[OPEN] It seems strange, how we used to wait for letters to arrive

[apocryphalarchivist]

Who: Jon Sims (apocryphalarchivist) and... you!
What: May Top-levels
When: Post Land-Ho!
Where: Across Marrow Isle
Warning(s): Mentions of infestation and insects, more added as needed.



1. CHRYSALIS [Closed to Cecil]

It was strange, to have one's home suddenly feel unfamiliar.

Between the waterlogged town and his similar, drenched cottage, Jon's been feeling some adjustment pains while settling back in. Loneliness feels lonelier, somehow, and connections feel intangible, like he's reaching out to someone on the other side of a window. It's been a strange think, to go from being snared by something, taken for a ride, made to feel something wholly different from himself, and then... go back to life. Live normally, day to day, among his friends, colleagues, and neighbors.

The predicament he finds himself in isn't a new one: desperation to reach out, but reeling back from closeness. It's never been quite so pressing, either.

It's only before he gets a chance to take the first step, himself, having just been considering reaching for the phone, when a knock at his door rings through the home, only muffled by the wind the open windows carry through. He stands from his only-somewhat-soggy chair, and, upon opening the door, can't help but look shocked, even if just for a moment.

"Oh. Cecil, I---" Jon trails off, several things he'd been thinking to say colliding in his throat all at once. I was planning to come see you. We sure went through it, huh? You were an anchor for me, while I was lost to myself. Thank you.

He doesn't manage any of that, but clears his throat, opening the door wider for his hater-turned-neutral-friend-in-law pseudo-stranger fellow thread of the web acquaintance. (Even that didn't feel right, but labels were, after everything, understandably fuzzier than usual.)

"Please, come in."

2. ADRIFT [Closed to the crew or any visitors aboard the Mipha's Grace]

Well, that's enough of all that.

Between demons, and floods, and bugs, Jon's relieved when the Mipha's Grace is restored to its former glory, and ready to set sail. There's a certain peace to crunching numbers for supplies and ensuring everything is ready to go, even if that peace is, for a time, interrupted by the tension that comes with being on the sea so soon after the floods, but after time, the familiarity returns. The daily routine starts its motions anew, and the ship thrives with life.

Jon's keen to keep his nose to the grindstone throughout the day, but when night falls, there's finally a moment to take a breath. He lingers by the rails of the ship, staring over at the moonlight that shimmers off of the waves, thinking about everything his mind can possibly grasp and nothing at all, all at once.

He's pulled back to the world when he hears footsteps, though, and offers a small smile back towards whoever's joined him, before returning his attention to the sea.

"Beautiful, isn't it? It's nice to be able to appreciate it again. Nights on the Stag Beetle were too stressful to appreciate the sea and stars fully. I had no idea how much I missed it until now."

3. RESTORATION [OTA]

Strange times caused strange measures, and today, on the lawn of West Dream Analytics, Jon is sweeping over the grass.

It's all with good purpose, of course. Pieces of broken wood, scattered trash, and lost items are pushed into a larger pile, more easily knelt beside to pick through and properly throw away. He's fluttering between tasks, scattered over while he helps with the efforts, and, for the moment, is busying himself with sweeping washed-up sand down the paved walkway up to Neil's home.

On one of his glances up to get a scope of everything, he catches sight of someone making their way up, and offers a short wave.

"Oh--- sorry, need inside? I'll be out of the way in just a second."

That's what he gets for not prioritizing the door and the path to it. Nice going, Sims.

Comments

1

[lasthumanvoice]

"I brought food."

As if he needed an excuse to be present, right? Right? As if the basket of pastries (including little savory spinach souffles and onion buns) is needed as justification for his presence. He doesn't know what else to say either. The barrier between their minds is as thick as it ever was, and Cecil still isn't certain that showing up here was a correct choice.

[apocryphalarchivist]

"Oh--- thank you, that's lovely."

