient reply, which brings some of Jon's agitation back. "Fine. Then I’ll make this one simple: did you kill Gertrude?"

"No. Don’t be absurd."

"Then who did?"

"This is a distraction! You’re in no danger -" Now the man tries to placate the Archivist, who, in turn, snarls a little. "Who?"

The man pauses, but then answer: "I believe it was Elias."

"What? Why?" Jon shoots back, clearly taken by surprise. The man simply shrugs. "I assume he discovered we were planning to destroy the Archives."

"Gertrude was going to destroy the Archives?" More surprises for the Archivist. And another matter-of-factly response. "This is why I need those files. I searched this place thoroughly, and they’re not here, so I assume Elias took them when he killed her. I need your help to get into his office."

"But the cameras? They showed him."

The man scoffs at that. "Simple mechanical eyes? In his place of power? You think he can’t control everything they see? Assuming such interference wouldn’t ruin them beyond recovery, of course."

"This place belongs to one of them, doesn’t it?" And now Jon looks a little uncomfortable. As if he is simply confirming something he has suspected, but tried to deny so far.

And the man simply raises a brow. "You know the answer to that."

Jon doesn't look happy as he responds. "The Eye."

"I have also heard it called Beholding." The man offers helpfully.

"And I…"

"You belong to it, too."

This shuts Jon up for a moment and he quickly spirals into one of his by now more familiar sputtering fits as he begins to fumble through one of his desk's drawers. "I… Uh… I… I think I need some air." He says, grabbing the golden lighter stored within and getting up. The man simply frowns at that. "We don’t have time for you to have a breakdown, Archivist."

But Jon is already on his way to the door. "I’m going to have a cigarette. Don’t…" He opens the door, then turns back once more to the man, raising a warning finger at him. "Don’t."

And as the door falls shut, the room shifts back to the clutter this has been before the memory has played.

Standing with his arms crossed, Jon frowns slightly, tapping an index finger against his own arm. "That- Was not what I expected." He exhales, then turns towards Tony. "Jurgen Leitner. He gets... Bludgeoned to death while I am... Having some air." And yet that man has been given Jon a few much needed answers.

The opening of this dream didn't shock Tony into stillness, only made him drop his foot from the chair like he couldn't claim that level of familiarity with this Jon. The actual contents of the conversation didn't seem to hold Tony's attention; after a quick glance over his shoulder to take in any other major changes, he tucked his hands under his arms to lean close to the Jon in the seat, head cocked like he was assessing the schematics of a proposal he knew something was wrong with. The lack of reaction made this scrutiny brief and Tony pushed to his feet, pausing where he stood long enough to attempt to pick up the pipe before he moved away, trying to examine it as well, only for it not to respond either and leaving Tony to throw a look over to the corporeal (that wasn't even correct) Jon with the question on his face instead, what's that doing there? He left it to round the desk instead, leaning on one hand at the side of it where he could idly flick the lighter he still carried open and closed and watch the old man talk. By then, he already knew who this was, or had his guess--if there was a second old guy in Jon's life that ended up bludgeoned, Tony would have some concerns.

Even the analogy of the ant was the same. No wonder Tony felt sparks of familiarity whenever Jon tried to explain this problem that had swallowed up his life.

Tony only stopped his careful study of Leitner as the other Jon started his stuttering, glancing back over to him then reaching as though he would pluck at his shirt as he passed, only to be left worrying the lighter again and watching Jon go.

"Did he get to tell you about something called the Sorcerer Supreme?" he asked when the coffin was back between him and the door, and Leitner was gone. It didn't seem likely, this world clearly had very little control over their magical influences. If Jon was it, no wonder it felt like he was on the losing team. Tony came back around the desk, dropping into Jon's seat with a confident ease to prop his feet up next to the laptop, still fingering the lighter.

