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 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.

At this point Tony has only himself to blame for asking for embarrassing memories.

Just being able to watch Tony for a moment basically brush his beard with a cat brush makes having shared this memory with him worth it in Jon's opinion and he settles with a small shrug. "I suppose she did. Though I also guess you can tell that we have always rather been... Friends. Than anything else. Still are? I... Think." Jon trails off briefly before setting that matter aside. "And in my defense: I only owned one pair of pants at that time. Took me a while to safe up for a second one to actually be able to wash it." Another somewhat awkward pause here. "Also: It is a very fitting name for that cat. He grew into a very handsome Admiral."

That Jon continued to insist this Admiral thing when it was total nonsense and Tony could not understand how a kitten could behave like a naval commander, and that he seemed more sure about the cat's status than he did his relationship with the girl, had Tony chuckling with a baffled furrow of his brow. "How did she put up with you?" he asked. "I have to be head to toe custom tailored flashing a Breitling before I can get a date. Is it the accent? Devrais-je changer pour le francais? Je n'ai jamais rien vu de tel." He slid from the table, ready to put Jon through torture again for being able to secure a date with one pair of unwashed jeans and still not completely put Tony off, slinging an arm around him instead to push the brush of his mistress back into his hands. "There is nothing in here that can make you more of a monster," Tony promised.

“Well, I can imagine you look stunning in a suit, Tony.” Jon admits while accepting the brush back without quite looking at the item. “But I’m not sure if it can beat the appeal of your sweaty, machine-oil- soiled appearance. That one...” Jon trails off for a moment. “Let’s say it’s.... A persistent image.”

And running his thumb over the cat brush he is holding, Jon adds: “And I hope your needs for seeing me humiliated are covered for now.

While Tony pridefully lifted his chin and combed his hair back, of course he looked stunning, he was fully prepared for the impending 'but' for Jon to rib him back and wasn't sure what to do with what he got instead. That wasn't a look he had much control over and Tony didn't think he would want it to be one Jon could conjure easily at all, but found himself looking with great interest at a shelf over his shoulder until he could clear his throat and was pretty sure he hadn't been blushing. The real danger of letting Jon talk was that Tony hadn't figured out how to anticipate him saying something like that yet, making his retort slow when it should have been all fangy bravado as he turned back to wrap the other arm around Jon's shoulders to lure him into a growl against his ear, "You know I'm not that easily satisfied." They had a deal, Jon was supposed to be the one squirming while Tony tested his boundaries, like grabbing for the next thing he saw on the shelf over Jon's shoulder. It looked like a whistle, which could have been where Jon was hiding all of his other strange crushes.

And maybe it is exactly that lack of control that makes that particular look as appealing. Just as that growl is guaranteed to send a shiver down Jon's spine, making him shiver involuntarily and make a weak grasp for the nearest edge of Tony's shirt. Jon doesn't notice what Tony is doing until the crackling static returns, causing his hold on the fabric to tighten as the room's appearance shifts into that of another office. This one is a little bigger, lighter and obviously not down in a basement.

It's Jon who enters the room, eyes quickly setting on the only other person present in this office. "Martin?" He asks, causing the other man to look up. Martin appears surprised, but not necessarily thrilled by the visit. "Uh - Jon - how did you?…" But Jon cuts him off with a wave of his hand. "I just, ha - I know sometimes. It’s, It’s a whole - thing."

While he speaks, Martin gets up from his desk and starts crossing the room, heading for the door, but stopping before getting too close to the Archivist. "Oh. Okay. W-well, sorry, but I, I, um…"

"You have to leave. Suddenly." Jon completes Martin's sentence, who simply sighs. "Jon, come on, we’ve been over this -" And again Jon cuts in. "No, it’s fine; I know you’ve got…" He gives a big sigh. "Whatever this is, I’m not going to question you."

Martin nods. "Thank you."

But that expression of gratitude is overlapped by Jon adding: "Even if it looks like you’re doing something really stupid." Here he pauses to sigh again. "Sorry."

"It’s okay." Martin replies with a shrug. "I get it; it’s just -"

"I worry. You’re working for someone... really bad." Jon points out, gesturing a little while fishing for the right words. Which earns a little scowl from Martin. "Yes, I’m not an idiot, Jon, but - it’s no worse than working for some thing really bad, so."

"At least the Eye hasn’t gone after our own." Another piece for Jon to point out, to which Martin sighs, but the Archivist goes on. "Lukas has vanished two people -"

"Yeah, and if it wasn’t for me, it would have been a lot more." It's Martin's turn to make a point and he makes a move to get to the door now. "This isn’t helping anything."

The move gets a little wince from Jon. "I just- I’m sorry; Basira’s off doing- god knows what, and I can’t talk to Melanie." Martin doesn't react verbally, simply produces a noncommittal noise of acceptance. So Jon tries again. "I suppo-" He cuts himself off. Another try: "I miss you." At that, Martin gives a short laugh of disbelief. So Jon goes on. "I’m just -"

"Lonely." Martin finally answers, earning a nod from the Archivist, paired with a sigh. "Yeah... I, uh - I heard about your mother."

Martin's reaction is a distant one. "Yeah."

"I am - so sorry." Jon offers, and while Martin's attention remains on the door, his next reply is softer. "Thank you." It's him now who pauses, before adding: "It’s -… It’s better, this way."

Hoping to have broken through, Jon tries another offer. "If, If you do need to talk, I -"

"I can’t."

