[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

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Against a full-bore Eye examination? Not nearly fast and well enough. But for a general sweep ... He can mentally press himself against the cracks of that gaze, letting it pass over him. He's so forgettable, after all. This hospital ghost that no one can see. ]

[contractuallybinding]

[It seems to work, as Jon calls out for his visitor, Elias' gaze slips past Algric and focuses hungrily into the room. The cost of it, though, another layer of that protective nothingness sheered off, exposing just a little more to the air.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Good. Good enough then, even with another layer burned. He waits by the door, watching invisibly.

And - winces at being called Algric, good lord. What was he thinking?

But it's saved him. Jon is telling the truth now, isn't he? Algric is ... Algric. Not Martin. An Archivist has renamed him. ]

[contractuallybinding]

[It is. There's a reason even the Spiral doesn't dare directly lie in the Eye's domain. And yet, it did read as the truth.

But there are ways to find out more. In fact, the Institute is dedicated to the best way of them all.

Before Martin was consigned to die in the Lonely, he never really felt the Eye before. Not like this, the crawling sensitivity, the pervasive feeling of not only someone near but LOOKING. --

And he feels it now. Maybe he wouldn't have needed to, seeing the expression on Jon's face, and the odd momentary tableau where Jon seems to be pinned by nothing more than the gentlest of fingertip. But the words rake against Martin. He knows, can feel the same warping, defining cut in the air that is now an anathema to him (that burned that horrid hatred into his own self image) delicately dip through Jon.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Does that mean he's free from the Institute? Does the fact he can feel the Eye so keenly mean that he won't die if he quits?

Probably not, given his luck. But it's the only thing keeping him even a little bit cheerful as he listens to that ... that ... compulsion. God. It makes his skin crawl, makes him think of Elias leaning over him in the Archive, pressing something awful into his mind. It's a smaller compulsion, yes, but ... He's upset and furious on Jon's behalf. Mind racing even as strains under the force of that indirect gaze. ]

[contractuallybinding]

[Willing to bet on that, Algric?

No, the compulsion is over quickly, and Elias, satisfied with himself turns to leave. It may be a momentary comfort to watch the smug air drain from his face to show a flash of paranoia and distrust.

But his expressions schools and he looks right at Algric.]

I see.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Shit. Shit, it's not worth it, it's not -

Algric stumbles back a pace, feeling the comfort of the Lonely stripped away in an instant. Strange, isn't he familiar, Elias...? ]

[contractuallybinding]

[Elias reaches out, gripping that familiar soft jaw, tilting the man's face up. There's no comfort in that touch, no gentleness. Nothing that does anything but feed the Lonely. Reminds him that the fog surrounding them leaves Algric so very, very alone when he needs a friend the most.

The eye contact remains steady and violent, that predatory eye searing right into the back of Algric's retinas.]

Oh, let me guess. I do enjoy a good game.

Algric, is it?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ No. No comfort at all. Algric flinches, trying to turn away - but even that small hint of a compulsion is enough to root him to the spot. Let me guess, Elias says. And thus Algric is forced to stay, to let him guess until he's satisfied.

(The face is familiar, of course. But more so is the burning image branded deep into Algric's psyche. Who could have put it there? If Elias didn't know any better, he might say it was his own handiwork.)

Algric trembles in place, trying not to answer. Finding himself with no choice. ]

Y-yes. That's. That's my name now.

[contractuallybinding]

[It's different, Elias standing here. Without the swaddling of the Institute guise, the play acting of the amiable if bureaucratically incompetent boss, a very different monster stands in front of him. Green eyes refuse to let Martin's go, and waste no subtlety in rooting behind it.


And what he finds is strange, impossibilities of marks he should have been aware of, so few of the Eye are strong enough to dig in so beautifully. Oh, certainly, he kept little watch on say, the Spiral or the Flesh, and the Lonely did what it did within its own solitude....


But he can no more deny his own hand than he can find the Stranger's games behind the watery face that stares back at him, a more lined match to the Assistant that frets at his own flat.]

It is now, isn't it? Curious.

[He lets go at that, fingers simply sliding away. He instead, fixes the hang of his own suit.]

Stop by my office this week. I believe we have something to discuss.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Elias's touch is distinctive, isn't it? The way the image has been burned into his brain with perfect skill, in just the right way to make it hurt every time Algric looks at his own face. Lesser Eye avatars might have hacked it in clumsily. But this? Is art.

Algric chokes a little as he finds that he cannot tear his gaze from Elias's. God. It had nearly been comforting to watch the old Elias manipulate Jon? Horrifying, yes, but - better than this. ]

I'd really - really rather not.

[ But it's not a no, and he knows that, by the end of the week, his feet will take him to the Institute (and Elias's office) with or without his input. ]

[contractuallybinding]

I know.

[It's just such a pleased, satisfied tone to that. He gives Algric a perfunctory smile and turns. The gaze slides off of Algric slowly, tearing fingers through the fog for no other reason than it's a joy to do it.]

Do try to be discrete in the mean time.

[There's no compulsion to that. No, THAT is Algric's choice.

And with that, Elias is walking away.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ FUCK.

Fuck he hates everything. He hates it so much. And he already knows he isn't going to tell Jon or anyone else, because why? They'd just do something stupid helping him.

Algric just slowly slumps to the floor of the hospital hallway after and has himself a good cry. ]