And some point the colors stopped screaming at him.
Jon can't exactly remember when where or why that change had occurred, but it did. Thankfully. A noisy silence had taken over form there, dousing him generously with something that might have been cotton candy. At least it felt about as sticky. A passing whale scared away a family of arachnid file folders and the weight of a ray of sunshine impaled his head for what smelt like a century.
He can't remember the moment everything faded away for good. What Jon remembers instead is feeling terrible. Exhausted and worn down in ways that are the exact opposite of pleasant. It costs some effort to blink a single eye half open and the light that is presented to be part of the world existing on the other side of his eyelids results in an incoherent groan that may well be an attempt at a more elaborate complaint. He has a very vague idea where he is - And that he wants to leave. So the moment the Archivist stirs, is also the moment he tries to roll himself out of the bed that is several times too long for a person of his size.
I'll be honest with you, I feel like I've got even more questions than I started out with when we came here...
The Exo sits across from the beds, pencil in hand as it forms the curving words on the sheet of paper he's propped against his knee. Compared to the chaos that had erupted in the Green Room some time ago, the stillness and timely beeps of equipment in the medical facilities is a jarring contrast, although even the Exo won't say he finds it such a bad thing.
He's been back and forth between here and the Green Room since then, making sure his friends were safe before making sure their fuzzy visitors were secured. He's personally seen to putting away those weapons as well, both habit and out of practicality. Now that he's found a moment, he's decided to do a bit of writing.
Noticing the stirring from the man in the bed, the Exo lifts his head, glancing over at Jon. He's both relieved and perhaps just a little anxious, hoping that the medical treatment has done it's job.
"Welcome back," he greets anyway, returning his pencil to paper.
The Archivist stops any attempts at moving at the sound of Cayde's words - Words that feel way too loud and way too heavy on his skull at the moment, but he still recognizes the Exo's voice and squints in that direction.
For a moment Jon is silent, then sighs a grumbles 'Hm.' before fully forcing one of his eyes open to catch sight of the other. "...Cayde." He manages with a brief delay, then gives up attempting to keep his head up. "...w-wha- what happened...?"
What a loaded question. Still, just hearing his name spoken by the other is enough of a relief.
"You attempted to make contact with the fuzzballs, something happened in between and we found ourselves in the middle of a spitball fight," he says after writing a few more lines. Slowly he gets to his feet, rolling up the paper as he steps over towards Jon's bedside.
"Long story short, we managed to knock them out and get things under control, not without a few problems. Turns out? Aside from being corrosive, their spit induces hallucinations."
He looks down at Jon as he takes up a new position leaning against the wall nearby. "How're you feeling?"
Leaving his head to lie on the mattress, Jon listens to Cayde's words, wincing a few times while refusing to try to nod.
Right. The Graq... The spit... ...the flaming monster.
Hallucinations, Cayde says, and Jon takes a moment to piece that together before making a more physical attempt to push himself into a sitting position. The nausea is real, but Jon refuses to remain lying there.
"Dreadful." He replies with an exhale once he can finally take a look around the room. It's him and Cayde and strange devices he used to know how to operate before switching away from the medical data point. Reminding himself that he has no acceptable reason to feel disappointed at the absence of a certain person, Jon takes a slow breath, then exhales again before looking at the Exo, a certain dread creeping into his voice. "The Graq... D-did you kill them?"
At least from this side Jon won't see the darkened scorch marks on the Exo's leather armor. Cayde unrolls his letter, trying to figure out a good place to resume. He ends up at a bit of an awkward angle as he plants one foot against the wall as he leans over to use his knee as a table.
"Nope. Didn't even fire a single shot, can you believe it?" It sounds like he expects some kind of reward for good behavior. "They didn't know what they were doing. Also I might have unintentionally scared them trying to keep them from targeting you but hey, no one died!"
Hearing that answer, Jon nods with some clear relief, but also manages a little frown at watching Cayde attempting to write on his own knee. He's sure there are flat surfaces around here somewhere. "I... I'm glad they're unharmed. And... I assume no one of us... Got seriously injured...?" The Exo's mood may be a wholly different one if that were the case.
