[ network ]

[beholding_archivist]

[ Static is what begins this broadcast. A little crackle at first, but quickly increasing and peaking for a moment before receding again. Once it has mostly died down a deep, labored intake of breath can be heard before the image taken of the camera flickers to life.

Jon looks into said camera with a mix of dread and fatigue, fresh blood smeared through a face that hasn't been a shower in a while, yet has been to plenty of unpleasant places very recently. His hair is messy. Cut short and out of his face for practicality, but nowhere as neatly trimmed as it has been after their visit to Coruscant. Much more notable are his eyes, however. Where before their dull, muddy green hasn't been drawing much attention, they are now a brighter, much more piercing and maybe a little unnatural greyish green.

After a moment of quietly contemplating his screen, Jon's face settles into a frown. His voice carries a slight tremor when he starts speaking, causing the static to return for half a moment before it levels back down along with the tremor in Jon's voice. ]

H̶ow.̧.̡. ̀

... how long was I gone? And--

What happened to the network?

[ He tried scrolling back, but all he can see is the same message, over and over and over again. ]

Comments

[beholding_archivist]

Being set back down into his own feet, hand still outstretched into the spray of water, almost feels like being given permission to fully step into the water. Which to Jon feels to be a rather tempting idea at that moment. His clothes are worn, torn and most likely will end up getting tossed into the forge’s furnace anyway. Sooner rather than later.

He still decides to take the pieces off, if only to give his skin a proper scrubbing.

“It’s..... Probably been months.” He offers as he pulls the off-color sweater he is wearing over his head, pausing then to look down and run his fingers over the mostly healed, but still very much present wound in his chest. Angrily red from blood and irritated skin. His final scar from his home world... “Time didn’t work anymore. Neither did space. Or reality... People didn’t die. They only suffered. Everyone suffered. I only hope that... It worked. And that what has been done was worth it.”

Dropping the article of clothes into the sink, Jon looks up at Tony, expression inquiring, though when he asks his question there is no hint of the compulsion that often used to linger in his words. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

[in_extremis]

Tony could feel the flinch tense in his shoulders as Jon pulled the sweater off, effectively breaking them apart for the first time since crashing into each other and setting Tony's teeth on edge as he made overtures of politeness like he would leave Jon to his privacy then, hand moving vaguely for the door. Not that this was at all what he wanted to do, and poorly sold it anyway as he stared with keen curiosity for the wound that could have produced so much blood to be revealed, and sighed at the raw skin like he had been holding his breath since he had set eyes on Jon and the dark stain across his front. A new line to map, and with Jon still talking it felt like an invitation to stay after all, letting Tony take his wrist carefully and touch his fingertips like he could feel the impression of the injury.

Feeling guilty enough already for leaving Jon to collect yet another scar, he only got as far as, "What--?," and couldn't really understand why the tone of Jon's questioning felt so wrong as the tension leapt back up into his shoulders at the request. Right, he was going, and with an easy problem to solve because it wasn't like Tony was going to leave Jon to walk back out of here still in those stained clothes. "Of course," he replied quickly, and released Jon to knot the errant hand in his own shirt instead as he pushed out of the bathroom, "That's what they're there for. I'm not wearing them. Formal, for the evening, I think."

[beholding_archivist]

Jon doesn't miss Tony's interest in the wound Billy has healed and by doing so has spared them an even more gory reunion. He doesn't mind. Tony knew his scars and has never shied away from them. Which Jon knows to appreciate. He lets Tony take his hand and observes the man's reaction wordlessly. There is a sadness in Tony's face. A guilt. Though none of what has happened is Tony's fault.

Regarding Tony with a fond smile, Jon nods at the response to his request and keeps watching Tony as the man moves to leave him alone with the hot water. "Thank you." He says softly and starts to take off his boots and remaining pieces of clothing to step under the cleansing spray of water entirely. Which feels very much needed and while Jon normally is one to shower quickly, but this one he takes his time to relish and properly wash away the stains and grime of the apocalypse he summoned himself.