Recording #002 | June Log

[the_archive]

WHO | Jon and OTA.
WHAT | DITL mostly, with a few starts in the comments. Feel free to run into Jon anywhere mentioned. He's flexing his Knowing, so if you're interested in dropping some knowledge, that'd be lovely.
WHERE | The Castle, Thorne, the Library, the Dungeon
WHEN | Post-Festival through the rest of June

Realizing that his connection to the Eye is whole again rather soured the end of the Festival for Jon. He spent a day behind the curtains in his room, enduring a headache, but now that's settled down to a mute throb, he's walking off the rest of it while he wrestles with himself.

It's not a surprise, this reconnection. Ambrose told him the respite would only be for a few days. And it's not explicitly unwanted. There are a lot of questions to which he needs answers, and he knows he can seek out those answers, but not without some cost. He knows he'll do it, since the information isn't only for himself. He has to work up the courage.

And he hasn't read a statement in over two weeks now, which is... troublesome. Despite taking full advantage of the dining hall daily (okay, nearly daily), he's aware of a constant vague hunger.

So the walking is as much distraction as exploration. He's going to wear out his sandals pacing the corridors of the castle and the aisles of the library, walking out into the town. He mostly confines his town visits to mid-day, when folk are often too busy to waylay an "honoured guest."

Comments

[rehandle]

He watches the little encounter with the tape recorder with interest. Well, that explains that - modern or not, its place in time doesn't seem to be as important as whatever else it might be, no doubt wrapped up in the thing that looks out through the man who just resolutely denied it the option to listen in. It says something about him.

As does the fact that he asks. Asks if he can ask, anyway. It's not the most reassuring setup, can I or can I not briefly infringe on your autonomy, but it does give him a choice.

"Go ahead."

Worst comes to worst, he has a contingency. Though if they're about to go stumbling into an eldritch game of twenty questions -

"Dr. Stephen Strange."

They may as well know one another's names first.

[the_archive]

"Jon Sims. The Archivist." It's the first time he's said it here, in this world. But for all he's tried to dodge it, it's still as true as ever.

"What kind of an entity is that?"

[rehandle]

The Archivist. Something to note for later.

"An entity born of pure magical energy. They're called the Faltine after their realm, but Dormammu specifically rules over a dimension known as the Dark Dimension and is intent on subsuming all matter."

[the_archive]

"And it's not a fan of yours, I take it." Which seems to be a recommendation on this Strange's behalf.

"There aren't fourteen of them, by any chance?"

[rehandle]

"I'd assume I've graduated from his indifference to his active ire, yeah."

Stopping anybody from getting what they want would seem to have that effect.

... hmm. Interesting question.

"I don't know for certain. Why?"

[the_archive]

With Strange's words, Jon's shoulders drop a little, posture easing. Not relief, but decision.

"Because mine is one of fourteen, probably, and I'd like to be sure our problems aren't overlapping. That I'm not speaking to an avatar of any of the others."

[rehandle]

There's a pause for consideration. He's been asked no questions, but he's nothing to hide.

"I'm a Master of the Mystic Arts. A sorcerer, not an avatar. And if our problems had the potential for pre-existing overlap, there's a 98% chance I'd already know about it."

That's sort of his job. If Sims' patron were of his universe, influencing his Earth? He'd know. He'd have to, or what would be the point?

[the_archive]

Oh god, more magic.

"Mine hasn't had a chance to get very far here - and I'm doing my best to keep it that way - so what it can tell me about this world is still limited. Mostly to things in my general vicinity, things I've seen." His flat little smile is apologetic again.

[rehandle]

The suggestion of apology is acknowledged with a brief upward pinch of the corner of his mouth, more a nod in the face of an inside joke than a don't worry about it. It's done, he's not holding a grudge.

"Good to know we've got eyes in the sky." So to speak. "Even if it doesn't sound like it'd be a good idea to rely on them."

[the_archive]

"And the less we do, the better."

Jon takes a second, thumb tapping on his scar again as he thinks. If the other fears have followed, he suspects he probably would already know - Helen, at least, would have put in an appearance.

"My patron - it's fear. Specifically the fear of being known. And it wants a way into the world. My world, this world, I don't imagine it's picky. But it's had millennia to work on mine, and only a few weeks here."

[rehandle]

It's about as cerebral and abstract and terrifyingly vast in implication as you would expect it to be when dealing with anything other. Fear. Wonderful.

But there's a qualification to the danger it poses that downgrades the necessary expression he makes from one of concern to one of faintly amused resignation.

Such is the pattern of his life. Sometimes you just have to laugh.

"Alright. A concern, but not our most immediate concern."

That being their current existence as multiversal abductees.

"Have you done much multiversal travel, Mr Sims?"

[the_archive]

"Uncertain." Jon knows it's a strange answer, and his mouth quirks slightly. "But of the sort I think you're asking, no. This here is my first other world."

[rehandle]

Strange answers are inevitable in their field. When the answer's complete, Stephen's brow lifts in commiseratory acknowledgement.

"Not bad as a first venture."

It's a joke, mostly. Or it would be if his first voyage into the multiverse hadn't been the kind of trip you'd usually have to pay a lot of money for.