abraxaslogs | [Closed] nothing ever becomes real 'til it is experienced

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[Closed] nothing ever becomes real 'til it is experienced

WHO: Martin, Phoenix and Jon Sims
WHAT: First time Horizon time
WHEN: Start of September
WHERE: Horizon!

For Phoenix

Martin, despite the meditation, is still incredibly nervous when he feels that final tug, like he's falling asleep and snapping awake into a dream all at once.

But when he wakes up, of course, he doesn't worry about any of that. He just finds himself on the ground in a surprisingly comfortable outfit, with the Empress symbol in a repeating pattern on his tie - though at the same time, he can't help but wonder what he's comparing it to - and pushes himself to his feet with a visible air of confusion, in the sparce patch of open farmland he's found himself in. With a companion, even, and he frowns slightly.

"Uhm... hello, there?"

For Jon

The building Martin feels compelled to make, in the end, is singular: a long, flat building with only a ground floor, with the almost stereotypical classical architecture of a university. Inside is warm, and comforting; not just because it's literally a pleasant few degrees warmer inside than out, invoking memories of stepping in from the brisk winter wind, but the wooden floor and wall panels are a homey brown, the upper walls and ceiling lined with a creamy-gold wallpaper that's peeling in spots, but somehow charmingly so. There are people here, too, kind of - literally faceless mannequins in modern, casual fashion, that only change position when not being observed, but they don't mind Jon any as he explores.

There's a few different rooms, most of them classrooms, but there's a pair of offices next to each other, one labelled Prof. Blackwood, the other blank - but the wood grain had made a perfect eye shape where the matching bronze plaque would have gone. The largest room, though, taking up most of the entire side of the building is a library, filled with piles upon piles of books, the majority of them on poetry but a few random ones on other, non-fiction subjects.

That is where Martin is currently located, in animated conversation with a pair of mannequins that pose like they're genuinely interested in what he has to say.

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When Jon found himself back in his panopticon, he was once again in the strange rags he'd worn before, and holding a white mug of tea with a picture of an owl on it. By the time he reaches the new construction, he's restored his clothes to the quiet academic look he wore in London. Holding the tea, now in a travel mug, he lets himself inside.

The first mannequin he spots gives him a start, and Jon actually stumbles back a step, putting his back against a door - no, he knows better than that, a wall. He erases that one with a frown and a wave of his hand, but then spots more, and sighs, brows drawn together.

What are you making here, Martin?

Warier, he heads for the library, keeping an eye on each grouping of mannequins that he passes. And when he spots Martin, apparently happy and not bothered here with his faceless companions, Jon's shoulders relax the rest of the way and he just watches him for a minute.

The mannequin is vanished without a trace, and its companions don't seem to notice, continuing with their masquerade like nothing's changed. There's no malevolent intent from any of them

Martin, however, does notice, and the niggling sensation in the back of his head makes him turn when he hears footsteps moving into the library. And immediately his face burn, at the sight of the other man. There's something... familiar about him, almost, on the edge of memory, but all he knows for sure is the stranger is quite handsome, and he gives the people he's talking to a quick apology before he breaks away to approach Jon.

"Hello there, uh- can I give you a hand, at all?" And he flashes a warm, pink smile.

Jon smiles back, glad to see him so cheerful here. His first visit had been strangely relaxed too, but he know others' hadn't been.

"No, just visiting. I'm Jon." He holds out the cup, still warm. "I brought you tea."

"Oh!" His face colours a bit more, but his smile turns into a full grin as he accepts the offer. "Thank you, that's incredibly kind! I'm Martin." And he'll offer his own hand to Jon to shake. "I'd offer you a tour, but, well. Seems like you made your way through just fine."

He clasps his hand, and can't help but wonder what would have been if they had met like this. Without his own sabotage, without the complications of the Institute.

"We know each other, actually. You just don't remember me right now. Nothing's wrong, it will come back to you."

Without spaniels being let into the Archives.

Martin frowns, at that, and his grin fades immediately into an honestly baffled look. "I-- I-I'm sorry, I don't... quite get what you mean, um..."

He pulls his hand back and gestures with it, at the building but more Horizon in general. "Isn't this... n-not just my piece, I mean, isn't all of it just... what it is?"

One of Jon's spare eyes opens, dark hazel tracking that quick gesture before it closes again, disappearing back into a scar on his cheek.

"Not quite." He's put thought into this, though to be honest, he'd kind of expected a different context. A less comfortable domain. It's a pleasant surprise, except for the mannequins, but it's thrown him a little off.

"I can explain, if you want me to. But the context will waste a lot of time. Personally, I would rather just keep you company while you're here right now."

Martin's own eyes flick down a little in surprise when he realises he's being watched, but that's the extent of his reaction to the eye disappearing. Instead he looks back up at Jon's real eyes with a moment of confusion.

"I, um." And the blush gets a bit darker across his cheeks. "Don't. Really get it, but... alright?"

