Open Log

[the_archive]

Who: Jon Sims and YOU
Where: A few places in Thorne Castle
When: Before the Festival
What: Getting Acquaint (Let me know if you want to continue a TDM thread, and we can link it here and go on)
Warnings: N/A, will probably add.

Room 7

The first day, Jon just can't let himself just stop moving. He's already done everything he can to try to get the apprentices to give him more information, and they just keep assuring him that he'll know everything he needs to when he needs to. Which he interprets as; when they want him to. But they've also promised his powers will return, whether he wants them to or not, so there's that.

A bunk in a shared dorm doesn't shout 'honored guest' to him. He spends a few minutes stripping his bed, checking it minutely, and then making it again, using the activity of his hands to try to still his thoughts a little. To try not to worry about Martin. And the statement he can only hope he left entirely behind. When he's done that, he takes a moment, leaning on the bedpost to stare out the window beside it.

It's unsettlingly soothing, how little he can see from here.

Upstairs

Jon would have found the library even without it having been on that first rapid tour. He doesn't even intend to find himself there until he's there, looking down the rows of shelves. He prides himself on his research skills, but here he doesn't bother to look for something specific. Instead, he walks down one aisle at random, then another, keeping his hands folded behind his back until the distant, nagging feeling in the back of the head selects one volume, then another, then another.

He does check the flyleafs carefully, however.

In the study hall, he steers wide of those trying to learn to summon flames – Jon's not having anything to do with that, and the observant can guess why – one hand is already so scarred by burns that it doesn't move fluidly. And maybe that's why he's pulled to the young mage demonstrating a spell that heals small wounds.

Downstairs

He follows the dark stairs and rumors down with some anxiety, but it's no Panopticon down here. Only too-cramped cells, and conditions that would seem unrealistic in a movie. He eyes the guards, but doesn't like what he sees, and so keeps his distance as he moves along the cells. He's looking for someone in particular, but he won't find him. Instead, when the guards are out of earshot, he pauses.

“Do you know if there are more prisoners? Anywhere else?”

Comments

► UPSTAIRS

[arhivista]

It's no surprise, at least to Zelda, where it is that she's spending her time. The library here is familiar and comforting even if it's very different to her own, but a library provides stability and resources -- information, knowledge, and in a new world that's exactly what she needs.

Whilst there are many books that she passes, many things that she could look at Zelda keeps her hands free for the moment, wanting to find something in particular. She doesn't currently have her magic to do any of that quickly at the minute, nor even to read all of the texts she'd like, but Zelda wouldn't be a very good librarian if she couldn't work without magic.

Which is how she finds this man, her hand reaching for a book as his gets there first, having finally settled on something but-- oh. "No, you take it." She had a mental list of others she could get first.

[the_archive]

The volume, a thin and dusty book without an obvious title, has a relief of the castle they're currently in its leather cover. Jon already has a few others, tucked under one arm, and so while he takes a second to look at the one he's just picked up, he holds it out. The burn that wraps around his hand is obvious in the library's clear light.

"I'm just browsing."

[arhivista]

"For histories or something more specific?"

The book is taken with a small nod, a polite smile on her and since their interests had already overlapped once it makes her curious. As a librarian is.

"I've started trying to compile a list of thorough resources in certain topics."

[the_archive]

"Nothing specific, I'm just getting a feel for the place." His gesture could mean just the library, or Thorne as a whole. "Our hosts aren't exactly the source I could hope for."

[arhivista]

"They're forthcoming to a point." And Zelda could admit that it was a very small point, there was hesitance or reticence in wanting to talk to them even though they'd brought them here.

"I don't believe our being here is a mistake on their part but perhaps there is something else they're trying to cover?"

Or they're just cautious about the history of their land. But Zelda's not the most trusting.

Room 7

[lone_horse]

Kiryu hasn't really spent much time in his bedroom. He never does, to be honest, but as he sees his new roommate for the first time (awake; his schedule never was all that based around daylight), he makes a point of dipping his head in a greeting, even though the man looks as if he's daydreaming.

[the_archive]

Jon turns to return the gesture of greeting, and hesitates. That is a very large man.