Jon looks at the far end of the bed for a moment, then towards the door. "...the other ships. Have they... Have they stopped firing?"
"Well, they might be a little sore but there's no easy way to knock someone out when they're very intent on melting your face. Don't think anyone got seriously hurt otherwise. I've certainly had worse." Still, Cayde grins a little. "You find something out about them?"
He finally gives up trying to write on his knee and goes to sit at the edge of the neighboring bed. "Haven't had any more power fluctuations going on. I think our people have nailed things down. Other than that, no idea what's happening out there. Been a little preoccupied."
"N-.....Not much." Jon admits, shifting where he sits to have his legs over the edge of the bed and apparently ready to get up any moment now. He feels weak. Too weak. But staying here won't fix that. Which means it's better to pretend otherwise.
"Th-they... They know nothing. They b-barely understand why they are here. Those weapons weren't even theirs. They just- Suddenly they were on this ship? The other ships... Those aren't theirs, either. Their kind has never gone to space - And they just want to go home..." Yes, that's hardly anything. And maybe not worth the trouble that acquiring these information has caused. Dropping his head along with his shoulders, Jon looks down at the nearby floor, away from the Exo. "I'm sorry."
The Exo frowns over his letter as he listens to what Jon's discovered of their furry intruders. "Yeah, kinda figured that when they started throwing them at me." He shakes his head. "So they're victims just like us... But I gotta wonder if it was an accident, or if someone else is pulling all our strings, Agrii included, and it's not the first time I've thought it." Not since Wanda had told him about the Atroma.
He looks over at Jon. "Hey. There are always going to be things we realize could've been done better. Done different. There were too many things we didn't know, but all things considered, it could've gone a whole lot worse. So we deal, move on. We still got things to do, and more questions to get answers for."
Getting to his feet again, Cayde steps back over to the Archivist's bed, resting a hand on his shoulder. "We got people that're worried about us too, and we needa make sure they don't freak out," he says, winking.
"Oh, the other team brought in Gary or whatever her name is. Whatever hit the ship and threw all the systems out of whack affected her like those storms you guys were talking about back on Agra Ten. Kinda felt it too- my connection to the Light was flickering here and there."
Jon simply nods without looking up. There are a few things here to take in. For one, the potential of someone else entirely being involved in this entire mess. The part where they still have no useful answers. And Ga Re has been found as well...
"...this makes the storms sound a lot less natural." He muses aloud and grabs Cayde's arm to pull himself onto his feet. Not quite steady, but standing. "S-so- What's next?" He asks, finally casting his eyes back up at the Exo. He doesn't feel remarkably convinced that he hasn't messed up badly, but he can't just sit here and do nothing at all. "Are we- Fighting those ships?"
"Yeah... which still begs the question of what's causing it."
The Exo automatically tenses his arm to give Jon more support, even as he unabashedly uses the man's shoulder to write another sentence. "Now? I reckon we can start getting the gang back together so we can figure out or next mo-"
The lights suddenly dim, replaced by a pulsing, urgent red. Cayde jerks his head up, then at Jon. "Well that doesn't look good."
The Archivist nods once more, wordlessly agreeing with the plan to figure out their next move when the alarm cuts off any actually verbal response me may have.
"Oh, Christ- What now?!" He manages, exasperation pushing aside exhaustion for a moment. "We- We should hurry, Cayde. W-where to?" What is the current place people are gathering in?
Cayde hastily folds up his letter and tucks it into his belt. "Let's head back to the docking bay. Last I checked, we still have a few people on the bridge and at least they know what they're doing. Our guys with the ships have the eyes everywhere though. Maybe they'll have better answers." And if they all needed to vacate, at least that'd be a few less to worry about getting to the ships.
"I'm good." Jon makes an effort to sound reassuring while yet making sure to keep a hold on Cayde's arm for support.
This was a ship-wide alarm, wasn't it? Which can still mean a lot. The other ships firing at them again, for example. Or the ship they are currently on having gotten damaged by other means. Jon hardly knows where to even consider all those possibilities.
