![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_archive) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
abraxaslogs2021-08-01 09:30 pm
Recording #004 | The Voice
WHO: Jonathan Sims et al
WHAT: DOOM
WHERE: The return from the Horizon, and the dungeons.
WHEN: From July 24th to August 12th
WARNING: Body horror, eyes, execution talk, mention of self-harm.
NOTES: Always up to add something more specific for any asker. I'm in the group disco at all hours, or on plurk as TheHats.
1.
Jon wakes up outside the rim of the crater with a sense of gentle, falling disappointment, staring up at the sky. He simply lays there for a while in the long grass, hands folded on his stomach, unmoving. It's one of the guards accompanying the mages that first notices he's awake, and they're swift to pull him to his feet. The guard who grabs his wrist to recuff him makes a startled sound when one of the three broad scars across Jon's throat opens and blinks lazily at him, and when another eye winks from the back of his neck, the guard escorting him back to the group pushes harder than necessary, sending him to his knees.
It's there he goes still, frozen, his eyes – all of his eyes, in their dozens now, every scar opening to show a different shade of iris with pinprick pupils – go wide as the voice sounds inside his head, for him alone, a dead language hissing like static between his ears.
H̷̨̀͂É̴̩̩͋L̷̘͂͝L̴̳̹͐Ö̴̠͉́ ̴̱̽͝H̴̡̱̎͝E̸̥̻̍̄L̵͈̽͜L̷̙͛͒Ọ̶́̔
̶̬̾Ý̸͓̖͝O̷̦͐U̴͈̿̒ ̷̳̔̀C̴̳̰̚A̸̰̔N̸͎͕̈́ ̸̗̦̂U̶̼̖͌Ṋ̶̛́ͅD̸͌̕͜E̴͖̩̅̽Ȓ̴͔͚̔S̸̘̔T̷͎͔͊͐A̶̰͑̎Ň̴̬͝D̷̙̂̐ ̸̨̦͂̊M̴͖̾Ě̷͔ ̶̹̙͆Y̷̺̱͛E̸̟̓͗S̶͎̀̒ ̸̧̥̆F̵̝̯͗I̷̛̯̔N̶̡̪͠Â̶͙̩Ĺ̸̖̭͝L̵͎̩̇Ý̸̲͈ ̷̙́ͅB̴̻̙́̈́È̶̖͖Ę̴̩͒̄N̴̺̋̑ ̵̛̮͠W̴̻̃A̴̗̞̍̕Í̷̻͝T̷͚͒́Ì̷̙̃͜Ṅ̴͖͖̂G̶̺̩̃
He doesn't answer when he's ordered to his feet,
Ç̵̥͗͑Ą̷͖͂N̴̨͈͝'̵̥̇̂T̶͔͍̕ ̶̬́͌T̵̹̔͘Ą̸̲͊͝L̷̺̓̚K̵͖̚ ̴̼̿́M̷̟̉̓Ǘ̵̠͐C̴̖̔H̵̜́ ̸̤͛Ṋ̸̄͝O̸͉̣͒̔W̵̱͐ ̸̱̻̅̚V̸̥͝͠Ẽ̷͚R̸̎͊͜Y̴̠̋̕ ̶̗̎E̵̡͒X̴̟̀H̷̘̀̓Ả̷̪U̸̞̦͊S̸̘̜̍T̶̡͙̀Ȋ̵̘N̵͓̬͂Ğ̵̢
̷͓͈͆I̷̅͜ ̵̯͌̒W̴͓͜͠I̶͔̝̍L̸̨̯̀́L̴̢̟͆͑ ̸̱̿Ș̷͆Ẹ̷͖͝Ṉ̸̼͊̎D̵̦̃ ̷̯̗̇͝M̷̤͐Ẏ̷͎ ̷̬̑Ȩ̵͍̏̏N̸̤͋V̷͚̺̾̇O̴͔̮̍̃Y̷̦͝
or rise when they yank his arm.