Edited (i'm sorry I can't english lately) 2020-06-18 22:26 (UTC)

Jon takes note of Tony's movements, but doesn't comment. Only his expression softens a little when Tony makes a small move to reach for the memory. Tony probably wouldn't have liked Jon's past self most of the time.

"Not really." Jon replies to Tony's question and wanders over to the chair previously occupied by Leitner. "This is almost everything he told me and he got killed because I- Had to leave the room." Jon makes an unhappy noise at the reminder. "I had just met him in the tunnels under the Institute while trying to run from Not!Sasha. He trapped her with- One of his books." He pauses here, takes a deep breath and raises both his hands next to his head in a display of surrender before continuing. "And because it's not enough that I got him killed, the Stranger will later dig up his body and use his and Gertrude's skin for their ritual."

Is he forgetting anything he should be forgetting? Hopefully not.

"So. What is a Sorcerer Supreme? And why would Leitner know of him?" Yes, that's a serious question.

That was enough of the details of this ritual for Tony to grimace, and prefer not to hear any more, thanks. It always had to be eye of newt and decayed flesh of the long dead elderly with these magic types, it couldn't ever be normal. Luckily, there were people designed and chosen to deal with these kinds of problems so that people like Tony didn't really have to. Clasping both hands around the lighter, Tony replied, "I think it might be..." and feeling slightly self-conscious of what seemed to be a pretty momentous declaration, he unfolded both of his index fingers to press together and just point toward Jon. Leitner was the only other obvious candidate, and he didn't even have some kind of relationship with the Eye.

"It's not my area," Tony had to admit before he went any further into the accusation, opening one hand to claim innocence and relieve any real burden of proof; it was just a theory. "Billy would know better, probably, he's the magic guy. But where we're from, we call these...entities...the Old Ones, or the Elder Gods. They're part of the...fabric of our dimension, as much as they occupy their own space that most of us can't comprehend. And the Sorcerer Supreme is both the avatar of their power, and keeps them from wrecking shop too much when one starts getting testy. He's a big wizard with a cape."

Well, Tony is in luck that this grimace convinces Jon to very bodily keep the man away from the taxidermy-wearing mannequin if he has to. But by now he is at least rather aware how Tony reacts to the more body-horror-involving elements of his work.

Those pointing fingers, though... Those earn a look of surprise. Mixed with a little concern. "Christ, I hope you're wrong. I mean, most other avatars hate me well enough, but so far I thought this is more because all the Eye does, despite having great power, is- You know. Watch?" No one ever mentioned that part of his job would be to keep the other monsters in line. Totally no pressure there, right? Jon makes an attempt to counter that idea with a weak chuckle. "Imagine me wearing a cape on the tube. Just heading to work, looking for the next ritual to disturb and set back..."

Bowing his head, Jon falls silent, then gives a heavy sigh. "....m-maybe it is what I do. Just not as-" Flashy? Heroic? Obvious? Impressively? Magically? "-effectively...?"

A guy didn't get those kind of scars just by observation, so Tony raised his eyebrows, glancing up at Jon's extra eye, then the big one on the ceiling again. There was a reason the Eye was an integral part of Strange's arsenal, the same reason that Tony wasn't going to be carefully respectful of anybody's privacy in these dreams. Tony didn't have to try to explain what a threat Jon could pose with that power alone, though, because he was already rationalizing himself into it, making Tony drop his feet from the desk to slide closer to it, arms folded on it instead to watch Jon expectantly. Strange's getup would definitely not suit him, Jon would be absolutely swallowed by it; a cape was a terrible branding choice anyway, and Jon's methods, while disgusting, involving corkscrews and pipes, didn't have to be tainted by that wizard aesthetic to still be effective.

Maybe not as effective, Tony had to snort and give a small nod to agree, mouth twisted apologetically, but it wasn't exactly Jon's first career choice. "Learning on the job is always filthy," Tony muttered, prodding at the statement files in front of him.

