revivalproject | Make your Statement, face your fear.

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Make your Statement, face your fear.

WHO: Jonathan Sims & YOU
WHERE: Jon's Calibration Room
WHAT: Explore the Archivist's mind
WHEN: During the Calibration Event [ June 3rd - July 10th ]
WARNINGS: EYES - Body horror, possible mentions of unsettling events including kidnapping, death and dreadful monsters

The Archivist's office is a mess. Most offices are. Especially offices located in basements. Offices that belong to equally chaotic archives. And the archives of the Magnus Institute are incredibly chaotic. Gertrude Robinson has seen to that. And yet the mess in this office isn't hers. It's the mess of the current Archivist, right now seated behind his cluttered desk, appearing even smaller than he actually is, the small lamp on the table serving as the only actual source of light in this room. In front of the Archivist sits a small pile of statement files on a dining plate, but his attention isn't on the files, it's on his visitor.

There are more of these files spread all over the room. Cardboard boxes full of them stacked high and pushed into whatever free corner has once existed in it. Further boxes are stacked less high or are plain lying around, some closed, some opened, some rummaged through. Other, smaller boxes that aren't filled with files join the previous ones. There are also a few metal shelves covering part of the walls. And file cabinets. There are more files in these as well as more boxes and books. Most of them scientific in nature, some deal with the arcane, myths and legends. Various types of tape recorders and boxes of tapes are also widely strewn about as well as loose pages of paper, the occasional tea mug and cobwebs. For some reason or another there are at least a dozen fire extinguishers to be spotted throughout the room, and it likely isn't due to the clearly used ashtray or the golden lighter with a cobweb design engraved onto it on the desk near the Archivist's dust-covered laptop, untouched cup of tea and the sole human rib. Aside from more stray sheets of paper and some writing equipment, a single book also resides on the desk, its title introducing it as A Guest for Mr. Spider.

Though there is more to be found in the various shelves as well. A knife as well as a cleaver, an unsuspecting whistle that seems to be surrounded by an odd fog and will vanish should one try to reach for it. Underneath one of the shelves, there even is a plain cardboard box filled with C-4 plastic explosives. Further up, a roughly football-sized dark sun dares the visitor to look at it to plunge them into utter and complete darkness. The frisbee some may recognize as a certain someone's shield seems a little out of place as it lays unassuming on one of the higher shelves, covering an odd little action figure from view.

But maybe one feels more compelled to look out of the window, suspiciously present in this basement office. Outside lies the vastness of space, set to incite the feeling of falling right into it unless one pulls away from the sight in time. Or the human-sized mannequin standing motionless in one of the corners, wearing an ancient gorilla skin along with its top hat and a wide, leery, painted-on grin. It has no eyes. The pulsing, black and red veins creeping along the walls of the office and present themselves in varying sizes and thicknesses may also draw the visitor's attention. Or the seemingly harmless and somewhat misplaced looking yellow door draws them in, just there on the wall behind that coffin lying on the floor as if it belongs there. Thick chains are wrapped around it with a padlock holding them close, key stuck inside and inviting the visitor to unlock it. Just ignore the large letters carved into its wood imploring you to 'DO NOT OPEN' the casket. It'll be fine.

Yet... How tempting all of these things may be, the visitor may be unable to entirely ignore the MASSIVE EYE taking up the entire ceiling of the room, glowing an eerie green and watching their every move. Or any of the other eyes scattered around the room. The walls, the cabinets, the shelves, the side of the Archivist's desk, the corners, the floor, the Archivist's forehead. All shapes and sizes and colors and all of them watching the visitor unblinking, unjudging. Just following their every move around the room - Just as the Archivist himself does.

Maybe you want to look around, and maybe you just want to take a seat in that single empty chair before the Archivist's desk. There is just enough room between it and the casket to not feel too cramped in. As for the trap door next to the Archivist's desk... Now that one won't open just yet.

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Jon leans back enough to meet Tony's gaze without stepping fully away, almost meeting his eyes with an innocent expression.

"Actually, no." He replies, giving half of a shrug. "But I recall you were rather fond of the concept of loud, not entirely sober space pirates." Which may be embarrassing for him again, but which of these memories aren't. At least these memories don't entail any of the horrors more commonly encountered in his more recent memories.