There's a lot of things about the ship that Cayde wishes he could figure out without someone else's having to do something or another first. Right now, at least they have people who can understand its workings at all, and as he'd said earlier in the mission, he trusts those who stayed behind.
Nodding at Jon, he starts towards the door. "On the bright side? Doesn't feel like we're getting shot at. Of course that said, I can't say that any alarm like is any less concerning."
Possible hull breach, losing oxygen, life support failure- oh, there are quite a few things he can think of, but he figures it's probably better not to mention them aloud.
"We're in space, Cayde." Jon feels the need to remind the Exo while walking next to him, indirectly dictating their comparably slow pace. "I... I don't want to hear any alarms from the ship I'm stuck in while- You know. Stuck in space of all things."
But no, he doesn't need or want to hear about all those dreadful options, thank you very much, Cayde. He already worries enough with what little he knows about these ships.
"You make it very difficult to try being reassuring," the Exo points out. "I mean, true, alarms are something you don't want to particularly hear anywhere, especially in your given proximity."
As much as he'd like to hurry them along, he keeps to Jon's pace, not wanting the man to wear himself out any further. All told, Jon was probably better off being left at the medbay, but Cayde knows that's not something the Archivist would have agreed to. At least this way he has someone keeping an eye on him and won't be off wandering by himself, getting stuck somewhere.
Jon sighs, then shakes his head. "I am just being realistic. False comfort has- It's just never worked for me." All those little lies that are meant to make life easier, they have just never been something he could get himself around to appreciate.
For a short while he is silent, but then admits without looking up: "Picking up that weapon was a mistake. I... ah... I hoped I- Could be useful."
"I appreciate being realistic, but I still like to keep optimistic. Also it takes a lot of energy to panic and I'd rather not tire myself out for no reason, you know?"
Cayde continues on, determined to keep their pace steady, but trying to make sure it's not something that will tax Jon any more than the Archivist has been. He doesn't say anything immediately once Jon speaks again. He wonders how much the man remembers of anything.
"You wanted to help in some way. At least you didn't kill anyone. Those kinds of regrets aren't as reparable."
If optimism works for Cayde, Jon won' try to take that from the Exo. It never worked for him, though. And even though he dares to reach for it every once in a while, so far the results have remained largely the same.
"I take it that's your optimism speaking." Jon concludes, yet doesn't feel like adding anything else. Producing actual words has slowly but surely become a chore and if Jon were even slightly more reasonable regarding his own health, he would agree that his place at the moment should be in the medbay.
Luckily, he has never been very reasonable in regards of his own health. "...how much further?"
In a way, it's all the Exo has had to keep going. It's not that he doesn't know it's unhealthy, but if you didn't have some sort of hope to cling to, even one that might be completely false, then you were left in a very dark and dangerous place.
"That's me speaking. You don't wanna kill anyone, Jon. You don't want that responsibility. Me? I've done it too many times that I won't hesitate to put a bullet in someone's head if I don't think they deserve it or if they're trying to take out me or anyone else I know. Survival's brutal."
He gives Jon a pat on the back. "Should almost be there. We already passed the split that goes to the bridge."
And sometimes this dark and dangerous place is the very archive you work in, yes.
"I--" Jon starts to protest, but cuts himself off. Of course he wants to protest. To argue. He can take responsibility, heck, he already has a lot of responsibility back home and he has to protect those who are being put in danger because of him! But hurting people, killing them... Why does that feel like he is ready to agree with Helen who so readily embraced her new role as the Distortion.
So he says nothing, simply nods a soft "...right." as the end of the hallway comes into view at last. A hallway that seemed so much longer the first time they walked through it...
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revivalproject2020-08-18 11:06 pm
Medbay Fun Times!
Jon can't exactly remember when where or why that change had occurred, but it did. Thankfully. A noisy silence had taken over form there, dousing him generously with something that might have been cotton candy. At least it felt about as sticky. A passing whale scared away a family of arachnid file folders and the weight of a ray of sunshine impaled his head for what smelt like a century.