He's handling this like any old run-in with a friend. Let Cecil inside, leave him for only a moment down the entry hall to his kitchenette, put the kettle on. Try to figure out what to do when he doesn't have the excuse of boiling water to occupy his hands.

"How's Town Hall been, during the repairs? I hope, for your alls' sake, that things didn't get all too damaged in there. And, if they are, the repairs go easily enough."

Skirting around it isn't something he's proud of, but he keeps catching his mind trying to reach out in a way that he'd assured himself ever since he'd come back to himself that the bugs were doing, not him. Of course, it's to no avail, but even the few sparing attempts put an extra weight on his mind.

[lasthumanvoice]

"How much time do you need to spend with pleasantries before you'll be ready to talk? I'm happy to perform the ritual of proper interaction, but it's not helpful for me, right now."

It's a gentle question, as he steps in, takes off his shoes.

[apocryphalarchivist]

Jon's relieved he'd turned away, because the dark flush of pure, unbridled embarrassment that spreads across his face is very distinct. He's been all too used to dealing with people from the Institute, who were always so very keen to skirt around the issue until they couldn't, but that didn't seem to be the case here.

"...That's fair," He finally manages, swallowing roughly, before letting out a sigh. He knows Cecil doesn't mean anything by it, that much is clear, but there's only so much avoiding an elephant in a room that's already been addressed. "No sense in avoiding it."

There's a few moments of quiet, where he considers his words, and still struggles to know what to say. When he looks back, it's with a gentle frown.

"We... well. Saying that we'd been close during our time of being taken is a bit of an understatement, isn't it? Is it as strange for you, being... back, now, on the outside of that?"

[lasthumanvoice]

"Strange. Yes, it's strange. Almost painful. And I think Gerry resents that, so I hasn't been able to talk about it with him. But it was also a deep, deep personal violation. Another loss of autonomy, this time shared on the broad scale. Great, now more people know what it's like to be taken and used--and maybe there's others who're missing the connection that they never should have had in the first place! That none of us should ever have endured and enjoyed, that great harmony that was forged between us and that we added ourselves to."

His voice grows louder the more he speaks, and he steps closer, pointing a finger at Jon as he walks forward.

[apocryphalarchivist]

Cecil’s raised voice leaves Jon bristling, more than he’d particularly care to be, and when he’s close enough, Jon lifts his hand over the one extended at him, raising his own voice in turn.

“I know that!”

And just as quickly as he’s snapped, he pales, and recedes. His hold on the hand softens, and regret rises up to replace his furrowed brows and unease. He’s still got a lot weighing on him, and he speaks, again, softer this time.

“...I know that, Cecil. I do.” He’s tense and quiet for a moment, and jolts out of thought only when the kettle begins to whistle, reluctant to turn away and tend to it. He does, though, and only when he’s quieted the boiling water does he speak again.

“...We never should have had to endure that, or enjoy it. You’re right. I wish that any part of knowing that it never should have happened, and that it was a horrible thing, changed anything now. I-I…” He swallows, roughly. “I wish I didn’t find myself missing it, too. I wish I didn’t feel this— alone. But I do. I miss it, and I do feel alone. And… I’m guessing, by being here, you’re much in the same boat.”

[lasthumanvoice]

"Maybe there's something in the library about deprogramming." Beat. "Or about figuring out how to re-join a hivemind, without the bugs being in control."

Is either a serious suggestion? Hard to tell.

3. Restoration

[xiaoxiuya]

"Oh --! Oh no, that's quite all right." Shen Qingqiu actually steps back a pace, startled and feeling rather caught out. A fan appears in his hand and opens with a quick flick of his wrist; with that barrier between them Shen Qingqiu feels a little more comfortable explaining, "I was just looking around, you really don't need to do anything. This is where one of the doctors live, correct?"

He's going to pretend he can't read the sign on the front of the house, that's clearly the less awkward way to handle this conversation.