Slightly stunned that Jon had actually been paying attention and not just letting Tony talk at him, Tony was slower to respond as he processed that Jon was basically offering him those scandalous pictures right after Tony had complained he did not have nearly enough alone time. "You're a menace," he declared, but he was sliding off of the desk with his hands still on Jon's hips, ready to help him find that memory if it would speed up the process. "If this set isn't long enough to get fucked in a sketchy toilet stall, I'm going to consider it legally an act of terrorism," he warned, urging Jon on to commit his crimes by walking him back toward the shelves, intrigued despite the demand which part of Jonny D'Ville's life Jon found the most memorable. He hadn't made it sound like it was the on stage part.

To be entirely fair, the most memorable parts for Jon are likely the parts of getting drunk and the parts where he gets told the next day how many people he has yelled at while drunk, which he can't remember for being too drunk. At least he has gotten a handle on his alcohol issue by now. For the most part. And these days he's not sure he can still get that level of drunk.

Jon sputters briefly at Tony's words, unable to form a proper reply until the man is already directing him to where most of Jon's memory have been stored. He already knows what he is looking for - Even has held the object briefly while looking for the cat brush before. It's merely a matter of crouching down and picking the pair of goggles back up from where they have ended up, and Jon takes a moment to inspect the items, running a thumb over one of the lenses, cracked in a way not too unsimilar to how his phone's camera has been cracked and he just shakes his head faintly, though his face can't quite mask the amusement.

"If this is what I expect it to be, you will have ample time to make use of more than one sketchy restroom." And quite likely to get an idea just what sort of menace Jon used to be when he was younger.

After fumbling a moment longer with the accessory, Jon puts the goggles on his head, looking doubtful as he mutters "...I feel much too old for these now."

But whether or not Jon feels too old for them, the action manages to trigger the memory and just as with the memory involving the Admiral, this one begins with none of the distorting static and instead morphs the setting much more gradually into a larger room, clearly intended to be rented for private events or parties. Maybe not as fancy and flashy as the parties Tony has been holding in his mind, but affordable for the more regular people inhabiting cities such as London.

The open door at one end of the room leads to the main area of a very regular pub. Not a shabby one, but also not the most exclusive establishment. The room is filled with a decently-sized crowd, enjoying themselves with some alcohol while on the stage at the other end the group of musicians is getting ready for the next part of their show. The steampunk theme is obvious by the amount of top hats, goggles, belts and buckles and mismatched pieces of imaginary uniforms.

Jon's younger self paces between them, lacking an instrument of his own to adjust, but grasping a microphone that looks rather like it used to be part of an old radio. While missing his glasses, he is, in fact, wearing the same pair of goggles Jon has picked up in the office, lenses uncracked on that one. His hair is more wildly outgrown, but already showing the first streaks of grey and dark cracks are painted around his eyes with black makeup. The rest of his attire consists of a long, worn leather coat, a plain shirt that once used to be white, a waistcoat, dark pants and ankle-high boots paired with a set of fingerless leather gloves and a fake gun at his hip.

And above all that, this Jon appears very agitated in his pacing, making his current counterpart grimace slightly and cross his arms.

The goggles on Jon already had Tony snorting with a lopsided grin, impulsively following Jon's hands to help smooth his hair like there was any way this could make the outfit dignified, so the effect of the whole room made Tony brighten with curiosity, wide eyes darting like a cat about to start running. This was very much not a familiar environment to him; if he had ever been in a 'regular pub', it was briefly, to drag someone else out, and his musical act experiences either happened in venues like stadiums or private planes, or places he would confidently describe at this point as 'condemned'. His experiences at that end of the extreme were much fuzzier; his own substance abuse skipped this stage, he had too much money to dally in 'regular'. This room would probably have completely failed to hold his attention if he didn't want to know what kind of people had made an effect on Jon, making Tony lean close to the nearest one in the crowd like he had scrutinized Leitner, only to snap back to hover near Jon with eager energy. Obviously, what Tony really wanted was to thread up next to the stage to turn his scrutiny on the main attraction of this memory, tracking this singer's pacing as he reached blindly for Jon to rub a hand up his back and take his shoulder to keep him close, tempered only by his tension. Against his ear, Tony asked, "Which one of them pissed you off?" This younger Jon wasn't quite the hard punk Tony had been picturing since learning about the band, more crafty flamboyance than grunge, but he was more than making up for it with the attitude.

“Honestly? All of them.” Jon replies with a little huff of indignation. Though a good part of it is directed at his own younger self as Jon watches himself crouch down at the edge of the stage to pick up a bottle of beer.

