curriculum_fictae | [PSL] time travel, time travel

[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? ]

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[With as fixed as he is on the plate, Algric can hardly see the jaunty little salute with a sausage-laden fork, but the tone from Tim is the light teasing that os the standard for welcoming from Tim.]

Right? There's no getting rid of us now.

[wow, it sure is a unique experience to be seen, and to see. Martin watches Algric, anxiety spiking for a moment seeing him without any kind of blindfold, but Algric sitting down with that body language is like a sign written with letters two feet tall. Martin can hazard a pretty good guess at several things.]

...We can't do this without you.

[mmm... that's not quite enough.]

You belong.

[with that, Martin grabs his own plate and leaves the kitchen area, sitting down on the air mattress with breakfast in his lap.]

It's safe to look up.

Edited 2020-08-21 01:58 (UTC)

[Jon hasn't even sat back down yet only for Martin to be moving.

God. Damn it.]

Noooo.

[He follows and puts a hand on Martin's shoulder. He's already tired of this game.]

You too.

[Tim, help.]

[ Algric appreciates the welcome, truly - as evidenced by the way he sharpens a bit under Tim and Jon's and Martin's attention. But. He doesn't want it at Martin's expense, dammit. He fumbles to get the blindfold back in place over his eyes. ]

You - you belong too. I'm not going to stay if it means replacing you, Martin. So you. You have to stay.

[how embarrassing. Martin turns red and manages to sputter out:]

I was just worried about you looking up! That's all!

Just yell at Algric to take care of himself, like the rest of us do.

[A shit eating grin as he starts rummaging through entirely the wrong cupboards for the mugs.]

Welcome to the loving and enjoying a Martin in your life experience.

[Jon's still watching Martin carefully before gently pulling him up, and taking his plate.]

You are stuck with us, for better or worse.

[Also don't forget, Martin, he's still your boss too.]

I-it's fine, I've got the blindfold back on.

[ He'll address the practical since Tim and Jon have the emotional covered. ]

I - I should really figure out some way to look at you safely, anyway. Maybe I can get used to it if I look at you enough?

Is that your plan?

[There's a laugh. It's voice Algric knows well, and Jon likely only dreams about. There's a reverb that shudders on painful, that roots in the chest and bursts into flowers behind the eyes and threatens the sinuses and ears with pressure.

There's a door beside the bedroom door, yellow.

S HE sits primly on the edge of the couch Martin had just been guided back away from. ]

But I would love to watch you try.

Edited 2020-08-21 02:28 (UTC)

[He can feel some kind of shift in the room even before he hears the voice.

And oh god this voice. He forgot the headache it gives him, the laugh that vibrates down through his bones and almost has him on his knees for a moment. Instead, he's gripping Martin's shoulder tight to stay upright.]

Wh-what are you doing here?

[ Algric makes a strangled noise, shoving away from the table for a moment. But - for all his horrified surprise - his tone is more exasperated than it is anything else. ]

H-Helen? How - what are you --

[ He tugs down the scarf to get a better look at her and ... oh ... He recognises that door, doesn't he? He always had, really, but seeing it in front of him is all that much more real for some reason.

A tremor goes through him and he edges away from her. ]

Don't - don't take me back there. Please.

[Jon's tight grip on Martin's shoulder is what keeps him from leaping out of his chair in shock. dread and anxiety both skyrocket regardless: he hears that laugh vibrate his bones, his teeth; how it feels like claws as sharp and delicate as scalpels are dragging down his back. however, nothing is making him more anxious than Jon and Algric's immediate reactions.]

How did you- [get in, but he chokes on it. he's starting a cold sweat.]

Who's-

[no. somehow, he has the frightful, creeping feeling that this is not a who.]

What's Helen?

[he asks these questions to the room in general, but the next he directs specifically between Jon and Algric.]

What the fuck is Helen?

Edited 2020-08-21 02:54 (UTC)

[The WHAT THE FUCK? from Tim happens almost immediately with the noise of everyone's reactions, blending in nicely, the clatter of the mug dropping the few inches to the countertop was really just punctuation.

It's... wrong. Wrong on a level he can't explain, that has nothing to do with the dizziness and lancing, boiling laughter. It crawls over his skin, and for a moment, freezes him in place.

But only a moment.

It's Algric begging, it's Martin's fear, it's Jon's near collapse. He has no idea what it is, louging with a bright, inhuman smile in a room that was- SHOULD have been safe, but he pulls a kitchen knife from the block, waxy pale and breakfast twisting in his stomach.]

[Helen's smile curls and curls and curls along the edges, her eyes deLIGHTing in all of the reactions.]

Now, now. I know you're just dying for some answers, my little chickadees. But-

[It's odd how she moves, it's a slither that belays her twisting, strung out size. It's only one step, but the way her limbs move, she crosses the room in a single, unfurling ... transition.

She plucks the knife from Tim's hands.]

Oh, now THIS is what I'm talking about. The one helpless, pointless little human in the room? Thinks he can do something with that?

[She flings it casually into the sink.]

Okay! Who first? Raise your hand!

Helen?

[Helen.

Helen??? Helen Richardson?

