[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'll remember this. That I have a terrible friend and a terrible... [God, what does he call Algric?] Partner.

[kayakking]

[.............. GRIN.]

Congratulations.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Partner?

Partner. Gosh. Algric was going to say something, but he goes red and abruptly forgets his own name. ]

[eyediot]

Don't.

[It's as much a warning as he has the energy to muster up.]

[kayakking]

I'll uh. Just excuse myself here.

[Tim puts a hand down under the air mattress to lever himself up.

Then in a not subtle at all whisper:]

Good job, Jon.

[curriculum_fictae]

S - shut up, both of you!

[eyediot]

[Jon can't hear anything. He just hears white noise in his ears while his head is in his hands. This isn't happening. This is going to be the death of him. He's becoming an eldritch monster and one of his oldest friends is doing this to him.

He just. Keeps his face covered and slowly leans to one side and lays back down.]

[kayakking]

[Right, they'll hit the heavy stuff later, he thinks.

If not stopped, he will just walk away to chat up Martin having started that mess of dramatic expression currently flopped like a teenager.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Ughhhhh. That leaves Algric here, doesn't it.

He groans and flops down next to Jon for a moment. ]

[eyediot]

[Jon doesn't look or anything. His whole face is buried in the mattress.]

Sorry.

[curriculum_fictae]

N-no, it's - it's fine, just.

[eyediot]

It was... presumptuous of me. Rude.

[curriculum_fictae]

M-maybe, but. But I want it to be true.

[eyediot]

[Jon tilts his head up just enough so his eyes are visible through his hair, looking up at Algric.]

...Yeah?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ He's not looking back, but he's red all the way to the tips of his ears. ]

Y-yeah. Very much so.

[eyediot]

...Then. Then, yes.

[1 of 3 2. His whole face feels warm, in a way he hasn't thought about in... god, years. Longer than some of those shirts at the end of the mattress have existed.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ What - what the hell? Was that a proposal? Sort of. Good lord. Algric looks back at Jon, his face a mess of fondness and lovesickness and bewilderment. ]

-- Martin too.

[secreteary]

[Tim can find Martin putting sundries and necessities for the others away in the bathroom, tidying and cleaning as he goes. he's almost too big for the small bathroom, in an almost humorous way.

Martin smiles a little when he spots Tim.]

Hey. Doing alright?

[kayakking]

[Tim leans in the doorframe, watching the bustle.]

No complaints. Need any help?

[secreteary]

I've just about got it. You're fine.

[he puts down the bottle of cleaner he was holding and raises one eyebrow at Tim.]

How's the arm?

[kayakking]

Amendment. One complaint. But a minor one.

[And that's that. Issue done and closed as far as Tim is concerned. Where's the sling? Somewhere.]

Speaking of, [His voice lowers, both with the seriousness of it and so it doesn't pitch across the room. This conversation is coming, and it's best Martin isn't blindsided.] We're only down to one walking wounded.

[secreteary]

[disapprovingly:]

I'd argue two, but you're not going to listen.

[then Martin pointedly turns away, pretending to spritz and clean the mirror.]

I thought I'd let Algric take care of it, anyway.

[kayakking]

[Martin can see Tim glance back out towards Algric and Jon with something bordering anxiety through the reflection. He looks back at Martin, and his expression eases back into that composed delivery.]

Yeaaah. The problem is that the down to one is counting me.

He's healed up.

[secreteary]

[Martin blinks rapidly in confusion, frowning as that sets in. he stops mid-swipe of the mirror.]

...Sorry? That's not possible.

[kayakking]

[He gives a reluctant half shrug. He... doesn't know what Martin does and doesn't know, really. This might be a heavier one.]

It shouldn't be. It's a marker of how far he's gotten along.

[He doesn't mean to look at Martin's hand, but he can't quite help it with it paused up there. It leaves an unspoken implication: just like Martin is moving ahead.]