"Statement ends." The voice is Jon's, nut it isn't Jon who said these particular words. At least not the one seated across of Tony, who hasn't had time to actually respond to the man prodding the files in front of him. The ripple of static has been faint, as this memory doesn't come with a visual display, only the Archivist's voice lamenting with a fine trickle of that familiar static weaving through his words.

The voice carries on. "What is the value of a life? Is it something that can be quantified, put down as numbers, good deeds, bad? And when your life, your existence is at the cost of doing harm, what then? I’ve-" The voice cuts off into a short, sharp laugh. "I’ve saved the world, the whole world! Does that give me the right to take what I need to survive? I’ve been reading nothing but these old, dry statements for so long, I - I feel weak. Like I’m fading away. Do I restrain myself, keep my appetite in check, even at the cost of my life? Or do I try to rationalize what I am, like Ms. McHugh? I find myself hating her, her callous self-deception. But am I so different? Daisy’s chosen to resist in her own way, knowing full well it might take her life in the end, Melanie too. I respect them for it, but I - I don’t know if I can follow their path." The voice pauses, then finishes with a final thought. "I suppose I have a way out now. One that wouldn’t even kill me, at least, I hope not. And yet here I am still. Am I a coward? I just… what if they need me? What if."

And within that lasting static, a faint knock can be heard, fading away along with the low crackling noise that has been lasting through the entire playback of this memory.

Jon hasn't moved through any of it, simply listened to his own, recorded voice. "...this was very shortly before the Agrii brought me to Temba." And he still remembers who has been knocking at his door.

Tony watched Jon through this recording, only moving to curl his hand under his chin, the other still working restlessly with the lighter against the table and clearly trying not to tap and interrupt the monologue. He knew the cost Jon was talking about had to be the nightmares, or at least consciously evoking people's fears to sate his own hunger, but there were plenty of details here that he still had questions about. The most pertinent seemed to be, "What happened to the way out?" It sounded like Jon thought he was a coward for staying in this mess, which...Tony hid behind his mask more than enough to understand that kind of sentiment, but it didn't feel the same. The anxious tapping was bypassed entirely for Tony to start scraping at the varnish of the desk with the edge of the lighter, gaze dropping to the furrow as he added, "I mean, if you're dying..."

It's still an issue Jon feels conflicted about, and it shows in the way he presses his lips into a thin line and looks down at his own hands for a few moments. Then he lifts one of them, pushing his thumb and index finger under his glasses and rubs them across his eyes. "...you have to blind yourself. Permanently." Jon pauses and his hand drops again, but his eyes don't lift. "Martin... He raised the question whether or not I can even survive if I were to cut myself off of the Eye at this point. You know..." What with him not eating and hardly ever sleeping anymore. "I... May not be human enough anymore to quit that way. Melanie... She went through with it. She was the only one brave enough - And the one that knocked on my door that day. I haven't seen her since the ambulance took her away."

Neither option seemed like a reasonable gamble to Tony; staying the course and potentially starving to death, or taking a debilitating injury to potentially still starve to death-- or just die from the experience, if Melanie's fate wasn't clear. He did have a more visceral reaction to the idea of Jon blinding himself, though, and he knew it was because it felt less abstract with more immediate consequences, and death did not have those luxuries. Blindness would be a problem to deal with, death would just be an exposed wire.

Would he tell a vampire to continue to feed?

A fourth option: "What if you...changed teams?" Tony proposed. By then, he had dug a ditch into Jon's desk and had to throw the lighter down to try to relax his hand, tucking it under the table where it ached anyway. "Expand your options," he continued. "Or...we kick Nightmare's ass. Can't be that hard."

"Change... Teams." Jon repeats, not sure he understands that correctly, so he asks. "From one patron to another?" What other teams are there at this point anywhere - At least back at home.

"...and have you ever fought recurring nightmares...?" He also would like to know how to go about that.

