Jonathan 'Eyebags' Sims (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beholding_archivist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalproject2021-05-11 11:00 am
beholding_archivist) wrote in revivalproject2021-05-11 11:00 am
(Not) Everyone’s A Hero
WHO: Jon & YOU
WHERE: Billy's fantasy city
WHAT: Supervillain Time! - Includes a 'Beat Up Some Nasty Monsters' sort-of mingl-y option?
WHEN: May
WARNINGS: E Y E S - Also low amount of Zalgo text.
While not as imposing as some of the skyscrapers surrounding it, the building of the Magnus Institute is not one easy to ignore. It has the weight of age and knowledge to it, easily looking way older than the city itself and yet no one can truly say just how long the Institute has existed.
No one but Jonathan Sims, head of said Institute despite his little habit of referring to himself as The Archivist. And maybe he does fulfill that role. Maybe he doesn't. The Archives are about as off-limit as the research lab, the artifact storage and the man's very private library. Both sit way beneath the Institute and are places he won't even bring his mothcats into. He rather lets them roam the city while he busies himself down there, keeping their eyes on heroes, villains and pedestrians while their master contemplates his most recent acquisitions.
It's an odd collection: A tape recorder, a golden lighter with a spider web design and a framed artwork of an eye that he can't help but feel very much observed by. Despite wearing thick gloves, Jon feels reluctant to touch either of these items even though he desperately wants to.
Is that eye drawn out of hundreds if not thousands of smaller eyes?
Jon shudders slightly and pulls his hand back upon realizing he has been reaching for the drawing again, but he remains unable to shake off that growing sensation of wrongness. Of having forgotten something. Of buried knowledge pressing its way back forward, trying to make itself known again.
Hundreds tiny eyes focus on him and he can feel their gaze, feel them attempting to inflict their knowledge on him and he winces, remembering. "...no."
The Tower
The sky darkens. It's a gradual effect beginning above the Institute and spreading outward from there. But what blocks out the sun aren't clouds, it's pure darkness. And as the city is swallowed by it, the Institute's building shifts and warps, reshaping itself into a massive, dominating tower, swallowing structures and skyscrapers around it as magical reality gets challenged by eldritch magic.
These two powers colliding is hardly a competition. It's a struggle of each power attempting to swallow the other, magic crackling and clashing and illuminating the dark sky above.
Down below at the steps of what used to be the Institute, the Archivist staggers outside, grimacing against the throbbing pain in his head and struggling to close bright green glowing eyes. But he can't. He has to see.
He has to see everything.
The Eye [ Jon won't react to this option. But go wild beating things up or borrow them for other prompts. ]
The sky blinks open above the city and its massive pupil focuses on literally everyone.
Everyone already adept at sensing magic will notice a much darker flow within the magic present in the city. It pulses with a need. A mindless hunger. And it gets stronger the closer one gets to the dark, now looming tower. But that isn't the only thing increasing the closer one gets to the tower. Flying monsters the size of small cars and looking like giant eyeballs with further eyeballs sprouting from them roam the streets and places around the tower.
These Beholders will stare straight into a person's very being and draw out what they fear the most to drink in that terror. If threatened, they will fire beams of twisted reality from those smaller eyeballs connected to them.
Another type of monster lurking especially around the base of the tower is more human-shaped, and, in fact, they may have been humans at some point. They appear like slouched-over figures wearing dark robes and will lie unmoving on the ground unless they detect nearby movement. Which is when these Servitors will rise and reveal that underneath the hood of their robes is nothing but a single eyeball, a little larger than a human head would be. They don't pursue as actively as the Beholders, but they will grab and hold a person daring to come too close to the tower, seeking to extract what secrets and vulnerabilities the potential intruder might have.
And then there are the cameras. Large creatures that venture even farther than the Beholders and made entirely of eyeballs of different sizes. They? Will only watch. But they will do so relentlessly.
The Archivist
He isn't touching the ground. He simply has decided that he doesn't need to and so he doesn't touch the ground. Because reality is what he makes of it.
