abraxaslogs | INTRO LOG #2

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INTRO LOG #2

Intro Log #2

It has been two months now since the initial group of summonings first took place. Castle Thorne, or at least the part above ground, is buzzing with a vibrant air of hope following the 'success' at the Singularity. Eager smiles and excited chattering are to be found in nearly every corner of the castle and surrounding town. The honored guests may find grateful looks turned their way more often than not. A new and brighter day seems to be dawning on the kingdom.

In the dungeons it's a different story entirely. The mood is somber and uneasy. The prisoner taken for trial has yet to return, and no word has come regarding her or her fate. There has been no mention of any further trials as of yet and guards seem to have little patience for unruly behavior or even conversation. Some seem to not even look at or acknowledge the prisoners at all.

[ Feel free to continue threads from the TDM here or start your own! As cell and room assignments will be short-lived due to this month's event, you're free to assume whichever cellmates and roommates you like instead of officially signing up as long as there are ICly no more than four people in a cell or room at once. ]

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"Oh, oh no, that's not what I mean!" He reaches for Martin's hands, but stops himself. Barely. "You and Tim came out of the tunnels the same day you went in! But for me. That was - let me think - a year and eight months ago. It was October, 2018, when Ambrose brought me here, and I've been here a little less than two months.

"What? No, it's- it's February, it's 2016, that doesn't..."

He holds one hand out in pause, so he can use the other to rub his face. "Jon, that doesn't make any sense, how-- how could you possibly be two years in the future?"

"They've pulled people from dozens of worlds. And Ambrose was aiming for Gertrude when he got me." No longer a twist of sting there, but it still makes him frown. "So this shouldn't really be a surprise."

2016, though. It makes Jon lower his hand, rather than try to take Martin's again.

His small laugh is that of a man approaching breaking point (like he hasn't already passed it in the tunnels), and it makes his words a bit more terse than he means. "I-I think we can safely say, Jon, that- that none of this is within the realm of 'a bit of a surprise'.

Jon hesitates and nods, and gestures to the benches at the sides of the yard. "Come sit down? I'll see if I can catch you up."

One of the small eyes in the mess of scars on his right hand opens a slit, this one so dark brown it's nearly black, and he snatches that hand back, hoping Martin didn't notice it.

He catches the jerk of Jon's hand away, but- well, he doesn't really know what to make of that. He certainly doesn't see anything weird or eyeball-related.

Instead he rubs his face with both hands, sounding tired and slightly muffled. "Sure. That sounds... yeah." He's happy to just follow Jon's lead ~~as usual~~ though when they sit he has a burning question.

"I just have to ask first, though, you... you didn't kill that man in your office, did you?" There's an almost desperate hope, there.

Jon freezes for a moment, and then leans back against the wall. "No, I didn't kill Jurgen Leitner. Elias did, because he spoke to me. Couldn't have him answering too many questions," he says bitterly, that wound still sharp despite the time passed.

Martin frowns, then stares. "Sorry-- Jurgen, the Jurgen Leitner?!" And a moment's pause. "Elias?!"

It's Jon's turn to rub his face, though he's careful of the scars around his eye.

"Yes, the book collector. It was him, living in the tunnels under us. He had a book that could reshape them, and he used it to trap the not-Sasha, saving me."

"Right, um. That... makes sense, yeah."

And he's not being facetious, funnily enough. Of everything so far, he knows that Leitner books are weird. It made sense that there was a book like that.

"I'm, um. I'm sorry," he adds, a little abruptly. "Tim and I were looking for you, we followed th-the Not-Sasha down there but we ran into-- Michael." He swallows dryly, and the rest comes in a rush. "I-I don't think-- we couldn't even use the tape recorder to track it all, when we went through the door after he- it found us, we wanted to come and help you, m-maybe if we had, then..."

Then they could have helped keep Leitner alive, or helped Jon stay safe by distracting the monster, or-- or done something besides be useless and lost and helpless.

He can't help but frown sourly at the mention of Michael. "I took his door too," he says softly. "He dumped me straight into the tunnels. You probably couldn't have found me without help."

Though the Not-Sasha did.

"Martin, I shouldn't have- I destroyed the table. I thought it would kill the thing, but it just set it free."

"That's-- it's not your fault, Jon. How--" His hands twine nervously in his lap; not having a cup of tea to busy himself with made his hands very restless. "How could you have known that destroying it would-- do anything, really? It didn't-- it's not like our job makes sense on the best of days, you know?"

"I could have known." He can't keep his eyes off of Martin's hands, and it's easier than looking into his face. "If I'd let myself."

He takes a deep breath, and lets it out again, and rests his good hand on his knee, palm up. An offer, if Martin will take it. One he knows is maybe a bad idea, but he can't quite stop himself.

"Leitner told me enough, about what we're facing. About where it all comes from. Keeps coming from. The Entities, and what the Archive is."

...oh.