Ť̵̞̈́R̵̛͉̀Y̴̳͠ ̷̡̹̃N̶̘͆̉O̸̡͕̅T̵̨͗́͜ ̶͉̏́Ṭ̵̋Ȍ̸̺͓̚ ̷̢̬̽L̵̼̱̚O̸͙̾̔O̴͚̠͗͠Ḱ̸̢̕ ̷͉͈̔H̸̙̜͑̾E̶̻͒̈́ ̷̱̭̇̔I̵̻̩͗̾S̷̤̊͂ ̴͓̥̊Ǹ̶͍͇̍Ȍ̶ͅT̵͙̈́̄ ̷͕̎̓M̷͚̗̀E̴̝͛A̸͈̅N̶͓̏T̵͓̒̈́ ̸̰͙͌͌T̶͍̗̑̏O̶̡͙̽̑ ̸̠͆B̷͔͔͠E̸̼̔ ̴͙̍̓ͅS̶͉̽̏Ė̶̠̘̑E̴̪̓́͜N̷̻͍͐͝ ̸̤̉͊Ẉ̵̓̒I̴͍͋T̸̡̾H̴̖͉̎ ̶̗̠̀E̴̞̋Ẏ̴͖E̸͇̔S̴̩̕͜ ̸̀͜Ḁ̶̺̂͑Ṡ̶̯̘ ̸̱̈́͆O̸̝̓̃P̸͍͉͝Ę̶̪̚N̴͓͐ ̴̭͑Ḁ̵̱̆͂S̶̜̭͌̋ ̵̟̽̎Y̷͚̽O̷͔̙̔͒Ü̸̘̎R̸̺̚S̶͔̬̈́̚
̶̪̬̏I̸̢̝̓̀T̴̓ͅ ̸̳̃͛Ẇ̵̫̱Ȋ̶̘͔̇L̷͍͗L̸̦͊́͜ ̷̫̆͠H̶̤͍̾͝Ų̵͂̀R̶̰̳̈́̋Ţ̸͇̓ ̶̢͚̾L̵̳̍͛ͅĪ̸͎̜͝Ķ̴̗̈́̽Ē̴̡ ̷̜̀̚Ś̶̨̮T̸̢̎͜A̶̹̗̾̊R̷̝̄I̵̳̼͐̚Ǹ̴͖̥G̷̼͆̓ ̷̤́͠I̴͎̍N̷̫̻̎T̸̡͆Ỏ̵͔̱ ̷̣̽T̵̮̠̓H̷̦͒̇Ẹ̵̤́̒ ̷̪̔̄Ş̷̑U̴̹̫͆̔N̴̗̱͗̋ ̷͔͚͋̌
He's frozen in horror, listening to something other than their gruff orders,
W̴̨͗̈͠Ȃ̴̝̦I̸͍͕͂̿͝T̷̹̫̮͑ ̸̱͇͛̒͒F̴̧͕̬̋̏Ö̵̹͚͒R̵͔̔̃ ̶͉̲̂̂͑H̸̯̪̊Ī̴̳͚̈́̒M̴̢̼͔͊̚
̵̏͜S̶̖͂͝È̸̳̰̥T̷̿͜ ̸̫̮́̅M̵̺̒E̷̦̍͝ ̴͓͙̽̈́F̴̦͊̐̄ͅR̸̯̕Ẽ̵̘̆E̸͎̻̓ͅ ̵̼̊̀͌
and when they finally get him up, he staggers where he's pushed, stands where he's left, numb, pale, and breathing fast.
2.
He's still just as unsettled when they're returned to the cells. He manages to retreat to his bed, although there's no sleep for him. The new eyes don't all shut, not when he wants them too, and he twitches at every voice. Twitches and relaxes again when he realizes they're safe, he's only hearing them with his ears.
