"Fair enough," Jon agrees, and takes in a slow breath, steeling his nerves. "Here we go."
He presses the play button with a soft click, and the tape whirrs to life.
At first, the sound is garbled, warped. The tape crackles softly through the pristine speakers as it begins to play, and for a moment, Jon almost begins to accept defeat, that the tapes are in no condition to be played.
Before he can say anything, however, there's his own voice. It's incoherent, but the crackling begins to clear at last. The press of another tape-player clicks. Daisy's voice follows, muffled, through another speaker.
"...Was a coffin. An old, wooden coffin. Rough, unvarnished. I could see splinters where the nails had been hammered in badly. Wrapped all around it was a thick metal chain ending in a heavy padlock. That weird moaning was coming from inside it. It was the only sound that cut through pounding rain..."
Forever deep below creation. The strain of the weight of the world feels as though it presses on his chest even here, though he hasn't felt it on his body, not yet. When Daisy speaks, he tries not to look at her. He's never lived this; she has no choice but to relive it again. The statement she'd given him the first day she'd arrived at the island is fresh in his mind, but hearing it as it happened makes his stomach turn, his breath catch in his throat, and his life feeling scattered over the floor like a dropped bag of marbles.
The tape clicks off shortly after hearing Basira's voice, and the silence that lingers afterwards is heavy. It's a terrible thing, to wish you were yourself, but someone else, so that you could understand - a stronger stranger, only bearing the same name and voice, who would know how to handle this.
He's here now, though. He is here, alive-yet-dead, and all he has to offer the people who have gone through these things is who he is now.
Jon hesitates, but finally breaks the silence. His voice is soft, wavering ever-so-slightly, but he pushes forwards, shattering that suffocating, lingering quiet.
"Of... god, of all the tapes it could have been," He breathes out. It was almost a breath of a laugh, but he just can't quite manage it. "...Are you alright, Daisy?"
no subject
He presses the play button with a soft click, and the tape whirrs to life.
At first, the sound is garbled, warped. The tape crackles softly through the pristine speakers as it begins to play, and for a moment, Jon almost begins to accept defeat, that the tapes are in no condition to be played.
Before he can say anything, however, there's his own voice. It's incoherent, but the crackling begins to clear at last. The press of another tape-player clicks. Daisy's voice follows, muffled, through another speaker.
"...Was a coffin. An old, wooden coffin. Rough, unvarnished. I could see splinters where the nails had been hammered in badly. Wrapped all around it was a thick metal chain ending in a heavy padlock. That weird moaning was coming from inside it. It was the only sound that cut through pounding rain..."
His mouth is dry as he finally moves to sit, instead of lingering by the arm of the couch. No matter how many seconds pass, it never seems to get easier to listen to yourself apologize to people for what sounds, effectively, like a suicide mission. The longer it goes on, the clearer it becomes that the notion isn't too far off the mark.
Forever deep below creation. The strain of the weight of the world feels as though it presses on his chest even here, though he hasn't felt it on his body, not yet. When Daisy speaks, he tries not to look at her. He's never lived this; she has no choice but to relive it again. The statement she'd given him the first day she'd arrived at the island is fresh in his mind, but hearing it as it happened makes his stomach turn, his breath catch in his throat, and his life feeling scattered over the floor like a dropped bag of marbles.
The tape clicks off shortly after hearing Basira's voice, and the silence that lingers afterwards is heavy. It's a terrible thing, to wish you were yourself, but someone else, so that you could understand - a stronger stranger, only bearing the same name and voice, who would know how to handle this.
He's here now, though. He is here, alive-yet-dead, and all he has to offer the people who have gone through these things is who he is now.
Jon hesitates, but finally breaks the silence. His voice is soft, wavering ever-so-slightly, but he pushes forwards, shattering that suffocating, lingering quiet.
"Of... god, of all the tapes it could have been," He breathes out. It was almost a breath of a laugh, but he just can't quite manage it. "...Are you alright, Daisy?"