"That one yours?" He tilts his head towards one of the tidily made beds. His is remade, but hardly tidy.

[lone_horse]

He nods, and glances over at Jon’s. There’s no judgement, though. When he has his own room, it tends to be a bit of a neat that he dives into. The neatness is just manners for him. And an attempt to keep peace in a confined space.

“Yes,” he says, before he continues with “Kiryu Kazuma. That one is yours?”

He points to it. Just to make sure he’s right that they are roommates and it wasn’t just somebody hosting.

[the_archive]

"Afraid so." He looks around the room, and then offers a civil hand. "Jonathan Sims. Professional abductee."

[lone_horse]

“…you can get paid for that?”

Because he’s heard of some weird jobs but that definitely takes the cake. All the same, Kiryu will take the hand in a firm, friendly shake. No posturing squeezing here.

“I… used to run an orphanage.”

Downstairs

[sunshinehan]

Majima had taken to leaning casually against the right wall of his cell as best to get first glimpses of people heading further into the dungeon from the stairwell leading outside. So long as the footsteps approaching didn't match the weight and gait of a guard, he kept to this position. (If he heard a guard approaching he swiftly but discreetly made his way to the back of his cell, into a shadowy corner with the rest of his cellmates avoiding guard contact as much as possible, and refrained from making eye contact of any sort.) Jon's footsteps weren't familiar so he stayed to watch the man approach.

At the question, Majima was pretty confident in the assumption that this guy was one of the welcomed guests. There wasn't any other reason for it. Unless, of course, it was some sort of trick. He ran with it anyway.

"Well, there's solitary confinement. But that's here in the dungeon. Who're you looking for?"

Another assumption but it seemed a safe one. Maybe he could ask around when they were at recreation or something. Not that Majima really had high hopes of finding whoever this guy was looking for if he couldn't find the person. Seemed like it would be easier for him than it would be for Majima.

[the_archive]

The tunic is a giveaway - Jon is still wearing just what he's been given. And he too is keeping an eye out for the guards, as well as looking past Majima deeper into the cell.

"A man named Martin Blackwood. English accent, about this tall, might be wearing a tunic with the same symbol as you."

Might not, but it's a place to start.

[sunshinehan]

"I'll keep my eye out for him just in case," Majima replied. He'd recently been gifted an eye patch by one of the constant benefactors down here--one Kiryu Kazuma of the honored guests--so the fact that he only had one eye was fairly obvious. Before it'd been questionable if it'd just been swollen shut from the abuse of the guards.

"You have reason to believe he's here? Or you just checkin' to see if he got pulled here and wound up down here instead of up there?"

[the_archive]

Jon shakes his head, with a deep frown. "Nothing concrete. But we were together just a few minutes before I was pulled in." And he hopes that whatever interested the powers here in him, would also have caught up Martin. Or he thinks he hopes so. It's complicated.

"You came through the well as well?" He'll make a little face at the homophone.

[sunshinehan]

Majima, contrarily, smirked slightly at the word play. He was quite fond of puns. However, had it been in his native tongue it probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Speaking the local language was a sore point but whatever worked to keep everyone on the same page.

"Didn't we all?" He scoffed lightly. "All of us 'guests'. The honored ones up top and those of us less fortunate down below." He made a thoughtful sound before continuing. "Dunno if proximity would matter so much with however they're pulling us. If so, half my staff would probably be here as well."

Downstairs

[not_caroline]

Coraline's learned to recognise the gaits of the guards already - flat-footed and heavy, confident in that disgustingly egotistical way - so she recognise immediately the sound of footsteps from someone less grossly self-assured, the light tread of someone not sure they should be here.

Well. Time to put on a show then.

She rolls off her top bunk and shimmies easily to the floor, flopping her too-long sleeves over her hands so she can grip the bars of their cell without further injury, shifting the collar off one shoulder and briefly releasing to mess up her hair some to look even more pathetic and small, and grips back on the bars just as the man comes into view.

