Martin K(nife) Blackwood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
curriculum_fictae) wrote2020-06-16 06:15 pm
curriculum_fictae) wrote2020-06-16 06:15 pm
[PSL] time travel, time travel
[ Martin had always known that Lukas would kill him in the end. If not along the way, then surely at the end, once he'd gotten what he wanted out of Martin, whatever that turned out to be. When the Lonely rose up to swallow him, he'd accepted his impending death with ... what?
What did he have left, really? Numbness, mostly. A hallucination of Jon in the Lonely, looking for him, but - but that was impossible, ridiculous. His mind playing cruel tricks. He settled himself down in the frigid surf, knees drawn up close to his chest, unshed tears frozen to his cheeks and lashes.
And then. A door. A door that shouldn't exist, that couldn't exist. That he shouldn't take at all. The Lonely was terrible, yes, but it was quiet, and it was peaceful. Martin was aligned enough with it by now to very nearly enjoy it, in a strange and terrible way. The Spiral would be infinitely worse than this quiet beach.
But ... it was hope, too. In a strange way. Hope enough that Martin found himself turning the door handle and stepping through, leaving the false comfort of the Lonely behind him.
The transition was unpleasant. Long. But Martin couldn't remember it after; he only remembered stumbling out through the door of a supply closet somewhere deep in the Archives, blinking up at the dim bulbs that pretended to be sufficient. What time was it? Had he escaped? Where were Lukas and Elias now?
And where was Jon? ]
What did he have left, really? Numbness, mostly. A hallucination of Jon in the Lonely, looking for him, but - but that was impossible, ridiculous. His mind playing cruel tricks. He settled himself down in the frigid surf, knees drawn up close to his chest, unshed tears frozen to his cheeks and lashes.
And then. A door. A door that shouldn't exist, that couldn't exist. That he shouldn't take at all. The Lonely was terrible, yes, but it was quiet, and it was peaceful. Martin was aligned enough with it by now to very nearly enjoy it, in a strange and terrible way. The Spiral would be infinitely worse than this quiet beach.
But ... it was hope, too. In a strange way. Hope enough that Martin found himself turning the door handle and stepping through, leaving the false comfort of the Lonely behind him.
The transition was unpleasant. Long. But Martin couldn't remember it after; he only remembered stumbling out through the door of a supply closet somewhere deep in the Archives, blinking up at the dim bulbs that pretended to be sufficient. What time was it? Had he escaped? Where were Lukas and Elias now?
And where was Jon? ]
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He's vaguely aware of Martin 'sitting' heavily, but can't quite focus there for the lance of subtle, soft, creeping fear that the discoloration provides. He hooks a finger in his collar and looks-
It's not missing. Not like present-Martin's hand is, but- good enough.
He takes a deep breath.] It's okay! ... It's okay. It's an accident.
[But that comforting grasp Tim had been offering as something of a constant... doesn't return, does it?]
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Tim doesn't reach out to him again, and that tells him everything he needs to know. ]
I - I should go. Jon knows nearly everything important I can tell him anyway.
[ Where the hell he could possibly go, he has no idea. If he leaves this flat, it will likely be the last time anyone sees him, period. ]
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No one has said that.
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[ He makes a strangled noise, taking a step back. ]
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[ His head jerks towards his past self being tended to by Jon. ]
1/2
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The thread on Tim's temper snaps and his voice raises.]
Oh, right. THAT will help. You spend an evening convincing me that you're you, and now expect me to swallow that? The sheer idea of it? Nope. Sit down. You're not doing something that will fuck him up. Fuck Jon up, and worst in all of this, kill you.
Sit back down, Martin.
1/2
Or point out the hypocrisy of Tim of all people telling him not to do this. But as soon as that thought crosses his mind, Tim's blazing sincerity abruptly becomes real. He knows where Tim is coming from, and he's seen the terrible result. ]
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[The word is small, mild, and a little winded, coming down from the prickling intensity of it. He leans against the table next to Martin.]
... Thanks.
We'll... we'll figure it out. All right?
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Martin lets out a breath. ]
R-right - right. I'd like that.