[PSL] time travel, time travel

[curriculum_fictae]

[ 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? ]

Comments

[eyediot]

[Hey remember how he's just really blasted right now?

He rests his head on the table, hands on the back of his head.]

From what I understand, the Eye is about seeing and being seen, but also about knowing things and needing to know things. I... was like that even before I started at the Institute. I don't know if I know how to turn that part of my mind off. I can't just. Stop needing to know things.

[kayakking]

[He get it. He actually does.]

So, maybe we build a check. Some sort of cue on the 'going to far, pull it back' line.

[eyediot]

That...

[HUH.]

That could work. I think, yes.

[kayakking]

Good. Stretch that big ol' vocabulary and lets figure out a word neither of us would reasonably use.

[eyediot]

[Oh, he doesn't have to think. He looks positively unhappy about it, but he knows the word immediately:]

Vine.

[kayakking]

[He opens his mouth...


.... Closes it.]

Deal.

[AND ONLY THEN:] Are you STILL on about that?

[eyediot]

I don't want the Institute's social media to be on Vine!

[kayakking]

[Just. Just cracks up a bit here.]

Oh come on. Don't you want to see Martin blossom as the dance choreographer he could be.

[He's just going to sit back and let Jon work through the layers and layers of horror there.]

[eyediot]

No.

[See, it's easy to not have to do that when he doesn't even get past the mere idea of the Institute using Vine.]

[kayakking]

Right. Right. Vine it is.

[It's hard to call it a more sober moment with the soft buzz flowing, but it's a bit more somber, perhaps. Serious.]

Get info, get out. We both try to keep each other from getting any worse.

[eyediot]

Right.

That. That's the plan.

[And successfully no mention of figuring out feelings or anything so. Irritating as that.]

[kayakking]

[There's an affirmative noise from Tim as he pushes up and starts clearing up the table. He's still rock steady on his feet, but Jon may notice the slow and very careful way he picks up the glasses and stacks them in the crook of his arm.

Clink. Clink. There's the sound of the minifridge opening again and,]

So, lets get back to the main issue.

[Because Jon doesn't actually have good luck, nor would he be able to recognize it if it mauled him.]

[eyediot]

[No he wouldn't. Especially not if it's right in front of him.

He almost sounds sleepy, sort of just drifting here.]

Hm? What was that?

[kayakking]

[It's a slow blink from Jon and ... Tim makes a call and only brings one can back over to the table.]

So.. I keep... Parts of it are just fuzzy.

[Not nearly that much, but... well. Lets lob a softball and see how it lands.]

Tell me about Algric. What's he like? Just a spooky Martin, or what?

[eyediot]

What?

[He gets a little put off by 'spooky Martin' but.] Oh. Um.

[Jon takes his glasses off to rub at his eyes a little, ending with pinching the bridge of his nose before he puts them back on.]

He's... I dunno. He's not that much different from the Martin in this timeline? Except... Less... nervous energy? He's not quite as fussy. Not in the same way.

[HIS RIDICULOUS VOCABULARY and he can't word things right while he's sloshed.]

It's like he's not trying so hard... If that makes sense.

[kayakking]

[He sets the can down in front of himself and cracks it.]

Not quite tripping over himself? Yeah, I get it. He was uh, always a bit intimidated. I think Martin was worried you hated him.

[Siiip.]

[eyediot]

I did, at the beginning.

I mean, a dog in the Archives. Really.

[kayakking]

[... SO MUCH TEMPTATION TO TEASE THERE. NOPE. KEEP IT FOCUSED, STOKER.]

So, what changed?

I mean, if we had to take a poll right now, I'd still vote him most likely to accidentally let another dog into the archives.

[eyediot]

He absolutely would.

[SIGH.]

What changed is I know it's not intentional idiocy.

[kayakking]

[Oh my god. THAT'S what he comes up with.]

How is that a step up in estimation?

[eyediot]

Because if it's accidental and not intentional, I at least know he's trying to do right.

[kayakking]

[... Maybe the right answer here IS to steer Jon away. Shit.]

Uh huh.

You know, most people would still take that as pppppretty much looking way down at them.

[eyediot]

Would you prefer I think he's not worth the time or effort he puts into the Archive? Or all the fuss and worry he does over me? Would you rather I think he's a murderer, trying to sabotage and frame me for it?

[BREATHE. Just... Breathe. Heave a sigh. Jon rests his head in one hand.]

I'm just. Saying I can believe better of him. That's all.

[kayakking]

No? No. No and extra no.

You DO know that's not how people usually frame-

[Nope. Hang on, taking another sip.]

Is that how you think of me too? Weighed out in nice easy blocks of productive to murder ration?

[eyediot]

I-- no. It's not. That, listen, Tim.

[God, how does he explain this? Does it even matter? He's already making a mess of this whole thing and he's barely been able to get it out of his own head to one person. He rests both palms against his forehead now, eyes scrunched closed.]

It doesn't matter anyway.