The chuckle escaping Jon's throat is discordant, his voice shifting with a variety of distortions. He hasn't decided what his voice should be just yet. But he will figure it out. But until he has made that decision, Jon will make a few others. Important decisions such as that certain buildings in his way simply shouldn't exist. That the terrified screams of those that have just lost their homes are really just shades of purple. That this rental car over there is better off flattened for no particular reason.
Unless terror is a reason, of course. For he finds himself at the receiving end of the most wonderful dread, both due to his own actions and the creatures he has inflicted upon what reality used to be.
But just as he sets his mind on a new target, Jon spots something else. A person. One of those- Heroes?
"I̻̎ s̙̝͆̽e̼͔ͨ͆ͥẽ̟̩̰ͥ́.̫͋͐"
The Wildcard
[[ Anything else and stuff goes here. ]]
WHERE: Billy's fantasy city
WHAT: Supervillain Time! - Includes a 'Beat Up Some Nasty Monsters' sort-of mingl-y option?
WHEN: May
WARNINGS: E Y E S - Also low amount of Zalgo text.
While not as imposing as some of the skyscrapers surrounding it, the building of the Magnus Institute is not one easy to ignore. It has the weight of age and knowledge to it, easily looking way older than the city itself and yet no one can truly say just how long the Institute has existed.
No one but Jonathan Sims, head of said Institute despite his little habit of referring to himself as The Archivist. And maybe he does fulfill that role. Maybe he doesn't. The Archives are about as off-limit as the research lab, the artifact storage and the man's very private library. Both sit way beneath the Institute and are places he won't even bring his mothcats into. He rather lets them roam the city while he busies himself down there, keeping their eyes on heroes, villains and pedestrians while their master contemplates his most recent acquisitions.
It's an odd collection: A tape recorder, a golden lighter with a spider web design and a framed artwork of an eye that he can't help but feel very much observed by. Despite wearing thick gloves, Jon feels reluctant to touch either of these items even though he desperately wants to.
Is that eye drawn out of hundreds if not thousands of smaller eyes?
Jon shudders slightly and pulls his hand back upon realizing he has been reaching for the drawing again, but he remains unable to shake off that growing sensation of wrongness. Of having forgotten something. Of buried knowledge pressing its way back forward, trying to make itself known again.
Hundreds tiny eyes focus on him and he can feel their gaze, feel them attempting to inflict their knowledge on him and he winces, remembering. "...no."
The Tower
These two powers colliding is hardly a competition. It's a struggle of each power attempting to swallow the other, magic crackling and clashing and illuminating the dark sky above.
Down below at the steps of what used to be the Institute, the Archivist staggers outside, grimacing against the throbbing pain in his head and struggling to close bright green glowing eyes. But he can't. He has to see.
He has to see everything.
The Eye [ Jon won't react to this option. But go wild beating things up or borrow them for other prompts. ]
Everyone already adept at sensing magic will notice a much darker flow within the magic present in the city. It pulses with a need. A mindless hunger. And it gets stronger the closer one gets to the dark, now looming tower. But that isn't the only thing increasing the closer one gets to the tower. Flying monsters the size of small cars and looking like giant eyeballs with further eyeballs sprouting from them roam the streets and places around the tower.
These Beholders will stare straight into a person's very being and draw out what they fear the most to drink in that terror. If threatened, they will fire beams of twisted reality from those smaller eyeballs connected to them.
Another type of monster lurking especially around the base of the tower is more human-shaped, and, in fact, they may have been humans at some point. They appear like slouched-over figures wearing dark robes and will lie unmoving on the ground unless they detect nearby movement. Which is when these Servitors will rise and reveal that underneath the hood of their robes is nothing but a single eyeball, a little larger than a human head would be. They don't pursue as actively as the Beholders, but they will grab and hold a person daring to come too close to the tower, seeking to extract what secrets and vulnerabilities the potential intruder might have.
And then there are the cameras. Large creatures that venture even farther than the Beholders and made entirely of eyeballs of different sizes. They? Will only watch. But they will do so relentlessly.