“I was the only one against taking this job, but was severely outvoted. Several groups from several schools throwing money together to set up this event - The pay was good? But I didn’t like performing with tutors around that might recognize us. The performance at least went surprisingly well. Especially given I am already half drunk at this point.” Jon elaborates, pointing forward at the stage and then nodding for Tony to come along the edge of the room to get closer.

On the stage ahead, the young Jon has returned to the center of the stage, gesturing with the microphone in his hand while collecting various ready notions from the rest of the group before he nods himself and turns back to the room, meeting the lingering expectation with a glare that lasts for a few moments before the performance starts.

Quickly it’s clear that this isn’t a purely musical number, but more of a musical tale told and narrated. It’s also an oddly befitting that this take on popular fairytale figures is a gruesome and bloody one when paired with the knowledge of where Jon’s future is headed.

What’s also getting clear with the very first musical number is that the future Archivist’s strength lies with the wilder and more aggressive pieces and that this young man is well versed in threatening an entire room with merely his voice alone.

It doesn’t stop the older Jon from pointing out another little detail to Tony to call out his younger self even more. “I was pretty stupid back then for never wanting to bring my glasses to any of these, by the way. I could have avoided an embarrassing fall later that evening... But you may get to see that, actually.”

This sounded to Tony more like something that belonged at a ren faire than a bar, making him raise his eyebrows and press his lips together in a way that suggested he was trying to be supportive of his friend's weird hobby and would diplomatically try to hold his tongue until Jon gave him one good reason to mercilessly roast him for it. It was not something he would ever admit to out loud, but it was possible that Tony was too old for this, because he didn't need Jon's help identifying the embarrassing parts. He could see why Jon would have been against being recognized.

It was easier for Tony to understand when the performance was less spoken word and more lyrical, but he wasn't sure how much that had to do with the band as it did with his rapt focus on young Jon's snarling and his unique position to slide behind the Jon standing off stage with him to watch over his shoulder, hands on his waist and ready to catch him if he started to shrink too much in humiliation. "These guys must have been a wreck when you left them, huh?" he observed, not sure it was just charisma they had been in the position of trying to replace. Murmured against Jon's neck with a laugh in voice, because this was sure to change on a dime when Jon started his stumbling or the group got too experimental again, Tony said, "Right now, I think I would thank you for spitting in my mouth. Is that weird? Who is this guy? Is this how you stopped Billy? Is that why he's hanging around the hospital now?"

“Hm.” Jon said, not quite shrugging his shoulders “We really just parted ways once we were done with school to figure out where to go next. It’s not uncommon, really. Small groups forming to perform to try and make a living.” For the most part it had simply been a job for Jon. He didn’t exactly grow up having money. Or even any relatives left he knew of to fall back on.

He watched the show for a few moments in silence, crossed arms wrapping around himself at some point before dropping down enough for him to place his hands over Tony’s. It’s still an odd time to remember. He easily felt more lost than he does these days at the Institute.

It’s the murmuring against his neck that pulls Jon back with a little shudder and he turns his head enough to glance back at the other man, blinking in befuddlement at what Tony just said before the flustered sputtering swallows Jon’s initial response before he can’t help but laugh briefly “Seriously? Christ! Do I now have to wonder if you want me to yell at you, or if you just want to watch me getting angry at others.” If it’s the latter... Well, then Tony might not need to wait too much longer. Not if Jon assumes the end of this memory correctly.

That must have been a lot to let go of all at once. If Tony didn't know exactly where he was supposed to be once he was out of school, he would have been pulled in eighteen different directions and likely would have just ended up in a bottle. None of the people he had been close to at school hadn't stuck around, though, he realized with a thoughtful pout, and only recently started to reappear for him like a strange echo catching up all at once before he was suddenly plucked from home. Absently, he took Jon's hands covering his as an invitation to lace their fingers together and replace Jon's arms across his chest, the calculating tap of one finger catching the percussion beat and metering this puzzle that nagged at him. That probably didn't mean anything.

The beat against Jon's chest was gone as Tony chuckled at Jon's sputtering, squeezing instead so Jon couldn't scramble away too quickly in embarrassment before Tony could press a kiss behind his ear for the reaction and ease his hold back down again to let him escape. Jon had done plenty of yelling at Tony and not a lot of getting angry at other people in front of him and Tony was here coaxing him to stay close with a tiny tug at his shirt, did Jon really have to ask? But Tony didn't have to see whatever Jon knew was coming to be wondering already, "Where is this aggression coming from?" The Admiral didn't seem to be experiencing any of it, but that moment could have been the exception to the rule, not the precursor to whatever was winding Jon so tight he was going gray before there were worms digging under his skin.

