revivalproject | Make your Statement, face your fear.

Entry tags:

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

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.

It wasn't enough to scare Tony away yet, anyway. His gentle inventory had moved up to Jon's shoulders to feel their tension, then followed up his neck to comb back through his hair, suggesting he look up again but Tony was willing to repeat the motion until Jon was ready to listen. "Hey," he chided first, "you're supposed to be the expert, what, am I supposed to know?" Tony wasn't seeing any other options around here, so Jon had to step up to the role and not let that anxiety stop him from trusting Tony to do his job. After all, he couldn't have had a terrible track record so far; they might still be stuck on Agra 10, but Tony was pretty sure he had delivered more often than not every other time he had offered, "I'll fix it." This wasn't the kind of project he was used to on his bench, but he couldn't think of one back at the forge he felt more strongly about. The Iron Man could wait.

It's those last couple of words that draw a short, yet genuine little laugh from Jon and he relaxes one of his hands at least to plant it flatly against Tony's chest while cautiously looking back up. It's not that he hasn't seen precisely what Tony has been doing this entire time, but he still feels a certain meaning behind raising his actual two eyes to meet Tony's again rather than settling with the dozens of eyes spread around the room.

"...I sure hope you know that I actually believe you." Jon replies with a hint of that earlier laugh still sticking to his voice. Tony may be impossible and make impossible claims, but he also appears to have that habit of making impossible things quite possible. And maybe he can, indeed, fix it.

Satisfied with the eye contact, Tony let his hands drop back to Jon's shoulders and returned the laugh with a lopsided grin, expression questioning why Jon made that sound like a threat but replying, "Good." With a push to Jon's shoulder to turn him around so Tony could pass his thumbs down Jon's spine again as they both considered the clutter of the office and Tony purred in his ear, he asked, "So, which of these things would just be incredibly humiliating?" They couldn't all be awful, Jon had to have something to hand Tony that would be a nice break to remember how human he was for a moment.

Jon casts a glance over his shoulder in response to that request, a single brow raised "Honestly, Tony? Don't you think all of these are humiliating?" Not harmless, maybe. But clearly humiliating enough as far as Jon is concerned. And yet he still takes a moment to survey some of the stuff lying about, before locating the toy shield up on the shelf and grimacing a little. "...and you already know that one." He mutters, but doesn't point.

"Let me see what else there is." Jon prompts and gives one of Tony's knees a pat with his hand, a wordless request to be released.

Jon also thought absolutely crushing a class as a hungover space pirate was humiliating; this was not a concept on which they were bound to agree. He seemed to understand what Tony meant by it at least, so Tony's response was an innocent flutter of his eyelashes that had him missing what Jon thought he already knew enough about. He would have to go searching for it himself. Just because Jon had told him a story, didn't mean witnessing Jon's experience of it wouldn't be a unique pleasure.

Despite his own request, Tony was slow to release Jon, restlessly smoothing his shirt down his back before acquiescing and shifting in his seat anxiously. Any one of these objects within reach could have meant another scene of Jon's torture, and Tony's fingers tapped with agitation until he sat on them to try to survive until Jon's return without causing another distraction.

Tony's reluctance to let Jon go at least earns him a soft, little smile once Jon steps away from him with a brush of a set of fingers against his leg, despite his request for some more personal embarrassment.

At least Jon doesn't move away too far, only to the large shelf next to his desk. And given the room's not exactly spacious proportions, that really isn't notably far. The Archivist wastes little time to drop down onto all fours and rummage through whatever oddities are kept all the way out of sight, pulling forth a few of the items. Among them the corkscrew from the earlier memory, a small, tightly sealed jar of ash, a pair of steampunk-style goggles and the winner of the competition: A very used cat brush.

It's the brush Jon carried back to Tony, but doesn't hand over right away. Instead, he raises a brow at the man. "I recall you once asked me when you are supposed to get jealous." In answer, he then offers out the brush.

The array of items, leading so strongly with the corkscrew, that came out of that hiding place did not inspire any confidence in Tony, who looked at the cat brush like he had absolutely no idea what it was, because he did not. He had not been the caretaker of many pets in his life. The introduction did not help. Lip raised and looking far more reluctant to take this object than the ones Jon had explicitly told him not to, Tony said, "I didn't know we were sharing our kinks already. Are you sure you don't want to ease into it?" Before that could make Jon change his mind about whatever his weird brain had told him Tony would enjoy knowing, Tony did release one hand to daintily take the brush from him.

Jon refrains entirely from commenting and much rather looks up and around as the room around them shifts, this time without any distorting static to accompany the change. Also instead of changing to yet another location within the Institute, the room turns into a very regular living room in a very regular student apartment, currently occupied by a young woman, dressed in a nice dress and sitting in the single armchair that doesn't exactly match the couch next to it, currently occupied by a white-and-orange kitten stretched out over the seats, purring loudly while a much younger Jon sits on the floor next to it, wearing a worn jeans, a plain shirt and very much busy brushing the present kitten.

"You know, Jon," The young woman begins, curiously watching the future Archivist tending to the pet "You really don't have to pretend to want to take me out on a date just to spend some time with my cat. You can just come by, and-" She gestures, then shrugs.

Jon's younger self flinches, but quickly tries to hide his reaction, finally turning his attention to his then-girlfriend. "Georgie, that's not true. I'm not only here for the Admiral!"

"Admiral?" She wonders aloud, raising a brow at Jon. "You're going to keep calling him that?"

"Well, he behaves like an Admiral, so- Yes." Jon replies with a small shrug of his own, having set the brush aside for now to treat the kitten to some bellyrubs, earning a little chuckle from Georgie, who then leans forward a little in her seat. "Look, I'm not judging you, but you obviously love this cat more than you love me. Which is fine. We can just be friends, you know?"

Though whether or not she is getting an answer any time soon is debatable, given that this younger Jon has just taken off his glasses to press his face into some fuzzy kitten belly, complete with a set of ridiculous noises that are guaranteed to get him a few paws full of kitten claws into various areas of his face any moment now.

And that's when the memory softly fades away: With Jon's odd noises fading away along with the visual display.

This was such a reversal from everything else this experience had shown him that Tony ended up looking slightly dazed, still sitting on one hand with the brush, at least, more confidently held between them now that he knew what its purpose was. It might have been how primed he was now for an awful scene, or just that he found the room hard to read while distracted by how adorably relaxed Jon was capable of being, but Tony's first question was, "Did she really just break up with you?" Honestly, Tony might have, too, and he idly used the brush to thoughtfully scratch at his beard, trying to rationalize if he was genuinely jealous of the animal for the attention he and Georgie were certainly not getting, or just found Jon being that submissive to a kitten his least sexy angle. He also kind of wanted to put his face on a cat as a break now, that was embarrassing for both of them. "Did you name her cat and wear jeans to a date?," he continued, more team Georgie the more he thought about this. He might not have had the cojones Georgie did after seeing Jon do that, but one day, when Jon was being less cute.

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