[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]

I think we all did, really. Probably should've prepared for everyone to sleep there. Or just done it here.

[Your house looks big enough, Tim.]

[kayakking]

[Yeah, it uh. Sure is.]

God, honestly? I still do need it. Shit. Most of it doesn't even still seem real.

[eyediot]

I know. It's... Who could have known?

[Elias.

And Jon, if he'd not tried to run and ignore what happened to him as a child.]

[kayakking]

[Tim. But we're not going there.

Yeah. He's just pouring Jon another here.]

I mean, I guess it's a little on the nose to expect an occult research institute to be an evil horror monster itself. If only genre fiction had gotten us a bit more ready.

[Because humor is way easier than actually looking at the daunting problem of what next.]

[eyediot]

Yes, if only.

[And if only Jon actually cared about horror fiction, he might have been a little more knowledgeable.

He finally moves his empty glass closer to the bottle. Ready for another glass now.]

I suppose there were warning signs. Not that I'd have recognized them.

[kayakking]

[Yeah. It's a healthy splash for him.]

Uh huh. The first of which was the promotion in the first place.

[eyediot]

What-- [Rude!!] I, I work hard! I'm not bad at it!

[kayakking]

[TAKING A SIP.]

[eyediot]

Plus I'm the only one that figured out Gertrude's filing system! [That's just called 'job security'.] And no one else seems to have any problem with it.

[kayakking]

[Oh no, he's not throwing Martin under that bus just to prove a point. It can be just him that has a problem.]

You do realize that being good at research - which you are. And management - which you are not. Are totally different skills?

[eyediot]

[Jon sputters, in only that way an Englishman can before resuming his drink.

He hates admitting Tim is right, but... He is right about this. Those are two different skills that he thought he had. Being in the position and all.]

I didn't-- I didn't come to talk about my supposed incompetence.

[kayakking]

Look. It's not incompetence. In a normal job, you'd have a real rough first year and either grow into it or quit. Happens all the time.

But at this point, I think we can all agree literally everything is stacked against us.

[eyediot]

...I agree with you there.

[He's already fairly tipsy, just. Sort of leaning his cheek heavily on his hand, elbow to the tabletop.]

What about you?

[kayakking]

[Tim blinks, nose wrinkling a bit as he goes back over the last few bits, trying to connect.]

What about?

[eyediot]

The Institute. Why you joined it.

[Another half-committed sip. He's... Relaxed. In a way Tim probably hasn't seen in a very long, long time.]

[kayakking]

[Literal years. It's... a good sight? It's a good sight.

Better than the boss who put on a bit of an extra accent, tore down Martin, and pretended like monsters didn't exist. It... looked like his friend again.

Which is.. likely why the slamming door that would have happened just a day ago, maybe even hours ago doesn't.]

That's... [He gives a long sigh.] That's one more of these away.

[He tilts his glass.] And a request. From you.

[eyediot]

Hm?

[Wait, give him a minute, he'll get there.

Right. Drinks. Okay. Off limits conversation. That's all right. He wants to know, but doesn't need to know. Not now that their friendship is repairing.]

All right... What request?

[kayakking]

[He takes another slow sip.]

No recorder, no statement. I'll tell it to a friend. The Institute can get fucked.

[eyediot]

[Jon blinks at him, very clearly tipsy but still coherent enough to understand what's being asked.

He sets his glass down and nods, trying to look serious.]

Agreed. On. Every front.

[kayakking]

Right, so in the mean time. Your love life.

[eyediot]

God.

[Made one big loop around the block back to this nonsense. He feels like... Like some high school fanfiction role play is being written and turned into his life. This isn't him!!

Jon has to stop his head from thunking down onto the table at that.]

Please... Have some mercy.

[kayakking]

[That gets a grin.]

I'm just saying, you're going to be better off figuring it out sooner rather than later. I think that counts as mercy.

[eyediot]

I don't know how to figure it out!

[kayakking]

Yyyyoouuu could start with communication. I realize you're a 120 year old man and need a six inch distance during courtship and a long and sultry series of correspondence to warm up, but there are modern solutions.

[eyediot]

Excuse you.

[TIM THAT'S YOUR BOSS. But also your friend who, despite his absolutely flabbergasted expression right now, is glad you're his friend.]

Don't need anything sultry.

[Not his thing really. ZING that's one for Jon, eighty-five thousand for Tim.]