"Yeah," Tony confirmed, other hand escaping to twirl in the air trying to work out a clearer thought process to follow, "vary the diet." There might not have been better options, but it seemed worth exploring to Tony. If Jon could be the avatar of the Eye and wasn't liking it much, surely he was capable of being the avatar of something more manageable.

Now that Jon had phrased the nightmare question like that, though, Tony realized he was far too deep into this magic stuff to even be suggesting something like that as halfway conceivable. If he wasn't faced with Jon's withering death, it wouldn't have occurred to him that dealing with a demon, ridiculous, on his turf was the way to solve a problem, and Tony frowned at Jon for inspiring the nonsense when he could have been offering rational suggestions like suppressive ocular implants or time travel. "No, it's..." he found himself explaining, pushing himself to his feet so he had something to do with the frustrated energy, "it's a guy, like one of the Old Ones." Anyone else would have a better descriptor for the concept of Nightmare than 'a guy', but Tony was the one in this dream and he wasn't thrilled with the idea of anybody else knowing these details about Jon's...proclivities. Maybe that was too much to hope for by now in this place. "If they're not just normal nightmares, and you're always there, then you have to be traveling through the Nightmare Plaza or whatever with the guy that owns the place." There was still a logic there, but if that mattered at all in these cases, Tony would be surprised. He paced the small area he could alongside the desk, and stopped short next to Jon, arms folded, obviously annoyed with him for making the concept of magic a problem for Tony to solve. He would do it, but no one else would have made him touch it.

Jon is still lamenting the first part when Tony ends up next to him, making the Archivist crane his head back to look up at him when he answers. "Actually, I... I don't think you can just... Switch which avatar you are. If we take Daisy and Melanie for example. They are avatars of the Hunt and the Slaughter respectively, yet tied their allegiance to the Eye by joining the Institute. Daisy still needs to hunt to feed herself, and Melanie... Well. These two are rather self-explaining, I suppose."

He glances from Tony up to the Eye, then down at the rib on his desk. "Compared to the other Entities, the Eye yet... Feels like the more manageable? Since it's fine with just observing any fear, rather than requiring a specific one. You.. You really wouldn't want me having to do anything required by the Flesh, or - God forbid - The Corruption. The Desolation feeds on burning their victims alive, yet it is important that the victim has as much to lose as possible. The End works similarly. Their victims need to be valued people. The Spiral drives their victims mad before devouring them. " He stops there with a shrug, then shakes his head and looks back up to the man next to him. "I really don't think I could do any of the torturous parts required to be an avatar of one of the other fears, Tony. But as I said, I believe that even if I... If I found a way to join another power, I may not cease being the Archivist." There's a tiny pause before he adds: "And please don't touch the rib or any of the fire extinguishers. I really don't think you wish to meet Jared or Prentiss." Not with how Tony keeps reacting to anything involving even slight bits of physical mutilations.

"As for the nightmares..." And here Jon still isn't entirely sure how to respond. Judging by Tony's words this Nightmare is a person? An evil being ruling over nightmares or something? "What... What makes us sure that.... That I am not the one owning the place? Me... Or the Eye? I... I mean... I can still access the dreams of Daisy, Melanie and Basira, though they are empty since they joined the Institute. " Only the settings remain. Like stages left barren.

That was a thorough deterrent of that theory. It was an early one so it shouldn't have been that frustrating, but Jon made it sound like this whole problem only got worse the more Tony attempted to dig, making him slouch back against the desk again, arms slipping down to curl more protectively around his stomach as Jon explained the alternatives Tony was hoping would be helpful.

That Jon could be the steward of a unique dimension he was effectively cursing people into could be something, though. Tony's annoyed frown became thoughtful, not about to claim any of this was impossible at this point; that was a waste of time. If Jon or his patron could choose to make people leave their own dreams instead of stay for the nightmares, and Jon knew whatever this craft was well enough to access them, that could be a workable mechanism. Was not dreaming at all worse than reliving the nightmare? Or would that even be the case-- would people just be pushed back out into a normal dream realm?

