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.

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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.

And in a way, Jon does relax. Even though he much rather deflates than anything else, shoulders dropping along with his eyes and fingers curling into the fabric of Tony’s shirt once more as he shakes his head.

“No. I- I’m sorry. I just... I don’t like this. This not knowing. I feel like I’m several steps behind and everyone is just laughing at me. It’s... Frustrating. But I shouldn’t turn that frustration against you. That isn’t fair, and... I’m sorry for that.”

It was possible that everyone where Jon was from was just like that, or Jon happened to surround himself with people like that, but this wasn't the first time that he left Tony feeling like he hadn't resolved some latent bullying issues. He might have had more in common with Billy than the magic. This could have been the piece that was missing in that discussion with Martin that Tony couldn't figure out, because Jon had spent most of that conversation offering what sounded like unwelcome information that he did know. Tony took a deep breath and pressed his lips together, glancing around to find this room entirely unsuitable for trying to be non-threatening to Jon, and forced to work with it anyway; he caught Jon's hands out of his shirt to lead him back into the chair, muttering, "It's fine, you didn't do anything." He pushed himself back up onto the desk, glaring at the nearest eyeball for this mess, then said, "Did you ever ask for help?" with a pout and a shrug.

The eye Tony glares at simply stares back at him. Unblinking and unbothered by his glaring.

“...help?” Jon asks, unsure how to interpret that question. He has dropped back down onto his chaos quite unceremoniously and now finds himself looking up at Tony even further than usual.

“I.... y-yes? Actually.... Not long before being brought to Temba? Two hunters came into the Institute, seeking for... Well. Me. I managed to call Daisy before they reached my office and... She drove them away. Basira wasn’t happy I got Daisy involved, but- I panicked.”

Tony cocked his head, biting his lip and clearly bothered by this answer, which he laid out as, "She drove them away, she didn't laugh at you. Is Daisy the outlier?" She might have been, if Tony was following who was who in this conversation; Basira didn't seem to be happy with anything Jon did. Or maybe it was just a unique situation, leading Tony ask, "What are hunters?"

“Hunters, they are... With the Hunt. Many Hunt and kill other monsters. So did Daisy. Who also... She was police. Investigated Leitner’s murder and... Tried to kill me?” Jon responds with a nod towards the knife sitting on one of the shelves.

“She and Basira were partners. And both came along to stop the Unknowing. Which was where Daisy got trapped in the casket.” A sigh and a nod towards the coffin. “I got her out. But she has decided to defy the Hunt. She’s willingly starving herself. Calling her... Put her in danger.” It’s a peculiar little bond between monsters Jon and Daisy have formed while trapped in the Buried together for weeks. In a way she feels like an older sister to Jon...

It was reassuring to know Jon had at least one normal friend that had the chance to kill him and didn't. That built a lot of trust, in Tony's experience. "That was her choice to make, wasn't it? She didn't have to answer," he said before Jon could start blaming himself any more for the putting her in danger part. The Avengers didn't hold each other accountable when they were called to action; they agreed to look out for each other. "Listen-- my team--" It didn't make it any easier than Jon knew about Iron Man, but at least Tony could stop trying to work around these things. "They ream me for showing up a few minutes late, never mind not answering a call. But that's because they always show up for me, every time. It sounds like Daisy knows you'd show up for her, too. If I touch either one of these things, am I going to start wondering about her, too, like this asshole?" He gestured back toward the phantom Martin, the traitor.

Jon winces visibly. "Please don't call him that. He... He has his reasons. Whatever it is he's helping Peter Lukas with, he doesn't..." His voice trails off into a weak shrug. He can't exactly deny that his last few interactions with Martin hadn't been difficult, if not hurtful, even. Still... He wants to trust Martin to do the right thing.

He moves on to shake his head, voice softening. "But, no. Daisy didn't have to answer my call, but... She did. And I'm grateful for it." There is no way he would have been able to deal with two hunters. "As for your question... We all changed over the last few years, Tony. A lot happened."

Tony gave a shrug, too, rolling his eyes because it wasn't supposed to be that serious, except that it was a little bit--he had no reason to be precious about the guy that Jon said wanted him dead. Good intentions didn't make someone less of an asshole; Tony was an expert.

"I can see that. You got new pants," he said, as though that was the first noticeable difference in Jon across these memories, and not the body work he hadn't signed up for. It was supposed to be an offhand acceptance of any of their changes, however gradual or abrupt, despite this second hand, fractal familiarity with the people in Jon's life. They weren't any different from any other humans, even if they were aliens. The best Tony could offer to elaborate was, "I met some of my best friends when they were trying to assassinate me," waving a dismissive hand. However those changes happened, though, they still left Tony facing this Jon, that flinched when Tony didn't expect it. "But, you're so..." he tried to explain, then bit his lip, chin down to watch Jon through his lashes like he could figure out what he was trying to say from Jon's face, tapping his erratic rhythm against his chest. Maybe he was reading all wrong, most people just didn't take Tony very seriously or kept their distance. "I don't know what I'm allowed to say to you, sometimes," he mumbled, gaze dropping because he didn't mean to frame that as a personal problem.

The pant-comment has Jon blink at first, but the moment quickly shifts, making him want to inquire about that assassination attempt, instead. Then that idea escapes the moment Tony ends up the one looking for the right words, causing the Archivist to incline his head just a little.