[apocryphalarchivist]

Whoops, looks like he's gone and spooked this poor man. The fan opening sparks something in his mind--- someone who's comfortable not being fully seen in front of an extension of the Ceaseless Watcher leaves him feeling akin to a cat seeing a string flutter across the floor--- but he shoves it aside, as best as he's able.

Nope. Going to be normal here, and certainly not going to ruin any of Neil's business by being a monster.

"It is!" Jon gladly informs him, turning to gesture to the building. "Dr. West is our local therapist, specializing in dream therapy. A magical variety, instead of dream journals and reporting back." A pause, and a small smile is offered Shen Qingqui's way. "New in town, are you, then? It can be a lot of information, all at once."

[xiaoxiuya]

"That's right." Shen Qingqiu fans himself slowly, trying to seem unconcerned. "I've only been here less than a month. It's been quite exciting so far, I must say."

You know, what with that whole thing where the entire island sank beneath the waves and then they were held captive by evil bug-sailors only to be rescued by animated skeletons obsessed with citrus fruits, and all of that. But! Shen Qingqiu smiles, to show that his morale is still high. Even bug-sailors are less harrowing than some of the things he's experienced before!

"My name is Shen Qingqiu, by the way," he says casually. "Are you perhaps an associate of Doctor West, sir?" He won't do the man the discourtesy of assuming he's a humble employee right off the bat!

[apocryphalarchivist]

That gets a short laugh out of Jon, a hint of exhaustion to the sound.

“Yeah, exciting is one word for it. Not an ideal time to get settled in, though. Sorry you had to go through that right from the start.”

Not that much else has been significantly easier, of course - this poor guy could’ve shown up for the train, or the star-beasts, or, or, or— the list goes on, really. But it’s a shame he didn’t show up for the potluck. Particularly lucky bastards landed on that one, it seemed.

At the question, Jon does get, even ever-so-slightly, a bit awkward. It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be with Neil, but he’s never been one to be extremely vocal about his relationship status, especially not with someone he’s just met. That leaves him waffling with his answer for a moment longer than he’d really care to, clearing his throat before he speaks. (Great job on the first impressions, buddy.)

“Well, ah— yes, I am! He and I are close, and I lend a hand where I can when I’m in town, or circumstances call for it. After all that, well… I think just about anyone would be hard-pressed to resume business as usual and tend to the mess, and I doubt you’d be terribly shocked to hear that, after something like that, more people have started seeking his services.”

[xiaoxiuya]

"It's our good fortune to have access to someone with his expertise," Shen Qingqiu says demurely. "And his good fortune to have such an able helper, I'm sure. But I didn't mean to interrupt your work. Thank you for the information!"

Is it really politeness that has him turning to go, or some other unacknowledged factor? The longer he stands and talks to Jon, the more he feels as though he's not only being observed, but perceived, the gaze of something vast and terrible looking down on him like a frog pinned to a dissection table. He feels as cold and powerless as he ever did arguing with the System. He should leave, now.

[apocryphalarchivist]

Unfortunately for him, Jon's locked in. There's a mix of his own politeness and a vested draw to this poor fellow (the thought that, perhaps, it's the fear coming off him in palpable waves, doesn't cross his mind) that has him set his broom aside with little more than a second thought.

"Oh, no interruption at all! I'd just been considering taking a break, maybe grabbing something to drink," Jon offers with a light smile, turning only slightly to the side, a bodily gesture towards the door. "Would you care to join me? I've been nudged by some dear friends to, ahah, get more acquainted with my neighbors. Apparently, the hermit's life has fallen out of fashion. I'm not sure if Dr. West is in a session, at the moment, but if he isn't, I'm sure he'd love an opportunity to say hello as well."

Restoration

[misbegottendreamer]

"Oh! No, actually, I was just going to ask if you work here. I have a delivery of a small box of nails for West Dream Analytics, on behalf of Infernal Arms and Armor?"

[apocryphalarchivist]

Jon pauses, the gears visibly turn in his head, and when he speaks up again a few moments later, he sounds thoroughly puzzled.