Edited 2020-06-26 00:40 (UTC)

While Jon appreciates the chance to get away, he doesn’t take it. Instead, he finds his attention trapped by their joined hands as he tunes out most of their current surroundings.

“Would you believe me if I told you that a lot of it was fear...?” He asks without looking up. “My fears, insecurities, disappointments, Moments of sadness, grief and despair?”

Jon lets out a very short, dry laugh “Heh. It felt safer to hide all that behind anger and sharp skepticism. I was... Entirely on my own. Myself the only person I could trust and... Too afraid to show any sort of weakness, I suppose. Christ.... I maintained that behavior during all my years working in Research at the Institute and into my position as Head Archivist. It just... Felt safe.”

That Jon had an answer for that question so readily had to be a good thing, ultimately, but it certainly didn't feel good to process all at once, making Tony gather Jon close again against his chest, one arm curled around his ribs and their hands together over his heart for Tony to rub his fretful thumb. He had been expecting a flippant answer that he would have to put together, and wasn't prepared with a better way to respond except another appreciative kiss for Jon's sharing. He had to be the flippant one, of course, watching the younger Jon work through this insecurity on stage more skeptically now, and asked, "Are you telling me you have a better relationship with fear now? Very tactile, very personal, working both ways, honestly, the communication seems great, you've worked out a lot of those early issues between you."

"I... Wouldn't necessarily say so?" Jon says, leaning back against Tony while gladly holding onto that offered hand and the support that comes with the gesture "It rather feels like... It feels like I can't afford to hide and pretend. Not anymore." The things that happen when you have to deal with monsters and have a group of people around you that won't hesitate to call you out on your nonsense.

He lets out a sigh while the show ahead approaches its finale "Maybe I'm even more afraid now. I now understand more, but at the same time understand even less as well. It's not only myself I can worry about any longer either. Sometimes it... It feels as if I'm responsible for the entire world and- That's a terrifying thought." Jon has to chuckle a little, giving the hand in his own a little squeeze before whispering "...I probably don't have to tell you that. I only wish my... Role... Wouldn't imply that ultimately... I have to help my patron try and make my world its own personal playground." Sure, he may have stopped rituals and saved his world, but all of that as an agent of just another evil god.

Two loud bangs from the stage declare the show finished as the performing Jon stands with his false gun raised high, finger still on the trigger and a dark glare cast over the audience. The pose then shifts flawlessly into a bow, complete with a flourish and he takes two steps back, making room for the rest of his group while making his way to the edge of the stage to just get down from it and find himself something to drink to make the evening at least somewhat worth his time.

Tony didn't know nearly enough, not with the twin veils of the mysteries of the magic at work and the unfamiliar systems of the dimension that Jon came from, to offer any more insight on what Jon might be responsible for and what his future could hold, making him feel even more out of place in this room than before and release his arm around Jon's middle apologetically for not being ready to do his role. He was supposed to be the futurist who calculated for all possibilities, and instead he had to be the one asking, "Is that the only future you can see?" He rubbed at Jon's side with his free hand to encourage him to turn around, even as he watched the younger Jon stalk away, wanting to ask him the same question. "I know I'm responsible for the entire world," he said. "I don't get to say that, because when I do, it's ego, it's narcissism, it's--whatever." He rolled his eyes and raised his eyebrows, asking if Jon genuinely thought any differently hearing the same phrase from Tony, he doubted it, it was true, and why he knew when Jon said it himself that it was different. "But I am, because I have the power to change it for the better, and I can see what's coming. And I have nightmares, all the time, about a future that hasn't happened yet, and they get worse every day. But I couldn't do it without that fear. If I wasn't afraid of what could happen, I wouldn't be able to stop it before it did. So, if you're more responsible, and you're more scared, you've got to see another solution."

Jon quite willingly follows the wordless prompt to turn around, listening to Tony's words and watching the man's expression as he phrases his own responsibilities and giving more of an outline of his own position in his world. No. It obviously isn't any easier to shoulder those responsibilities when knowing exactly what side one is on.