God, what has he done. He let that happen. Has Helen become the Distortion now? In some way? If only he'd stopped her from going through that door.

It's always doors.

God, and just. Pointing out that... He's not human. Is he really not human anymore? Something in his gut plummets.]

[ Algric is honestly considering running himself. Grabbing the others, maybe, seeing if any of them will survive a teleport through the Lonely. Sure, he considers Helen to be something of a friend-shaped person, but not in this context. And he is too smart not to recognise that being friendly is not the same as being safe.

Then he sees Martin's confusion. Tim's doomed attempt at stabbing, Jon's frozen panic. Is he the person who has to do something? Can he do something? He thinks the Lonely might respond to him if he chooses to use it to swallow her up.

(But that would be a choice he couldn't come back from.) ]

Helen - Helen is the Distortion in my timeline. Michael really isn't ... there any more.

[ Dominant? Whatever, it doesn't matter. He takes a wavering step forward, trying to put himself between her and the others. ]

I - I'm not going back with you, a-and if you hurt anyone in here I. I'll do something I'm going to regret.

[As the knife clatters, he doesn't ... manage to do anything but stumble back, hip hitting the countertop with a soft thud. His hands grip the counter but- As much as his ears burn and his heart races, he can't muster up a second movement, not with the monstrosity swaying there, long knifelike fingers curling and uncurling in the air.

Its back is to him, but he can't help but feel pinned. The way his view warps, this close to her, he's never quite sure if he's seeing the mass of tumbling blonde curls of the back of her head, or the watchful, maddened stare of her face.

Sometimes, he'd swear, it's both, and it's like the wind getting kicked out of him.]

Tempting!

[Her voice is singsong, the way Helen's got right near the very end. But the statement ends with one of Michael's strange, long sighs.]

But noooo, I'm not here to take you away. What would be the point of that? After all ~that~ effort.

[She ticks the words off of her fingers, the deadly digits sweeping harmlessly through the air. Her head tilts and the smile widens a little bit.]

I'm here to help. Why Algric [The name is sharp like glass in the air, twisting with the lie and the truth of it.] aren't we friends?

[Helen Richardson slides a slow, slow look at Jon, at that.]

And friends help each other.

Help?

[Jon still feels rooted where he is, the utter panic a weight in the freshly healed soles of his feet. The way the mouth twists up into the curls of hair, seamlessly, perfectly together is off putting. But Jon's eyes slide down to those fingers, the sharp ends, and remembers the feeling of that pain in his shoulder from two weeks ago. That indescribable feeling of his skin being just an inch or so off from the rest of him for that brief moment of injury.

His stomach churns unhelpfully. He can feel what little he just ate lurching and well. This isn't how he'd planned on spending his morning after only an hour of sleep, but that's just how it goes isn't it? He has to turn his gaze downward, away from her and lean on Martin to take his glasses off and rub at his eyes; his vision is blurring a bit watching her - it for more than a few seconds.]

I-i don't see how... How you could be helpful here.

[What had it said before? His memory is shaky from that whole afternoon.]

[ That's - okay, fine, it is a relief, and it's true that they're some kind of friends, but -

Well, he knows better than to believe that Helen is going to be completely honest here. Even if she probably isn't going to kidnap him and drag him back to 2018. No, he decides that she's probably getting a lot more out of watching Algric flail about like this. (God that physically hurts to hear. True and yet utterly false at the same time.)

He takes a deep breath, not moving from where he stands between Jon/Martin/Tim and her. If she does decide to do something, he's probably the most powerful friendly in the room. ]

We - we are friends, but - what d'you mean, help?

Weren't you JUST talking about it? Oh, you Lonely types are so forgetful.

[She gives a long, obnoxiously obvious wink. She tosses her hair back over her shoulder, and it ripples in hypnotic patterns, drawing the attention almost involuntarily.]

The way I see it, you're suffering from just a ~little~ too much truth. I am just the gal for the job. You can hardly handle a wild shindig like the Unknowing literally blind, after all.

[She gives Tim a bright, glittering look under her lashes, throwing a stage whisper that everyone hears.] Pay attention, cutie, this is your first monster with their first agenda. See! Not SO bad.

[He really, really doesn't like this thing calling Tim 'cutie'. Something about it just sits wrong with him. But Jon still can't bring himself to look up at it, knows his eyes will just unfocus and he'll be sick.]

And just what agenda is that? [It sounds? Like Helen wants them to stop the Unknowing which was what he'd planned on doing anyway but...]

Y-yes, what. What is that, Helen. And how can we trust anything you say?

[ He means that affectionately. Really. Sort of. ]

[Helen leans forward- the swaying abnormality of her posture allows her to just... sort of lean over Algric to smile at Jon.]

Isn't THAT just the Thought Of The Day? What IS-

[And she stops, though the sound she makes is almost a discordant silence. A non sound that is loud somehow, shuddering in the ears like pop rocks on the tongue.]

[It's skin flattens a little, pales when the shuddering stops, and the smell of static subsides from where one's skin tries to interpret it. Michael leers, instead.]

Wouldn't yOu like you Know, Archivist?

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