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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[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?

[And with a POP, Helen is looking cross.]

Mm. Not IDEAL.

I suppose that's just a no go. Trust me or not.

[She SMILES, that last line and her attention back on Algric.] But what choice DO you have?

[ Ugh he does NOT LIKE THIS. Not the tangled mess, not the leaning over him to get at Jon. He hopes his alternate is taking care of Jon because he can't risk looking backwards and passing out right now.

If he's a monster now, he might as well do something with it. Starting with taking the brunt of - of this. ]

None, I suppose. Not before and not now.

[ He doesn't feel any braver, but he tries to straighten up a bit, at least. ]

What - what are you proposing?

[Jon instinctively wants to lean back, away from this being when it leans in close. But then there's that first pop.

And Jon's blood turns to lead when he hears Michael's voice again. Or being called Archivist like that. And then pop, it's Helen (?) again. It's weird. He wants to know what's going on because it sounds like Helen is from Algric's time, which how does that even work? Two of the same entity from two points in time in the same ...body? Being?

He doesn't even realize that he's watching now. The nausea and dizziness don't hit quite as strongly, and his grip on Martin is loosening some. He still feels winded though, for different, unknown reasons.]

Jon-

[worried now that Jon is going to pass out, Martin quickly stands up and gently pushes Jon onto the chair that he was just occupying.

the headache from this...thing is intense, enough to case the eyes to ache, and Martin struggles not to sway where he stands. he struggles to look at its face directly, instead focusing on its hair that curls impossibly eternally, the hands that stretch and twist.]

And how long were you spying on us?

[As Jon's gaze sharpens there's odd little details. Like the outline of the cloths she was wearing when she walked through a door that wasn't in his office. Or how the hair sometimes showed expressions that wasn't hers or- They're both lost right now and afraid. It isn't sure what it is, right now and is very powerful for it.

She curls a wave to Martin.]

Oh, don't you worry. I'm not like certain Peeping Toms. [The statement twists in Jon's ears.

Then she focuses on Algric.]

Well, it's a sticky little problem, isn't it? Far be it from me to meddle in the chain of command. But you don't NEED to see him do you? You know who he is! I can just, oh... squiggle things a bit for you.

What do you say?

[ That ...

That is not the worst idea. True, it involves letting the Spiral into his head, but - the whole problem is that he's seeing himself, isn't it? And if anyone can put a lie in his head properly, it would be Helen.

Anything would be better than passing out every time he gets so much as a glimpse of Martin's face. Even turning back slightly makes him wince nervously. ]

What - what would I see instead?

I have no idea.

Of course not.

[ He's not surprised, just. Resigned. He already knows what his answer is going to be; he just wishes it weren't such a stab in the dark. ]

Fine. I'll do it.

[He's terrified.]

Algric - I don't think you should.

[Absolutely shaken to his bones.]

It's scared right now. I... Don't think it's a good idea.

Scared?

[Michael's laugh comes on like a nosebleed, and for a moment, sight goes haywire, processing in a burst of smell. Reds look like mold and yellows smell like baking bread and greens have the odor of blood and -]

Hhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

[It subsides with that sigh, eyes doing what they should. It's smile is not... pleasant. It twists up, taking most of Michael's face.]

Tell me another joke, Archivist. I quite liked that one.

[ Algric doesn't quite take the full brunt of that, but it's enough to make his senses go off kilter, tilting into something - unnatural. Which, you know, makes Jon's case. If the Spiral puts something in his head, he might see this all the time. ]

I - I know it's a bad idea, but what else can I do --

[Jon has to swallow back down the bile that just rose up in him, trying to keep his head from swimming too much. But he can see it. He reaches forward from where he's sitting to Algric's hand.]

Let me... Try.

[The scents is lingering and he can feel the dribble down his face is irritating, but. He's sure he can try this.]

[At this point, it's hard to tell which WHAT the Distortion is at the moment. But it's Helen's voice.]

Really? Are we doing amateur hour here?

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