"No. No, o-o-of course. Listen, Martin, you should know -"

"Jon…"

"Daisy might be alive. Basira is -"

And it's Martin now who cuts off Jon, giving him a pointed look "Stop. Stop, please; I - I shouldn’t know any of this, I-" He then pushes past Jon, hand on the door. "I, I really need to go; I, I -"

Jon winces. "Right." His voice drops. "...right."

"Please stop finding me." Martin requests, not looking back.

"What happened, Martin?" Jon tries once more, resulting in a pause.

The answer is delivered in a very matter-of-factually tone, carefully hiding any potential grief. "You died."

"I came back." Another offer.

"Yeah -" Martin acknowledges, opening the door and leaving the room. "- and I’m not going to let it happen again."

"Wait - Wait, wh -" Jon makes a move as if he wants to follow, but ultimately doesn't and is left staring at the now closed door as the memory shifts back to Jon's dark basement office.

Jon himself hasn't moved the entire time, barely even observed the scene. He would have preferred one of the physically painful memories rather than... well.

There wasn't a lot about that...fight? that Tony fully understood. The last memory Martin appeared in, it seemed like he was the champion with the most control over the situation, helping Jon survive it. This sounded like he wasn't interested in that role anymore. And there were more names here for Tony to try to keep track of, none of them helping Tony frame either of the men in this scene. There wasn't much about it for Tony to inspect, either, leaving him tapping his calculating rhythm down the back of Jon's neck, still curled around him and waiting for the pain that static and this tension usually heralded.

This one did not look very good for Jon. Tony gave him a beat, tapping halting to nudge under Jon's chin to remind him he had already committed the worst offense in Tony's eyes, whatever he had to admit to now couldn't be that bad, and tried to excuse his grabbing for more of Jon's secrets with another cough as though he could pretend at all he didn't know exactly how this place worked, "Sorry, I thought it was just..." It hadn't been as flashy as the coffin or big knife, was going to be his defense, but neither had the tea cup. Out of time. "What did you do?" Tony asked.

"...you heard what he said, Tony." Jon mutters, barely holding back from pressing his face into Tony's shoulder, if only for the sake of those glasses he can't even stop worrying about while in a dream. "I died. And unlike Tim... Didn't stay dead. Just... Got up after six months. Walked out of the hospital. No therapy, nothing. The entire Institute has been weary of me since. Melanie blamed me for ruining her life. Basira... I believe she was upset because Daisy seemed lost as well." Jon pauses, lamenting whether or not to risk an embrace. A wordless request for comfort.

But he doesn't. This guilt feels rightfully earned. "They were attacked while I was in that coma. The Circus seeking revenge, bringing allies from other Entities. They all just... Wanted me dead. My assistants- My friends... They had to suffer because I didn't die. They're rightfully upset with me."

Tony did hear that part, but hadn't factored it as the reason to be cold with Jon. He couldn't help but feel that he was missing a major part of this equation, making him glance back in the direction where Martin had walked out of the room like he could provide any more answers. It was difficult to believe all of them were completely misguided in this judgement, even for a bunch of people Tony didn't know working for a magic multinational, but... "They would all rather you were dead?" The only way that might have made sense was if Jon was some kind of lightning rod for these terrible creatures, but they had been around long before Jon and would still be around after any mortal being, and he was busy with a coma while another attack happened. If he died, wouldn't he be replaced, like he had filled in the position for his predecessor? "You're not telling me something," was the only rational explanation.

The silence that follows that assumption is an almost palpable one. And it is followed by a sigh, and Jon shifting back enough to look Tony in the eyes.

“Because I don’t know everything, Tony.” He lets that overarching detail sink in for a moment.

“I don’t know what Elias didn’t want Leitner to tell me. I don’t know what Peter’s plans are for Martin. I don’t know whether or not the Extinction will emerge as a fifteenth Power. I don’t know what Elias’s plans are for me. I don’t know who killed Gertrude - And why. Other than her being the previous Archivist. I don’t know what the supposed role of the Archivist even is supposed to be. What it entails, what being the Archivist means for me, what is expected of me, what I am even turning into. Everyone seems to know, but no one is telling me anything! I have access to endless knowledge, but I don’t know how to control it.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his tone edging towards a pleading one. “I don’t know what else I can tell you, because I already told you what I know. You... Have to believe me as much.”

It wasn't that Tony didn't believe Jon, but he still didn't understand this dynamic and was starting to suspect some magic was working against his understanding, or they had found a severe cultural divide between either Jon's work or his whole planet and what Tony was used to, that hadn't been obvious before. There were plenty of times where Tony wasn't about to admit to anyone he didn't know the answers and that he was frightened, but the consequences he was worried about were disappointment and excommunication, not execution. Even when one friend had made the very rational decision to try to hurl him off of the planet, Tony rarely found himself completely isolated because he couldn't provide enough satisfactory answers. He had to really fuck up for that result. Did he have to worry about that with Jon? He certainly didn't like it when Tony didn't tell him things, but that seemed like a personal problem.

Baffled and throwing another look after the phantom of Martin, this one more skeptical, Tony said, "Okay, I-- sure," and feeling like he had stepped into the middle of a fight he had no business intruding on, added, "Sorry." That was all kind of personal in a way that a questionable relationship with a cat wasn't. "Should it satisfy the court, I don't think I care about any of that stuff, so..." was his invitation for Jon to relax and stop acting like this was an interrogation, Tony wasn't trying to push him away, even though he might have had some reasons to care about some of that stuff. He just didn't think expecting the answers to come out of Jon had an expiry date.

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