The Archivist
The chuckle escaping Jon's throat is discordant, his voice shifting with a variety of distortions. He hasn't decided what his voice should be just yet. But he will figure it out. But until he has made that decision, Jon will make a few others. Important decisions such as that certain buildings in his way simply shouldn't exist. That the terrified screams of those that have just lost their homes are really just shades of purple. That this rental car over there is better off flattened for no particular reason.
Unless terror is a reason, of course. For he finds himself at the receiving end of the most wonderful dread, both due to his own actions and the creatures he has inflicted upon what reality used to be.
But just as he sets his mind on a new target, Jon spots something else. A person. One of those- Heroes?
"I̻̎ s̙̝͆̽e̼͔ͨ͆ͥẽ̟̩̰ͥ́.̫͋͐"
The Wildcard
no subject
"I̡ ͢a̷g̢r̕ée͏.̶"
But he doesn't specify with what exactly. He merely keeps his eyes on Richie, anticipating him to turn around and flee - As would probably be wise.
no subject
What good is a lifetime in silence if not for moments like this? So he balls his hands into fists and steels himself up before walking forward with more confidence in his face than he actually feels.
"Hey! Floating Nightmare Creep! Yeah, you! How about we have a chat, huh? A nice, long chat..."
no subject
"I͠ ͏k͡ņo͞w̸ ͞w̡h͘àt͢ ̕y͠o͠u̷ ҉a͝r͟e͜ ͡t̸r͘y̴i͡n͜g̢.҉" He then adds, gliding a little closer as somewhere a little further away something rumbles. "I҉ ̵s͟èe͜ ͠w̛h́àt͝ ́ỳo͏u̕ ́a͜r̸e̶.͏ ̢W̕h͘a͠t͞ ̧ỳo̕u̸ ̢t̴h̢i͝n̕k͏.̧ ̸W̴h̸a̡t͝ ͏y̧òu̷ F̷̟̟͖͊̀͝E̡̱͖ͩ͟͟A̵̳ͭ̿̕͝R̵͓͑̒ͮ͜͞. I̶̟ͬ ̶̖ͦs̷ͧͅe̴̹̚ë̡͓́ ͇͆͢y̦ͯ͡ȯ̤͜ṳͩ͝.̦̐̀" A pause, then: "A̵n̷d͡ ̛y͝óu͝r̴ ̸p̴òw̶e͟r̵s̡ ̶w͢o̵ņ'̧t͢ ͡ẃòr̛k͞ ͢o̷ń ̧m̀e̡.̀"
no subject
'I know your secret...your dirty little secret...'
He has to remember to breathe. Has to try and fight against all of his instincts to close his eyes and pretend this all isn't real. Something tells him that won't work.
"I don't...I don't know who you are or what you think you know. But..." He swallows hard and then he lies:
"I'm not afraid of you."
no subject
High above, still covering the sky, the massive eye slowly blinks.
no subject
In the moment, the spell that has Richie protected from his own demons dissipates and leaves him exposed. Gone is the easy, uncomplicated flirtation he was capable of with Eddie. Gone is the fake ease and confidence he'd apparently been borrowing for this odd, superhero role. Now Richie simply stands before Jon as himself. Plain old Richie Tozier. And underneath all the magic and the lies is naked terror.
"What....what do you want?" He has to want something, right? Something to make this stop. "Who are you? What are you?"
no subject
He regards Richie for a few moments, absorbing the terror radiating off the man. "Y͜o̶ù ͝n͘e͢e͟d͘ ͜t͢o͢ ̨s̡t̨a̛ỳ ͠q̵u̵i҉e͞t̕.́" The Archivist then decides. Quiet and afraid.
no subject
Richie's heart pounds fast in his chest, his fear warring with his sudden anger.
"Are you...Are you the reason I can't speak, then? The reason I have this awful power?"
no subject
Above him, the Eye squints.
"I̵ ͠k̴n̶o̧w̸ ͟w̵h͢o̴ ̡i͠s҉ ͘t͜ḩé ̡r͟èás̵o̸n͢.̧" The Archivist at last settles on a response that answers nothing, yet isn't a lie. While none of the state of the larger part of the city may be his doing at the moment, he knows who the person is that's responsible.
He won't outright tell Richie, however.