He still ponders the question posed a little longer "I- I don't think I can say that for sure yet. There is a lot I don't know. But I want there to be a different future. One that isn't... Dominated by fear and anguish. I just need to figure out where my place in such a future would be." And if there even exists a place for him in it at all.

Giving a little smile, Jon nods up at Tony "I'm sorry to hear you are having nightmares. But your world seems in good hands and I'm glad to hear that that you know what to do. I suppose it can't hurt to at least try following that example." Which is a preferable option to giving up right away and condemning any possibility for a better outcome.

That sounded like a lot of blind trust for a guy who only kind of knew who the Avengers were, second hand, but Tony smirked and nodded anyway, glad to accept that his hands were good and he always knew exactly what he was doing until proved otherwise. If it could help a kid feel hope when he saw Iron Man streak through the sky, the same belief might help Jon face the demons crawling out of his hell.

"Where do you want to be?" he asked. That seemed like an entirely different problem to Tony. He pointed in the wake of the memory of Jon, spilling his aggression onto a crowd, and said, "Wasn't here. Although, I gotta say, you are good at it. If you get this apocalypse thing over with, you might want to consider getting the band back together. Maybe skip the hats-- get a PR team together first, you know, put together a focus group..."

While Jon initially feels flustered by the compliment, he can't help the short laugh at Tony's suggestion "I can assure you that is not going to happen." He looks over his shoulder to locate his past self, now with a bottle of beer in one hand and an open pack of cigarettes in his other, counting and calculating how long he can make them last.

And Jon simply shakes his head.

"No. All I wanted was to be left alone. Stay home, read a few books. Find a normal job..." He has never been a man of great aspirations or goals "Never thought I'd ever leave the country, even. And never wanted to either. Was a little surprised I enjoyed traveling a little while tracking down information about the Unknowing." As he says this and watches himself wander towards the door to step outside, the memory begins to waver.

That was something of a surprise. Not that Jon was an introvert who didn't want the attention, but that he didn't even want to travel. "Lucky you, now you're in another universe. Weren't you curious...?" No wonder Jon felt lost and frustrated. That was a very small life to lead for someone who asked a lot of questions.

Jon wants to laugh as his hands lightly get a hold of the front of Tony's shirt, but he keeps the sound at bay, even as the memory fades for good and takes them back to Jon's mental office. He lets out a small exhale at the silence settling back around them.

"Truth be told, Tony... I do consider myself lucky for having been taken away by the Agrii." And this is something Jon has admitted before, and will do again. Of course it's not easy on Temba, but being there... He has found a lot of time to think and contemplate. Time he hasn't really had before.

It might not have been the first time Jon had admitted it, and he certainly wasn't the first one to express something like it to Tony, but it still made Tony frown with concern that wasn't entirely because he wasn't happy to see that big eyeball and coffin back. From what Jon had to share about his life in this room alone, Tony got the impulse, it didn't seem like he had left a lot of pleasant memories behind-- just like Sansa didn't have a good life to look forward to once her time here was over. There were contexts that Tony would say he appreciated the experience, too, but he didn't think that was what Jon was talking about. Tony schooled the frown into a practiced grin and took Jon's hands, chin up with too much pride to agree, "Company can't be beat."

The office is dark compared to the setting they just left. Dark, quiet and hardly inviting. And yet Jon can't help but find it more suited for himself. He can't blame Tony for feeling a little uncomfortable with the setting. Especially after the majority of the memories he has encountered here - And still could stumble over. These mental spaces can be tricky to maneuver.

Jon looks down at both of their hands before Tony's words pull his attention back up and responds with a softer smile of his own, not entirely fooled by the man's attitude any longer "I'm glad this allowed me to meet you, too." Despite all of those earlier difficulties. "See? You even became part of this place already." Jon adds with a nod upwards one of the shelves, pointing out the silly toy shield Tony just might recognize from a rather peculiar game of duck fishing.

Standing out might have been a challenge in this room, but Tony was surprised he hadn't noticed that when he had been sure he had some kind of Captain America collectible sixth sense. The sharp edges of his smile melted into something more genuine even though he raised a baffled eyebrow as Jon pointed out the frisbee, and he said, "Hey..." because he didn't know what he felt about seeing it between Jon's multitude of mutilations. The question came out as, "Did you keep that?," somewhat dreamily, gaze jumping back to search Jon's face with the same questioning grin, knowing that the shield being in this dream didn't mean Jon actually physically had it somewhere as much as Tony was pretty sure he didn't own this many fire extinguishers. Tape recorders, maybe. He didn't really wait for the answer to the question he wasn't sure he was asking, encouraging Jon to follow with a hopeful, gentle hold around one hand as he reached up to retrieve the shield for them. He really didn't expect to find the action figure and winced.