It's an oddly frank admission he receives. Especially from Tony, who rarely appears to be at a loss - Or at least unwilling to simply march on, plain ignoring what consequences may wait ahead. And Jon gives a slow, thoughtful nod at first, letting his eyes drop to one of Tony's knees before raising one of his hands to place it over that very knee and gently massage his thumb along its side.

"I, I didn't mean to be difficult." He starts, then swallows the apology, deciding on a different angle, instead. "And I appreciate your honesty. It's not my intention to mandate what you are... Allowed to say either - Or make you feel that way. I apologize for that. Because I do want you to feel comfortable to speak freely to me." And he pauses for a moment before glancing back up to Tony. "Just try not to think too badly of Martin. He's... Not in a good place. And while he won't tell me what's going on... I feel that whatever he has gotten himself involved into, he's only trying to keep the rest of us safe. I want to trust him to let me know when he needs my help."

See, it wasn't supposed to sound like a personal problem and Tony couldn't even be frustrated with Jon for his listening skills for this one, because Tony wasn't looking for some apology or reassurance, he was trying to figure out what happened. Instead, he was watching their hands as he caught Jon's fingers on his knee, wanting to interrupt the impulse but not really wanting him to stop, and giving a small shake of his head that he knew looked like he was rejecting what Jon was trying to offer him until he rolled his eyes again and tried to give Jon a smile back. That was still very sweet and generous of Jon, but Tony didn't think it had anything to do with the way Jon could recoil from him. As much as Rumiko would deck him, even she never looked like she expected Tony to punch back; he didn't have any framework for this conversation.

"I'm not," he said of Martin, not entirely convinced himself. He was more sure as he added, "I'm thinking of you. I can see from where I'm sitting the top twenty worst fucking things that have happened to you..." If that wasn't what each of these objects was, that coffin and mannequin were very misleading and Tony had terrible luck, "And that made the cut." With another shrug, Tony opened his free hand, open to suggestions for how else he was supposed to feel about Martin in that context. He didn't like the guy who took Jon's bones very much, either.

"I suppose..." Jon starts, face turning thoughtful as he looks over to where Tony's hand has caught his fingers "All fourteen of the Fears are represented in this room. But the Lonely... I suppose I haven't fully encountered that one yet." He thinks aloud, glancing over to the whistle, currently surrounded by a thick fog.

"All the other Powers I experienced in a much more personal way, but I can't say I really felt entirely alone so far. That may be why the Lonely is not as present around here..." And he casts his eyes back up towards Tony. "Maybe Peter is planning its ritual. It could be his plan. Christ, if that's what's going on..." Then he may well be losing Martin as well. The thought alone makes Jon's fingers twitch as if he wants to curl them into a fist, or dig them into something. Must he lose everyone he cares for to these Entities? Is that part of his job now?

If Jon was the one that stopped these rituals and he was stuck here, that did not bode well for the people he left back home. Maybe it wasn't so bad, though, maybe, despite all evidence in this room, this was just another thing Jon got unreasonably hysterical about. "He seems to have it under control," Tony offered, making the gesture for Martin again. "What could happen, anyway? This freak sacrifices a goat and, what, he gets to be an avatar now? No offense, but that doesn't sound like a vast improvement on a guy's life."

Tony’s words have Jon state at him wide-eyed for several moments. Has he never told Tony what these rituals do? But now that he thinks about it... He can’t help but chuckle a little. It’s a find chuckle, though. And Jon stand up from his chair and steps as close to Tony as he possibly can to wrap his arms around the man’s neck and gently pull Tony’s head against his chest, the amusement not quite leaving him.

“That’s not what the rituals do.” Jon then says softly, refusing to let go, but neither changing the soothing tone of his voice. “They are meant to summon one of the Entities to my world and change it to meet its requirements to fully manifest in it and rule over it.”

That was...condescending. So Tony didn't get these Entities enough to think they would be interested in anything as pedestrian as taking over the world; everything else about them made it sound like they had higher aspirations than Dr. Doom, they already had their own dimension, one ant like this Peter jerking himself off over them couldn't have been worth much attention. Tony's frown at the gesture didn't stop him from accepting it and letting it ease the irritated bunch of his shoulders, though, releasing a toxic sigh from all of the frustration he had for Jon's friends and himself and all of this magic shit.

"I'm glad you haven't been alone," he muttered as he responded not quite with a hug back, but hands back on Jon's waist like he had when counting his ribs. He didn't have much comfort to offer about the end of the world ritual while Jon was stuck dealing with this one in the aftermath of their apocalypse, but he could stop being such a dick about Jon's friends.

These are ancient fears, Tony, and their aspirations are about as ancient and simple as turning the world they exist next to into a delicious nightmare buffet after their personal tastes. Sometimes that’s all that evil gods really want. They can leave the more complicated scheming to the more complicated supervillains dwelling in other dimensions.

Jon pulls his arms around Tony a little tighter and gives an appreciating hum to his words. “And I’m glad I’m not alone here, either.” And after a moment Jon adds a little shrug himself. “If it’s true that time doesn’t pass at home while we’re here, at least I don’t have to worry to return only to discover I have missed an apocalypse.”

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