ph_logs | [OPEN] And I'll dream each night of some version of you

[OPEN] And I'll dream each night of some version of you

Who: Alice Dyer (

closureisformovies), Samama "Sam" Khalid (

huntingtruths) & you!
What: Alice and Sam arrive back from their canon update
When: Early May
Where: Around, locations in prompts
Warnings: Reference to gun violence; typical horror protagonist things; specifics in headers. Magnus Protocol Spoilers up to Episode 40.
Notes: Open prompts for both Alice and Sam will be down in the comments! Body of the post is meta/closed to Sam.

It's just her luck, really. Goes to talk to some spooky external— thing and don't even die because it's dangerous, oh no, that'd be too logical. She was prepared for that risk. Getting accidentally shot by her overeager bodyguard she didn't ask for? That's the level of absurdity that her life is made of, these days, so of course that's what happened instead.

(Gwen Bouchard, when she fucking sees you again...)

The memories hit when Mortanne welcomes her back and with it, the fact that Sam was here, too, the first time, so if she's here again, then surely— maybe— she almost doesn't dare to ask but she does and Mortanne says yes, and, well, after that it's all she can do not to cry with relief.

She's alone on the ferry, except for ferryman. It's the most nervewracking few minutes of travel of her life and she spends it shifting from foot to foot, scratching at her arm, pulling at her hair—nervous, scared, anxious, excited, she doesn't know. She just knows that Mortanne wouldn't lie. So she pays her fare, steps off the boat, and then stands on the dock to wait.

She's not going anywhere until he turns up. She doesn't care how long it takes.

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It's a rare sound for even those who know him, and the way it catches him off guard, it seems it's just as rare for Jon, himself--- but he barks a surprised laugh.

"And so--- I take it, similar names--- that Mr. Bonzo is some sort of bizarre version of our world's Mr. Blobby? Is that right?" he asks, undeniably relieved to have such mundane, strange things to focus on for a moment, instead of apocalypses and transferred Fears and pending ends of other worlds from it. "Hang on, alright, you've investigated the Magnus Institute of your world, you'd said? That it'd burned down? Any information about Jonah Magnus, or--- Elias Bouchard, maybe? If he'd died in the building fire, it'd have done you all a favor."

"—BOUCHARD?!"

"You're kidding. Does adding Head of the Institute to it make that better or worse?"

Her head is against the table again. The thunk is honestly impressive.

"Ohmygodthey'refuckingcorporateclimbersineveryuniverse," comes out all in one muffled breath. She bonks her head against the table once more then lifts it, propped on both hands.

"Worse! Very much worse! I-I mean I haven't seen anything about Bouchards and the bloody Magnus institute but we've got one running the damn OIAR right now!"

"No," he says, with all the shock and scandalized tone that someone might have while gossiping too late into the night with a friend at the pub. "Not Elias Bouchard, is it!? I can't imagine that the same thing would happen with other members of the family, but even just the last name doesn't exactly inspire confidence as it is."

"No, it's this— annoying arse called ~Gwendolyn~," the tildes are necessary, they're audible in her voice, "and she was just a grunt until, like, a month ago, when she somehow ousted the boss that actually knew what she was doing right after mister Monster Hunter MP visited. Christ I knew her family must all be total bellends but—"

"Christ. I know this is going to be a strange question, but I've got to ask. Did she have the same eyes as before? Didn't suddenly start having the old boss' eyes, did she? I guess it'd be hard to tell if they had the same eye-color, sure, and I hate that I have to ask, but it--- is a real concern."

"Did she have the— yes???? I think??? But y'know I don't spend a lot of time staring soulfully into my boss and my worstie's eyes, admittedly, so I guess maybe that could've slipped by me!" She sounds positively manic. How the fuck is this a real question. "I haven't seen Lena since Gwen ousted her so frankly anything's on the fucking table right now. I've half been assuming the secret service popped her the second she left—"

Jon doesn't sound any less manic, lifting his hands as he prattles. One step forward into normalcy, two steps back into conspiracy, as always.

"I won't mince words with you, Alice, there's every chance that Lena is someone made Fear-immortal, plucking out her own eyes and putting them into the skull of a subordinate to maintain control of your institute for time immemorial. That's what the Bouchard of our universe's torment did, and he went on to orchestrate the apocalypse, with himself as some sort of--- king of nightmares of the whole damn ordeal!"

