[Jon shrinks back into his chair. He wants to lash out. To do something. Anything. But with the elder avatar looming over him, he just feels small and incredibly foolish, his mistakes laid bare across the desk. Elias had given him the opportunity to avoid this. He'd given Jon the choice to draw up the document himself, and Jon had just pushed it away and told the other man to deal with it.
This isn't a fight he can win on his own. Not unless he's willing to sacrifice something: Ginger's life or Rafa's case and the suffering of everyone in the LIEs program. He thinks about destroying the archive entirely, burning this place and the Institute here to the ground, but what would that accomplish? The Archivist is a creature of the Eye. It's archive. Intentionally or not, he would rebuild. And he'd start archiving. Because the alternative would be taking verbal Statements, becoming a monster lurking in the shadows, ready to torment anyone with an interesting story who crossed his path.
He hangs his head, staring down at his hands in his lap.]
May I... leave?
[Whatever confidence he'd walked through that door with is in pieces on the ground.]
no subject
[Jon shrinks back into his chair. He wants to lash out. To do something. Anything. But with the elder avatar looming over him, he just feels small and incredibly foolish, his mistakes laid bare across the desk. Elias had given him the opportunity to avoid this. He'd given Jon the choice to draw up the document himself, and Jon had just pushed it away and told the other man to deal with it.
This isn't a fight he can win on his own. Not unless he's willing to sacrifice something: Ginger's life or Rafa's case and the suffering of everyone in the LIEs program. He thinks about destroying the archive entirely, burning this place and the Institute here to the ground, but what would that accomplish? The Archivist is a creature of the Eye. It's archive. Intentionally or not, he would rebuild. And he'd start archiving. Because the alternative would be taking verbal Statements, becoming a monster lurking in the shadows, ready to torment anyone with an interesting story who crossed his path.
He hangs his head, staring down at his hands in his lap.]
May I... leave?
[Whatever confidence he'd walked through that door with is in pieces on the ground.]