Tony would be surprised by the actual amount of fire extinguishers in the Archives. The amount may have gone down a little by now, but it can still be hard not to trip over them.

"I, ahm..." Jon at least begins to answer the question around the blush he can clearly feel forming on his face at the reaction. He makes no effort to stop Tony from taking the shield, coming along quite willingly. This is, after all, a memory they share. And by now Jon is well aware that it cuts off before things become awkward and painful. And despite the humiliation Tony puts him through, it's one of the good memories in here.

And while Tony winces at the other toy being exposed, Jon sputters a quick "Christ!" and makes an effort to hide his red face in Tony's chest, muttering something on the lines of being able to explain, but for the most part sounding more unintelligible than anything before.

The memory was an awkward start for Tony, already tense from finding the toy only to watch Jon react to him at the carnival with the exact panic he had been trying to ask Jon about in this room--maybe that was the problem, Jon didn't understand because it did look very much the same as when Tony deliberately made him stutter, maybe it wasn't any different at all and he was picking and choosing when Jon was allowed to react like that. Shoulders starting to curl with despair, Tony almost missed the look than Jon had shot him in the memory next, but it made his heart give the same hitch and thud as it switched gears to realize this memory that Jon was keeping on a shelf was the moment Tony realized he adored him. Did he know that, somehow? He must have been close enough to hear it now, but Tony didn't want to push him away, wrapping the arm still holding the shield instead around his shoulders and muttering, "Look at this asshole now. What did you do this time? He blinds you in public--" Jon's reaction to being spun was still incredibly funny, and Tony's scolding was interrupted by a laugh that he tried to quell in Jon's hair before he continued, less convincingly, "It's like you enjoy the punishment, at this point."

Jon isn't paying too much attention to the memory itself, but he sure can hear and feel Tony's heartbeat and finds it too easy to settle in the comfort the sensation offers. The little shift in it puts an unseen smile on his face and Jon risks a glance up to Tony first, then briefly to the scene of himself being blindfolded and spun around.

The noise he makes is one of weak indignation, but Jon refuses to step away.

"You know, I was a little mad about the blindfold at first." He says, voice soft. "I have gotten so used to... Seeing. Not being able to see - You know that terrifies me. But- I felt... Safe? There was nothing uncontrolled or truly dangerous abut it and- I think I enjoyed it? A little thrill without any risk..." Because actual dangers? He knows those. And he doesn't like those.

"A little mad," Tony quietly echoed with a laugh as Jon said it, but his teasing smile softened at the revelation that Jon was trusting him like that in the memory. He hadn't known then what a gamble it was to blindfold Jon--he hardly understood the implications now, back in the office, the game over far too quickly like it had been the first time, and said, "Wouldn't work here," with a pluck at Jon's collar that brought his fangy smirk back. "But you know I'm more than happy to provide a thrill any time, boss. I'd like to think it was my premiere service." It didn't really last, Tony's expression shifting to an uncomfortable question that this place had already given him about Jon and blindness and making him step back to carefully replace the frisbee like that would help ensure it didn't get lost anywhere in this room. Right, the action figure.

"You stealing from the kids now? Is that part of your dream powers?" he asked after propping the shield up to bring the toy back down and waggle it accusingly. That was a preferable circumstance than anything Tony showing Jon in his own dreams making enough of an impression to cross over.

No, blindfolding Jon in his own headspace wouldn't do anything. Or at the very least it would be very difficult to do, given that the Archivist actively sees everything the many eyes scattered across the room see. So he simply offers an apologetic little shrug - And a smile that is further accompanied by a decision "I will get back to you about future thrilling experiences once this is over."

He lets Tony put the frisbee back, noticing that he actually bothers enough to put it back in its proper place unlike the other items and then has to blink at the action figure, mouth opening in an attempted response, "You..... You remember that Billy gave me a couple of comic books...?"

Which is as far as he gets before the room morphs into the potentially familiar setting of the library, where Jon sits at his little table, a small stack of comic books open on one side while reading one of them with a very stern expression, notepad on his other side and pen in hand, doing his best to analyze what he is reading and looking at. The toy Tony has discovered stands on the table before him and Jon casts comparing glances between the action figure and the drawn images.

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