He can't remember the moment everything faded away for good. What Jon remembers instead is feeling terrible. Exhausted and worn down in ways that are the exact opposite of pleasant. It costs some effort to blink a single eye half open and the light that is presented to be part of the world existing on the other side of his eyelids results in an incoherent groan that may well be an attempt at a more elaborate complaint. He has a very vague idea where he is - And that he wants to leave. So the moment the Archivist stirs, is also the moment he tries to roll himself out of the bed that is several times too long for a person of his size.
no subject
The Exo sits across from the beds, pencil in hand as it forms the curving words on the sheet of paper he's propped against his knee. Compared to the chaos that had erupted in the Green Room some time ago, the stillness and timely beeps of equipment in the medical facilities is a jarring contrast, although even the Exo won't say he finds it such a bad thing.
He's been back and forth between here and the Green Room since then, making sure his friends were safe before making sure their fuzzy visitors were secured. He's personally seen to putting away those weapons as well, both habit and out of practicality. Now that he's found a moment, he's decided to do a bit of writing.
Noticing the stirring from the man in the bed, the Exo lifts his head, glancing over at Jon. He's both relieved and perhaps just a little anxious, hoping that the medical treatment has done it's job.
"Welcome back," he greets anyway, returning his pencil to paper.
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For a moment Jon is silent, then sighs a grumbles 'Hm.' before fully forcing one of his eyes open to catch sight of the other. "...Cayde." He manages with a brief delay, then gives up attempting to keep his head up. "...w-wha- what happened...?"
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"You attempted to make contact with the fuzzballs, something happened in between and we found ourselves in the middle of a spitball fight," he says after writing a few more lines. Slowly he gets to his feet, rolling up the paper as he steps over towards Jon's bedside.
"Long story short, we managed to knock them out and get things under control, not without a few problems. Turns out? Aside from being corrosive, their spit induces hallucinations."
He looks down at Jon as he takes up a new position leaning against the wall nearby. "How're you feeling?"
no subject
Right. The Graq... The spit...
...the flaming monster.
Hallucinations, Cayde says, and Jon takes a moment to piece that together before making a more physical attempt to push himself into a sitting position. The nausea is real, but Jon refuses to remain lying there.
"Dreadful." He replies with an exhale once he can finally take a look around the room. It's him and Cayde and strange devices he used to know how to operate before switching away from the medical data point. Reminding himself that he has no acceptable reason to feel disappointed at the absence of a certain person, Jon takes a slow breath, then exhales again before looking at the Exo, a certain dread creeping into his voice. "The Graq... D-did you kill them?"
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over to use his knee as a table.
"Nope. Didn't even fire a single shot, can you believe it?" It sounds like he expects some kind of reward for good behavior. "They didn't know what they were doing. Also I might have unintentionally scared them trying to keep them from targeting you but hey, no one died!"
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Jon looks at the far end of the bed for a moment, then towards the door. "...the other ships. Have they... Have they stopped firing?"
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He finally gives up trying to write on his knee and goes to sit at the edge of the neighboring bed. "Haven't had any more power fluctuations going on. I think our people have nailed things down. Other than that, no idea what's happening out there. Been a little preoccupied."
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"Th-they... They know nothing. They b-barely understand why they are here. Those weapons weren't even theirs. They just- Suddenly they were on this ship? The other ships... Those aren't theirs, either. Their kind has never gone to space - And they just want to go home..." Yes, that's hardly anything. And maybe not worth the trouble that acquiring these information has caused. Dropping his head along with his shoulders, Jon looks down at the nearby floor, away from the Exo. "I'm sorry."
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He looks over at Jon. "Hey. There are always going to be things we realize could've been done better. Done different. There were too many things we didn't know, but all things considered, it could've gone a whole lot worse. So we deal, move on. We still got things to do, and more questions to get answers for."
Getting to his feet again, Cayde steps back over to the Archivist's bed, resting a hand on his shoulder. "We got people that're worried about us too, and we needa make sure they don't freak out," he says, winking.