Martin feels his face turn red again, and it feels like it's making his whole body burn up; his hands are warm, then, when he - hesitantly, nervously, like it's going to get pulled away or he's going to get in trouble (or worse, teased) - puts his right hand in Jon's left. Wraps his thick fingers around the slender palm, feeling old scars under his fingers; lightly, for a few seconds, before he gives a gentle squeeze.

He's so focused on doing this right, in fact, that he misses most of what Jon actually says. And he looks up again sharply. "Th-the Archive? I-I mean, we sort of worked out that it wasn't right after the whole Prentiss thing, didn't we?"

It's steadying, being able to hold Martin's hand, and Jon visibly relaxes a little, squeezing softly back. The eyes are behaving, remaining politely closed, for now.

"Right. It is far from right. Elias- Elias is no different from Jane Prentiss, or Simon Fairchild, or Annabelle Cain." Or me, he doesn't say. He's trying to remember which statements Martin might have seen, by February 2016. "They all serve the Entities. Beings made of fear. Different fears."

Seeing the way Jon relaxes into it too is more than a bit reassuring for Martin, even if it makes his face turn even more red. He tries to focus past the cooler hand in his, on what Jon's saying.

"So... so all the weird statements, all the- the people who keep cropping up in different statements, they're... they're all connected to these-- fear, entities?"

He's feeling inclined to just believe it without further argument, honestly. "Alright. Um- Michael, too, right?"

He nods, glad he's understanding. "Michael's a little bit different, but him too. He was Michael Shelley once, one of Gertrude's assistants. Then he was part of the Spiral, the fear of... the fear of going mad."

That makes Martin's eyes widen. "...o--oh. Then--"

His grip tightens a little on Jon's hand. "If. If we're all working for Elias, and- a-and Elias and the Institute are weird, then...?" He looks back at Jon, with a question in his eyes that he's not sure he wants answered.

He nods reluctantly - reluctant, because there's worse to tell.

"We're all caught up in it." He focuses on their hands, shoulders drawing in a little. "I went into hiding for a while, after Leitner, but Elias always knew where I was. He's been working for the Eye all along, the- the fear of being seen. There isn't much he can't see. He sent me statements, kept me... tied. All of us, you, me, Tim, then Basira and Daisy and Melanie. We couldn't quit, couldn't leave. I couldn't stop reading statements, or I'd get weak. Tired."

He looked at his burned hand, but it wasn't Jude Perry he was thinking of. "Having that... muzzled, here in the dungeons was the best sleep I've had in years."

He looks down at Jon's other hand too, and his eyes widen a bit at the sight of the burn scars, grip tightening on Jon reflexively - until he notices that, and forces himself to relax.

"But you're... alright, now? In..." He looks at Jon's face with not a small amount of concern. "In prison." And then a look of realisation: "Ohh, but- b-but they turn off people's magic in here, don't they? That... that'd make sense for you, yeah..."

"I'm still not calling it magic." The mild stiff indignation is mostly played for effect, a habit he picked up before the Horizon. "Powers, if I have to talk about it. I started just. Knowing things. Realized that asking questions a certain way, I would always be answered. Used that on the wrong people." He holds up the burnt hand, turns it so Martin can see what that scar is.

A green eye opens in the crease between his thumb and his palm, blinking at Martin for a second before Jon snatches the hand back again, hiding it against his chest, aghast.

Unfortunately, Martin does see that one. And it puts a very sudden twist on his wry, bemused smile.

"Oh God--!" He yanks his hand back out of Jon's and scrambles back a few inches on the narrow bench, putting instinctive, panicked space between him and Jon, eyes still locked on that hand. Which-- almost feels stupid, a second later, it's just an eye - in the weirdest possible spot, on someone he knows who very much didn't have them before and extra things in people has never been a good sign before - but his heart's still hammering in his throat.

"Is that, um--" His voice cracks, panicked and high-pitched, and he gives a weak cough to clear it. "I-is that part of th-the whole 'powers' thing, too?"

Jon exhales shakily, looking down at his palm, digging his thumb into the scar beside the eye to make it close, which makes his actual eyes water.

"... I don't think so." And he hates that he's uncertain. Because they would be right on theme, wouldn't they? "I think they're a 'here' thing. Have you heard anything yet about the Singularity?"

"Uhh..." Sorry Jon, he's still staring at the eye until it closes, and he blinks sharply at how it just. Turns back into a normal-looking scar.

"Um-- n-no, I don't think so." He meets Jon's eyes again, and doesn't miss how they're watering. "We all just got-- brought straight down here here wait for our trials."

"It's a... a monument, or maybe just the power inside it. It's why Ambrose has been bringing us here. We're sorted by who he thinks will help with it, and who won't. The people native here, can't interact with it, but we can. Apparently it tears them apart. And recently they took all of us - not just the prisoners, but the guests upstairs too, and-"

He shakes his head, eyes distant for a moment. "Inside it, I remembered... my name, and... things, I knew about things, but I forgot how I fit into those things. Who I was. Who you were," he adds, with a glance at Martin. "And I could make anything I wanted. Just out of nothing." He picks at the sigil on his sleeve, the eye-like circles and crescents of the High Priestess. "This was important there, somehow."

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