"Yes, I--- you said nails? I don't recall him mentioning expecting any... deliveries."

[misbegottendreamer]

"Ah. I could very well be mistaken, though considering it's a very small delivery, it may not have come up in conversation."

The Spiral, the Corruption, the Web, the Flesh.

[apocryphalarchivist]

Each mark, Jon Sees one at a time, turning each over like a particularly remarkable stone on the ground. She certainly isn't the first person touched by the dread Fears that he's met - but she sure is the one offering him something strange.

This is a different place in a different time, though. He tries to shove aside the uncertainty (and fleeting thoughts of how, in London, this probably would've gotten him killed), and accepts the box.

"You've... got a point," He concedes, though it doesn't do anything to wipe the puzzled look from his face. "I'll give these to Neil as soon as he's got a free moment, thank you."

[misbegottendreamer]

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

A beat.

"This establishment... do you literally work with dreams?"

[apocryphalarchivist]

"Oh, well--- I don't. Just help with the, ah. Busywork," Jon admits, but gestures back to the building. "Neil does, though! He's told me a bit about the process. I don't know all the details, but apparently, he's able to unravel a great deal of repressed pain and general emotional strain through the ways they manifest in dreams."

He hesitates, and lets out a sheepish laugh.

"Haven't gotten it done, myself--- been a bit busy for that sort of thing, but--- I've heard excellent things from people who have gone through it."

Wildcard (June) | Debt

[crushed_pearls]

Erin's actually here for Neil, unaware that he's not currently at home. Under one arm is a small box, containing the product of days of magical labor; the power she's been gathering hasn't gone to waste.

But as mentioned, Neil is out, so it's Jon that hears her jauntily call through the front door in lieu of knocking: "Knock knock, open up the door it's real!"

Beat.

"I have got to find jokes that work outside of an Earthling audience."

[apocryphalarchivist]

Jon, from where he'd been seated in the sitting room, raises his brows for a moment. He rises, slowly, and looks thoroughly amused as pieces of recognition fit together. Although brief in their meeting, he does know that voice!

He stops, just before the door, and calls through it, the smile on his face heard easily on his voice.

"You know, you might've found one of the few people on the island who get instantly more suspicious of a door after that. Have you got proof to prove that this door won't pull me in and put me back, deeply wrong and forever changed?"

[crushed_pearls]

"My good bitch that's every door that permits me ingress. But I do have a delivery for what historians will inevitably call your very close friend whom you just so happened to insist you be interred with upon your death due to the friendly bonds of definitely friendship between you. Call it a gesture of goodwill."

Beat.

"...Okay also just curiosity but don't tell him that."

[apocryphalarchivist]

That gets a bark of a laugh out of him, and, at last, the door opens. Jon wastes little more time with waving her inside.

"He's not in at the moment, but I can hold onto whatever it is for him. If you can be persuaded into a cup of tea, though, you may just be able to catch him, I don't think he's going to be out long."

[crushed_pearls]

"I can always be persuaded into a cup of tea from an actual goddamn Brit," Erin agrees. She gently rattles the box under her arm as she walks in, and sets it on the nearest decently stable flat surface. "For your comfort, I've brought a selection of dream vessels, in the form of worry dolls. Sleep with one under your pillow, and you dream the dream inside it. I figure, hey, there's a local oneiromancer, might as well show him my work so he knows they're not full of succubi or something. One use only each, got a selection." She picks up a very clearly Goth little worry doll. "This one's the nightmare that you clocked into work with no pants on."

[apocryphalarchivist]

"Oh, good. I've started to not be able to trust random boxes that people bring in," Jon jokes, but looks keenly interested, stepping over from where he'd started to get drinks together to have a better look.

"He'll have a dozen questions about these, but good ones, I imagine. Nightmares included. Sort of funny to think about using the pantsless nightmare for therapeutic purposes, though, isn't it?"