Huh. Pretty normal looking - the pock-mark scars barely register, on her scale, but the burned hand gets a quick glance. Tired, but dressed infinitely nicer than her so clearly Welcomed, ugh. But if he's concerned about other prisoners, maybe he's empathetic. She can use that.

Immediately her eyes go wide as she lets them flood with tears, brimming but not quite falling, as she lets her genuine anxiety and fear loose. "I don't... I-I've only seen people in this hallway--" Her voice quavers, the Australian accent buried under her fear. There's only two men in the cell with her, and suddenly the tears start flowing. "They-- they keep taking mister Majima away, though, they keep hurting him...!"

[the_archive]

He looks down at her, brows drawn together. He's seen some young people in here, but this is an actual child.

"Have they hurt you?"

[not_caroline]

She nods, the action a little stuttering, and lets go of the bars to pull back her sleeves - to reveal thick contact burns around her wrists, already blistering and swollen in places. They're only first degree, but they still look painful.

"The cuffs they gave me, th-they..." But her voice catches, and she takes a deep, trembling breath to try and calm her nerves. "They burned me..."

[the_archive]

He's not really conscious of the way he touches his own scar at the sight of hers, one hand rubbing the other. When he realizes, he stops, expression changing a little.

"I know- something that might help, a little. They're playing at teaching us spells upstairs." He frowns at the word - magic, despite everything he's seen or because of it, bothers Jon. "I was learning the one to heal wounds this morning."

[not_caroline]

Her gaze, on the other hand, flicks down immediately at his apparently unconscious motion. Huh. Guess he's an easier mark than she expected. Doesn't seem to like magic, though, that's interesting.

"I-I..." She sniffs, wetly, and flaps her sleeve down to wipe her eyes, only really succeeding in leaving dirty tracks on her face; but her voice is nearly a whisper. "...I didn't think magic was real, until ...until now."

She pulls her wrists into herself for a moment, meek and hesitant, before she very nervously (and unlike her tears, fuelled by real fear but ultimately hollow, this is real, genuine nervousness) sticks both arms out of her cell, being very careful not to let them brush the bars, and looks up at Jon with weeping, narrowed eyes. "Please?"

Room 7

[moremilkplz]

Homelander has spent most of the day just walking the castle, trying to look in to all the rooms. Sure, a few junior mages and a guard had kicking him out of the wing he'd wandered in to. But that was probably a mistake, and one he would take up with management as soon as possible.

Just as he would raise the issue of the shared room. Why? They had called him here, from beyond time and space, to safe them all. And once his powers came back online, he would do just that. But in the meantime, he was stuck in a room with... people. Normal people from the looks of it, and back home, he would have marched to Vought and demanded a new room.

"Hello there, friend. What are you looking at?" with only barely disguised condescension.

Re: Room 7

[the_archive]

"Rooftops. The walls. Several birds." The very normal man says it with a flat sort of amusement in his stiff London accent, turning to look at him. "In short, very little." And it is the most restful thing he's done in... well, quite some time.

"You're in here with us, then?"

[moremilkplz]

"The bed by the window," and Homelander crosses his arms over his chest.

Sharing might be caring, but really? He would care more if they just moved out. He hadn't shared a room with someone since the last tour with Black Noir, and that really didn't count. Nothing about Black Noir counted, except his body count. Great work.

"That's mine. I'm the Homelander," might as well get this out of the way, and any autograph signing would be out of the question. Just because Madelyn wasn't-- she wasn't here, or anyway, anymore, didn't mean he'd start doing that shit again.

[the_archive]

It's not the bed Jon's already made something of a mess of, so that's just fine. "Noted." He doesn't offer a hand, since the other's folded arms don't invite it. "Jonathan Sims. Just Jon is fine."

He can feel that this Homelander is expecting a little more recognition - anyone could, he thinks. Sorry to disappoint.

[moremilkplz]

"Hello, Jon."

He's not going to keep standing like this this other man won't even do the usual wow-meeting-your-hero moment, with the wide eyes and the shrill voice. He relaxes his shoulders a little and walks to his own bed. He throws himself down on it, leaning back against the wall and crosses his legs at the ankles.

"And how did you get here, Jon?"