It takes him until the next day to begin to breathe easily again, and even then, the equanimity he displayed before the Horizon is gone. Instead of sitting by the bars to see who's coming down the corridor, now he paces, jaw so tense his head aches. It's not the Eye. He knows that much. What it is, what it might be, he doesn't know. And he fears.
no subject
"I have been that key before, and I almost destroyed my world. I will not do it again. If that means a noose, fine."
no subject
"It won't come to that."
There's a basic level of hypocrisy here that he can't acknowledge without accepting the potential need for sacrifice - which he won't. That's for last resort only. Right now, they don't even know what they're up against. But the severity of Sims' response, and his earlier allusions to peace after the passing of his sentence, demands a question.
"Do I need to put you on watch?"
Determined people will do desperate things. And Jon seems incredibly determined not to play passageway for yet another unknown thing to make its way into the world.
no subject
That question's too logical to ruffle his feathers like this, even Jon can see. But it hit hard on his own conflicts.
"No. You might've, a few days ago," he says honestly, voice tired. "But not now. If there's a way out of here... I'll take it. I know I shouldn't."
no subject
A few days ago. So there's been an influencing factor to his change of heart. Whatever it is, it's enough to equal and mollify his violent refusal to be a pawn for whatever's waiting for his help in its chance at freedom.
I know I shouldn't, he says.
"You don't have to justify an unwillingness to die."
That said...
"What changed?"
no subject
"My... Martin. My..." He scowls at himself, folding an arm around his chest. "Ambrose-" And that name is a sneer of anger now. "-brought my boyfriend here. He's three cells that way." He points with his head as he turns back towards the bars and Strange. "Which is why I have been trying to keep my voice down. He's been brought here from almost two years in my past, before our relationship, and he doesn't know I'm on the chopping block because I haven't been able to bring myself to tell him."
no subject
"Yeowch." It's out before he really has the chance to vet it, caught off guard by the whiplash of the mood. Not as if it's any lighter, but there's something so absurdly relatable about the miserable situation Jon finds himself in that he can't help but empathise. All it would've taken is one variation in the timeline... With empathy comes a slip away from pragmatism, and with that comes— well. Yeowch.
"Sorry. That's—" Dealing with a death wish is one thing. Dealing with a man who's trying to juggle a good five or six nightmare scenarios at once, one of them being the sudden appearance of a boyfriend who's still a not-yet-boyfriend and another being not having yet managed to let that not-yet-boyfriend know that he's on death row, is something else altogether.
Stephen's bedside manner hasn't had enough practice for this.
"Bad."
He can help with a disembodied voice asking for a rescue, can even help with an out for an impending execution. An acquaintance dealing with a cross-section of the cross-temporal, multiversal and interpersonal, though? He's got nothing, and too many seconds of stretching silence makes that abundantly clear.
no subject
The eye on the back of his neck disappears back into a thin red scar as he rubs his hand across it, craning his head back for a moment. The tension he carries at the nape of his neck is days old now, and feels like a bruise.
"If you find any option to get him out of here, I'd be very grateful."
Any such option for himself, still only an afterthought.
no subject
"Yeah." Of course. "Does Ambrose know what he's done?"
Has he already come to gloat? Is there any point in going to plead a case?
He's careful to keep his voice hushed - no longer for the sake of any guards who might be lurking around, now for the man three cells down who doesn't know he's being spoken about.
no subject
And if he manages to pull Gertrude through that well, Jon thinks bitterly, one of them will probably kill the other and he's not certain who he'd back.
no subject
"Well, if he doesn't know then it's worth a try. I'll see if I can get an audience."
And if he does know then he'll have to find out one way or another - either way, straight to the top of the ladder seems the most straightforward approach.
"Anything else you need while I'm here?"
no subject
I was looking for a Gertrude, anyway, but thought you'd do well enough.
So he knew where to look.
He sighs, leaning back against the bars. "I'm fine for the moment. Coraline visits more than she should. But if the 23rd comes around as planned, I expect Ambrose will parade everyone out to watch. Anything you can do to keep Martin Blackwood and Coraline Finch from being in that audience."