"Oh my goddddddd."

She doesn't hit the table again, but it's a close thing. She groans extendedly into her hands and tries to decide if it's better or worse if Gwen's not actually Gwen anymore. Man, that'd be a nasty way to go even for her, though...

"Well if she is she's doing a pretty damn good impression of the original Gwen's insufferable personality so that's fantastic. Can't even get an upgrade." Beat. "Okay that was a bit nasty."

"Just a bit. I won't tell her you said so, should she show up and decide to become your personal pain in the ass," Jon teases. "Probably shouldn't joke about that, with how many people from our worlds have been washing ashore. Apologies in advance if I've just spoken it into reality."

Alice groans dramatically and points a finger at him—not right in his face this time, but the energy is there. "If you have, mister, I'll personally come and have you guts for bloody garters. And then inflict her on you for good measure so you can see what you've wrought on us all."

You will pay, Jonathan Sims. For that most of all.

"Christ, where even where we before we got onto Herberts and Bouchards—"

Jon doesn't reply, but raises his hands defensively, even if he looks so thoroughly amused the entire time. He truly has no idea what he's wrought.

"Apocalypse, not knowing how it ends, its impact on your world?" He offers, albeit a bit awkwardly. "Though I suppose what I'm still stuck on is my voice being in one of your computers. I didn't survive what I'm hoping was the end of it all, but--- getting crammed into an old filing system seems like a bit of a strange way for things to fall, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, just a bit." She crosses her arms against the table, leaning her weight on them. "I mean, the system's old as balls—like, old, wrinkly old man level balls, but the voices only popped up maybe a year back? Which doesn't even line up with when your apocalypse should've ended 'cuz that was years ago. And there's three of 'em. Chester, Norris and Augustus—Chester's you, Norris is Martin, and I haven't heard Augustus anywhere else."

Which makes him an outlier, right?

"But when the voices started was definitely when things got... weirder. Built up pretty slowly but Colin started losing his marbles over the system worse than ever, we started getting these weird JMJ errors that we've never figured out, then... y'know, everything else. Computers feeding Sam info. Starting to pointedly pick cases for us. Listening in on us. Eating Colin and making his body parts reappear from the tech... so on."

Jon's nose wrinkles as Alice explains - ironically, at the JMJ errors, rather than the eaten colleague and limbs appearing in the technology. For a world the Fears are finding their way into, in some shape or form, that's standard fare. He can't quite reach what it means, despite trying, but there's something that leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth about his and Martin's voice, and JMJ.

The final three left in the tower, losing their lives during the collapse and, presumably, the great undoing of the Fears' takeover.

"It doesn't line up, no, but I'm certain it's got to be intrinsically tied somehow," Jon agrees, reluctant only in what it might mean for both of them. "I don't know how I'd find out more, but... with the things that wash ashore sometimes, it's not out of the question. You'll be the first to know if something does."

Alice sighs. "Yeah. All we've got in this place is what each other knows."

Which is more, in many ways, than she had before. No one at home knows a damn thing. Even Sam was only getting so much out of the people he met on the other side of the portal. So, on one hand, it's sort of an improvement. On the other, they can't actually investigate any of this shit.

"Thanks, though. I know uh— well I was gonna give you a hard time for indulging Sam, before, but we ran out of the luxury of ignoring this stuff months ago. I just... didn't realise in time, I guess."

"Well, I wouldn't go thanking me for it, either," Jon remarks. It sort of comes out like a joke. It isn't really one. "Most we can hope for is that it'll give you both some warning before something a little too familiar washes ashore. Or, god. Gets sold. I've been trying to keep some of the worst things that turn up in Calloway's out of the public's hands, but it's not been going as well as I'd hope."

A beat, and he furrows his brows gently.

"...If he does mention anything strange he's picked up, do let me know, will you? I can only imagine with the track record he's got so far, it's only a matter of time. I just hope whatever he gets his hands on isn't too bad."

"Christ that'd be just like him," she groans, but nods. "Yeah, yeah, I'll keep an eye out. Best I can, anyway."

There's only so much she can do to rein him in, even now. Let's hope he keeps his grubby mitts off dangerous things.

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[OPEN] And I'll dream each night of some version of you

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probably about a good spot to wrap!

wrap!