But Jon had told Tony explicitly not to do something, very gently, and Tony hadn't been the one to realize how poorly he was reacting to some of the details Jon was offering him. So it sounded more like a challenge to Tony, making him slowly turn his head, knowing the rib was on the desk, and very innocently like he had no idea what he was doing, ask, "This one?" and nudge the rib across the table.

The issue is, indeed, a frustrating one, Jon will readily agree with that. Though he doesn't exactly mind Tony raising ideas, especially ones Jon hasn't considered himself yet. Maybe, just maybe there is something to be figured out. Maybe if he gets more of a handle on his own powers or simply gathers more experience with them. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

He notices Tony's hand shifting towards the rib a moment too late and tries to reach for it with an alarmed little noise also just a moment too late... And the memory that flickers to life yet again morphs the dark office into a long, curved corridor lined with mirrors that show nothing and a 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 Tony has so boldly nudged across the table.

"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's voice rumbles 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 wide eyes still staring at Tony's hand before he casts a concerned look paired with a little grimace up at the man. "Tony!" - Just why can't he listen?!

That might have been a fair instruction, in hindsight. That hadn't told Tony much about Jon immediately that he didn't already know, only reinforced that he really wasn't going to get used to that noise of pain and it might have been a better deterrent to get Tony to stop touching everything in this place than anything Jon had to actually say. He did already know about the ribs, kind of, enough to make him seize Jon's reaching hand and tug him up to his feet, catching him around the waist to bring him close where Tony could nuzzle his apology against Jon's shoulder and skim his thumbs up Jon's ribs where he knew he hadn't counted wrong before. The tension that hummed up his spine at the memory only changed pitch for him to unwind enough to wrap his arms around Jon, still glaring around the room over his shoulder. Skin, eyes, bones, there didn't seem to be anything it wasn't willing to take from Jon.

Being pulled to his feet and into Tony's arms comes as a surprise, but isn't an entirely surprising reaction in itself. Especially not in the rather protective notion the embrace takes quickly enough. It's all Jon can do to return the embrace and gently rub little circles over Tony's back, holding back a sigh and instead whispering softly. "Just listen to me next time, okay? I... A lot of what's in here... Isn't pretty. I'm sorry."

It would be too easy if he had a lot of happy memories to share, right?

The small motion Tony made might have been a shake of his head. It wasn't like he didn't want to know everything this room had to offer him, especially if any of it could offer the data point he needed to break Jon out of this strange loop, those data points just happened to all be deeply unpleasant. It was possible that Jon had identified the worst of the, though; the recording of his voice and the conversation with Leitner hadn't been as carnal. He explained the reaction as he sat back with a smile, see, nothing to be worried about, he was handling it fine, countering, "I'm gorgeous." He didn't quite release Jon, pressed between his knees where Tony could pass his restless hands back around his front and down his arms, like he was counting bones or muscles he might have missed after working his way down the ridges of Jon's spine. He couldn't keep ignoring it, so with a look directly into Jon's unnatural eye, he asked, "You're not supposed to turn into one of those, are you?"

Jon lets his hands come to rest against the front of Tony's shirt when the man leans away. And while the additional eye remains fixed on Tony, the question makes Jon's actual eyes drop along with his head, hands clenching into the fabric in a bout of anxiety.

He swallows, hard. "I... I- I don't know." Is all Jon finds himself able to mutter. Because it's the truth. He doesn't know. He just... Doesn't. Know. What is it he is turning into? He doesn't know. But he also fears to find out. Fears the potential physical and mental changes he has no idea even how to gauge at this point.

And he fears the reactions of those he cares about. Whatever form the Archivist ends up taking, Jon doubts he is lucky enough for it not to be dreadful. Tony may be right in his claim of being gorgeous, but Jon? He very well might end up terrifying. One extra eye might just be the beginning.

just enjoy the comfy chaos

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You requested another Teal Deer, I see.

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