Now, though, he's feeling very self-conscious, and Jon will almost definitely notice how all the mannequins are suddenly staring at Martin. Their bodies are continuing on with whatever they were up to, but every blank face is staring at Martin, though he doesn't seem to have properly noticed. "Shall we, um. Take it to my office, then? Just so it's a bit more, uh...p-private...?"

Jon gives the mannequins another suspicious look, his dislike obvious. No thank you.

"Please."

"Right." His smile is a little more of a grimace now, but he's still warm as he gestures vaguely towards a door before leading the way out. Now he's very pointedly not looking at the mannequins, nearly stiffly looking straight forward, and it's a little jarring looking at the warmth and relaxed postures the dummies' bodies are performing when they're still all staring at Martin.

He leads out the main library doors, past the office with the wood-grain eye - but even that seems like it's staring too - and into the main office. It honestly looks remarkably similar to Jon's, though it's a distinct bit tidier than he's left it in Martin's recent times. A large wheeled whiteboard dominates part of one wall, a narrow camping cot visibly tucked away beneath it, but the rest is filing cabinets, a large minibar fridge with a kettle and a few boxes of different kinds of tea on top, and a rather pretty old-fashioned desk dominating the center of the scene, with a pair of matching chairs, one on either side.

Martin puts the travel mug down on the desk and moves automatically towards the kettle. "Can I get you anything, um, tea, coffee?. I know the instant coffee's not anyone's favourite, but...?"

The marked door makes Jon pause as it did on his way in, more eyes opening as he looks on it for a moment, before he follows Martin into his own office. He puts his hands in his pockets, gaze lingering for a moment on the familiar-looking cot.

"Oh, uh, tea, thank you." At least here in the Horizon, they can have proper tea.

In future Martin is going to come by Horizon on multiple occasions exclusively because he wants a decent cuppa. Right now, though, he just makes the one to pass to Jon. And funnily enough, it's exactly how Jon likes it.

"Right, um." He picks up the travel mug and takes a sip, before he holds it in both hands so he can idly drum his fingers on it. "Can we go back to the... uh, the part where I don't remember you, apparently?"

The first sip makes Jon smile again, not quite concealing it in the cup. And it's not at all just that taste of home that brings a little color to his cheeks.

"What do you know, first?"

"Uhm... that's a good question, really." He sits at the desk, gesturing politely for Jon to do the same. "Well, you've introduced a lot of concepts in a very short period of time, so. Whatever you'd think might be simplest, I suppose."

Taking his seat, Jon leans back with both hands wrapped around his tea.

"This is your first time here. Something about this place makes it so that, your first time here, you don't remember anything outside, or before. Except obviously, part of you does," he adds, gesturing to the cot, to his cup.

Martin kind of just narrows his eyes uncertainly. "...alright."

But he does frown slightly, more in thought, and glances away to look at the things he's made. All the stuff that just felt right.

"I, um. Suppose that means you probably know what most of this is... well, what it's for, really. I only made it because it... seemed like the right thing to thing to."

"Some of it. Not all of it," he admits readily. Which would mean more to Martin once his memories are back, he thinks. He looks around again, gaze catching a moment on the framed degrees hanging beside the shelves, their text vague.

"I like it," he says in a softer voice, his turn to fidget with his cup. "What you've made. It seems good for you."

Something about the fondness in the other man's voice evokes a dark blush across Martin's cheeks, as he grins bashfully, casting his eyes down to the travel mug.

It only properly occurs to him then that the tea is just how he likes it, too.

"Are we, uhh..." But he frowns, self-admonishing, and gives his head a little shake. Are we something, don't be ridiculous. Like anyone would care so much for him. "Sorry." He looks back up, the smile still crinkling his eyes a little. "What did you end up making, anyway? You certainly seem familiar with how my space ought to work."

"Yes, we are." It's not a casual question, that one Martin didn't ask, but the answer is simple. Jon sips his tea and moves along. His skin doesn't show color as readily as Martin's, but there's certainly some.

"Mine isn't as friendly. I'm trying to decide what to do with it."

Martin blinks, and the redness smears wider across his face. "O-oh."

He's listening as Jon talks, but gets distracted by his own thoughts. "H-hold on, you didn't even know what I was going to ask there."

"'Are we something?'" Jon has to smile, because the question is so very Martin. It's reassuring, that even as a cleaner sort of slate, he's still... only himself. "'Something' is a good way to describe what we are, right now."

The look of vague suspicion is very Martin as well, hidden as it is behind manners. "And... and how did you know that's what I was thinking? I'm-- look, I know I'm a little bit of an open book, apparently," he comments with a shrewd smile, "But that's still a pretty specific question."

He nods, with a bit of a gesture of concession. "I know things. I'm not reading your mind, but yes, I did know what you were about to say." A bit of a sigh. "I can explain more about it, but it's not- not a fun conversation, and we've had most of it recently."

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