"Oh, the other team brought in Gary or whatever her name is. Whatever hit the ship and threw all the systems out of whack affected her like those storms you guys were talking about back on Agra Ten. Kinda felt it too- my connection to the Light was flickering here and there."
no subject
"...this makes the storms sound a lot less natural." He muses aloud and grabs Cayde's arm to pull himself onto his feet. Not quite steady, but standing. "S-so- What's next?" He asks, finally casting his eyes back up at the Exo. He doesn't feel remarkably convinced that he hasn't messed up badly, but he can't just sit here and do nothing at all. "Are we- Fighting those ships?"
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The Exo automatically tenses his arm to give Jon more support, even as he unabashedly uses the man's shoulder to write another sentence. "Now? I reckon we can start getting the gang back together so we can figure out or next mo-"
The lights suddenly dim, replaced by a pulsing, urgent red. Cayde jerks his head up, then at Jon. "Well that doesn't look good."
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"Oh, Christ- What now?!" He manages, exasperation pushing aside exhaustion for a moment. "We- We should hurry, Cayde. W-where to?" What is the current place people are gathering in?
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Cayde hastily folds up his letter and tucks it into his belt. "Let's head back to the docking bay. Last I checked, we still have a few people on the bridge and at least they know what they're doing. Our guys with the ships have the eyes everywhere though. Maybe they'll have better answers." And if they all needed to vacate, at least that'd be a few less to worry about getting to the ships.
"Lean on me. You ready?"
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This was a ship-wide alarm, wasn't it? Which can still mean a lot. The other ships firing at them again, for example. Or the ship they are currently on having gotten damaged by other means. Jon hardly knows where to even consider all those possibilities.
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Nodding at Jon, he starts towards the door. "On the bright side? Doesn't feel like we're getting shot at. Of course that said, I can't say that any alarm like is any less concerning."
Possible hull breach, losing oxygen, life support failure- oh, there are quite a few things he can think of, but he figures it's probably better not to mention them aloud.
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But no, he doesn't need or want to hear about all those dreadful options, thank you very much, Cayde. He already worries enough with what little he knows about these ships.
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As much as he'd like to hurry them along, he keeps to Jon's pace, not wanting the man to wear himself out any further. All told, Jon was probably better off being left at the medbay, but Cayde knows that's not something the Archivist would have agreed to. At least this way he has someone keeping an eye on him and won't be off wandering by himself, getting stuck somewhere.
And I entirely missed this notif \o/
For a short while he is silent, but then admits without looking up: "Picking up that weapon was a mistake. I... ah... I hoped I- Could be useful."
oops
Cayde continues on, determined to keep their pace steady, but trying to make sure it's not something that will tax Jon any more than the Archivist has been. He doesn't say anything immediately once Jon speaks again. He wonders how much the man remembers of anything.
"You wanted to help in some way. At least you didn't kill anyone. Those kinds of regrets aren't as reparable."
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"I take it that's your optimism speaking." Jon concludes, yet doesn't feel like adding anything else. Producing actual words has slowly but surely become a chore and if Jon were even slightly more reasonable regarding his own health, he would agree that his place at the moment should be in the medbay.
Luckily, he has never been very reasonable in regards of his own health. "...how much further?"
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"That's me speaking. You don't wanna kill anyone, Jon. You don't want that responsibility. Me? I've done it too many times that I won't hesitate to put a bullet in someone's head if I don't think they deserve it or if they're trying to take out me or anyone else I know. Survival's brutal."
He gives Jon a pat on the back. "Should almost be there. We already passed the split that goes to the bridge."
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"I--" Jon starts to protest, but cuts himself off. Of course he wants to protest. To argue. He can take responsibility, heck, he already has a lot of responsibility back home and he has to protect those who are being put in danger because of him! But hurting people, killing them... Why does that feel like he is ready to agree with Helen who so readily embraced her new role as the Distortion.
So he says nothing, simply nods a soft "...right." as the end of the hallway comes into view at last. A hallway that seemed so much longer the first time they walked through it...