( a menace, indeed. he has to laugh despite the insidious ache it causes in his chest. )I’ll say. ( he should probably count himself as lucky that the Institute hadn’t allowed anyone to quit in those days, because he certainly wouldn’t have blamed them. it was a real challenge listening to accounts from those early days, given that his past self’s alternating self-important pomp and affected, heavy-handed skepticism were truly unbearable to hear. ah, well. he supposes there’s no accounting for martin’s taste (not that he would even try, given that he ultimately benefits from his ability to look past his more trainwreck-adjacent qualities). though—taking care of people, hm? ) Ah. I see. It’s all starting to make sense now… ( the incredibly rare occasion in which the trainwreck-adjacent qualities were working for him and not against him? truly a match made in heaven (or in hell, as it were).
the worn, wry humor and the glimpse of hope at some manner of relief from the seemingly never-ending onslaught of unfortunate events that have plagued them since he took up the position of Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute are both things that exist for a moment, ephemeral and bright, before being swallowed in their entirety by a reflexive sort of fear—it has been ingrained too deeply in him that something good can’t possibly happen without something exponentially worse following it close behind. no, he certainly doesn’t discount the stolen weeks that they had spent in that cabin in Scotland, but it’s a bright light in memory that casts a very long, very dark shadow. that selfsame cabin had ended up being the epicenter for the Change once jonah magnus’ machinations had managed to find their way to them in the end, and then it had transmogrified into a self-imposed hermitage, a patient stomach content to digest them slowly over eons as they pickled in feelings of uncertainty, grief, doubt, and guilt. at this point, it feels a patent inevitability that the other shoe would drop; the only variable was when.
he just isn’t sure he has the trust left to believe otherwise. he has enough to trust martin—after the choices that he had made at the end, so willing to take on the mantle of the Eye’s pupil for himself, he rather feels as though he trusts him more than himself. but others, this place, their… circumstances? defensive wariness feels like the only option available.
it’s probably a very sad statement that “fear” is such a common, ubiquitous response he has to things that in this moment, it doesn’t even register in his expression. he merely acknowledges it with the grim certainty one would any unenviable and inexorable fact.
now, the information that martin gives him is new, given he’d scarcely been awake a minute or two before their reunion. he ruminates over it for a moment, thoughtful; if their arrival hadn’t caused any sort of waves, that would make it… what, something routine? that would be strange. what had just happened to them was anything but. though, he also hasn’t been approached by any person or creature already seeming to know who he is and calling him “Archivist,” so…
anonymity felt strange, after everything that had happened. it’s hard to say whether it’s a positive or a negative. surely more of the former, right? ) Did you happen to hear anything about where this place is? It’s—I mean, is it even Earth, or…
( being yanked through a fissure in reality into near-endless parallel universes left the possibilities wide open. )
no subject
( a menace, indeed. he has to laugh despite the insidious ache it causes in his chest. ) I’ll say. ( he should probably count himself as lucky that the Institute hadn’t allowed anyone to quit in those days, because he certainly wouldn’t have blamed them. it was a real challenge listening to accounts from those early days, given that his past self’s alternating self-important pomp and affected, heavy-handed skepticism were truly unbearable to hear. ah, well. he supposes there’s no accounting for martin’s taste (not that he would even try, given that he ultimately benefits from his ability to look past his more trainwreck-adjacent qualities). though—taking care of people, hm? ) Ah. I see. It’s all starting to make sense now… ( the incredibly rare occasion in which the trainwreck-adjacent qualities were working for him and not against him? truly a match made in heaven (or in hell, as it were).
the worn, wry humor and the glimpse of hope at some manner of relief from the seemingly never-ending onslaught of unfortunate events that have plagued them since he took up the position of Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute are both things that exist for a moment, ephemeral and bright, before being swallowed in their entirety by a reflexive sort of fear—it has been ingrained too deeply in him that something good can’t possibly happen without something exponentially worse following it close behind. no, he certainly doesn’t discount the stolen weeks that they had spent in that cabin in Scotland, but it’s a bright light in memory that casts a very long, very dark shadow. that selfsame cabin had ended up being the epicenter for the Change once jonah magnus’ machinations had managed to find their way to them in the end, and then it had transmogrified into a self-imposed hermitage, a patient stomach content to digest them slowly over eons as they pickled in feelings of uncertainty, grief, doubt, and guilt. at this point, it feels a patent inevitability that the other shoe would drop; the only variable was when.
he just isn’t sure he has the trust left to believe otherwise. he has enough to trust martin—after the choices that he had made at the end, so willing to take on the mantle of the Eye’s pupil for himself, he rather feels as though he trusts him more than himself. but others, this place, their… circumstances? defensive wariness feels like the only option available.
it’s probably a very sad statement that “fear” is such a common, ubiquitous response he has to things that in this moment, it doesn’t even register in his expression. he merely acknowledges it with the grim certainty one would any unenviable and inexorable fact.
now, the information that martin gives him is new, given he’d scarcely been awake a minute or two before their reunion. he ruminates over it for a moment, thoughtful; if their arrival hadn’t caused any sort of waves, that would make it… what, something routine? that would be strange. what had just happened to them was anything but. though, he also hasn’t been approached by any person or creature already seeming to know who he is and calling him “Archivist,” so…
anonymity felt strange, after everything that had happened. it’s hard to say whether it’s a positive or a negative. surely more of the former, right? ) Did you happen to hear anything about where this place is? It’s—I mean, is it even Earth, or…
( being yanked through a fissure in reality into near-endless parallel universes left the possibilities wide open. )