fingeronthebutton | Duplicity IC Inbox

Think of it as a talent.
Some of us are just born with it.
Others have to cultivate it.

Ponder which you might be for a moment and which I am.

I'm sorry it's taken you so many years to get good at this sort of thing, Elias.
I do appreciate the faith in my natural talents if I try a bit harder, though.

Said by the man cannot tell if his memories of Sasha are real or not.
When did you lose her, Jon?
What was the exact moment?

I know down to the last second.
Do you?

[...]

I could Know.

[He thinks he could. There's a part of him that's afraid to try, to reach toward the door again. It's closed here, but he's tasted what's on the other side, drowned himself in it. And he'd enjoyed that in some terrible way.]

It's like seeing my way into and out of the Lonely, I imagine.
Right?

Is it?

[Jon can't help the aggravated whine that slips out.]

I know you're capable of giving a straight answer, and you don't like the Stranger any more than I do.
Why are you being difficult on this?

Because I know you are capable of seeing the truth when you look beyond your own fear of what your potential is, Jon.
So answer me.
Is it?

[He hears 'figure it out yourself' loud and clear and that's frustrating. And frightening. Opening himself to the Eye is exactly what Elias had needed him to do to power up for the ritual. He'd said he wasn't planning on it here, but what if he was lying?

The alternative is to let Lilith root around, and that's going to be hazardous to her health and sanity. At least this way... he'd only be sacrificing his own?

Maybe it won't be so bad? Opening his mind before had felt right. Freeing.]

Yes.
It is.

[It's several hours later that Jon wakes in a heap on the floor of his office. He Knows. The images of the Not-Sasha aren't gone, but he can See where they're superimposed, and he can pry beneath them with effort to see the real Sasha James beneath them, a woman who looks nothing like her impostor, whose voice is completely different.

The Archivist records two Statements in a row and they're not enough. He needs more, something fresh. He forces himself to bar the door and record a third, instead. Elias is probably already aware, but it's a distraction from the clawing instinct to rise, to seek, to know the minds of those nearby.]

It worked.

I'm hungry.

[It seems that Jon is actually going to try. Good. Elias smiles and returns to what he'd been doing previously, leaving his phone nearby so he can see the message that he knows will be coming. It takes some time but then he gets the text he's been waiting for.

And he smiles again.

Rising to his feet, he sends just two words:]

I'm coming.

[He'll be there in a few minutes. But he knows that it will be better if he doesn't call Jon to him this time.

Besides, a good little Archivist deserves a treat.]

[Elias coming to him is quite the surprise, but not an unwelcome one. He unbars the door before heading to the break room to make tea for himself... then coffee for Elias. He shouldn't encourage the man, not after doing what he wanted, but it feels like it's something he ought to do. His mind is still unbarred in some ways, and he reaches out toward his fellow avatar to get a sense of his proximity. A mug is poured when Elias hits the top of the basement stairs. It will be waiting for him in Jon's office whenever Elias gets there.

The Archivist sips his tea and stares with wide, ravenous eyes toward the door.]

They didn't even sound alike. [His first words when Elias steps in.]

[He could knock but they both know where the power lies here. So Elias lets himself in, amused to see the coffee. Still, he goes to sit down, helping himself to a sip of it before speaking.]

They do not. Something that one would not be able to notice so easily when under the influence of The Stranger.

[He has another sip then sets his cup down.]

Now, how many Statements have you had already?

Three. It's like eating... rice cake. It's not enough.

[And there are so many people wandering around in this city with Statements to tell. Statements he could take. Martin wouldn't like that, though.

Martin isn't here. He doesn't have to know. No one does.

No. Jon would know. And Elias.

He clutches his mug tighter to keep his hands from shaking. He still feels weak, wearing thin. When was his last really good meal? Just aboard that ship. It should have been enough. He'd lost himself to the madness there. Hadn't that been enough?]

I need something fresh, not these- pages.

[He wants to sink his teeth into something alive, more than just words on the page. He wants the man in front of him, filled to the brim with secrets and knowledge just waiting to be tapped. Is this cannibalism in its own way? Feeding on a fellow avatar of the Watcher?

Maybe.]

I will give you a Statement of one of my studies then, Jon.

[He waves his hand and settles his hands in his lap afterwards. A smile is on his lips as he waits.]

Go on. Set up and I will begin.

[This is like taking a Statement from Dorian: satisfying in the moment and something he's going to regret sorely as soon as his head is on straight again. As it is, he glances briefly at the recorder sitting on his desk--it had started recording the moment Elias stepped in--and sets down his tea.]

Statement of Elias Bouchard regarding... one of his studies. Statement taken direct from subject, 27th of July, 2019. Statement begins...

[Elias adjusts one of his sleeves while he waits, dusts imaginary dust off of his lap. There's a moment of silence before he starts but it's only a matter of a couple of seconds.]

Have you ever considered why the Eye is so terrifying? Why the Beholding has enough power to be one of the great terrors? Yes, I suppose you have given the terror that grips you when others try to reach out to it. But even that cannot compare to the vast depths of it, Jon. It goes far beyond the nightmares you walk each night.

She was four when she first noticed it. An eye. Singular and unassuming. One might even believe it to be a ball but in her childish mind she knew it to be an eye. Watching her and studying her.

She was five when she first told her father of it. They had been together since her birth had claimed her mother and he would do anything for her. But this was something his mind could not comprehend. He laughed and told her that she had such an active imagination. Of course she knew that wasn't true but her tears simply lead to sweet comfort that did nothing to stop the stare of that eye just beyond his shoulder she now cried on. Unwavering. Unblinking.

At ten she found herself fearing anything round, refusing all objects that could have eyes on them. Bears and dolls were all sure to cause her to scream. They were at a loss and the good doctor finally called in an old friend to the sessions when she was twelve and no progress had been made in two years.

An empty room devoid of glass. All eyes had to be covered with thick goggles with a matte material to avoid a reflection. Anything round? Forbidden. Yet she still shook as the pair of men entered, refusing to look their way. Especially at the guest of the good doctor. Her fear only grew as she slapped her hands over her eyes and kept swearing that the eyes were now all around her. She could see them in every color and the walls themselves were watching her as much as the men were.

The guest requested time alone with her, a request that was granted. There were no cameras now. No secret windows to observe. Only hope that this guest would be able to aid her in her plight. For that reason, there was no clear record of what lead to the tragedy in that room. Word of mouth changed the story each time. To this day there is only one man who can tell you for certain what took place in that room

[He pauses and has a sip of his coffee. He hasn't allowed Jon any room to speak and he doesn't allow it now either despite the pause.]

With someone so close to the eye, so haunted by it, I wondered if I could build something from her. Of course I readily accepted the invitation and watched with wonder as she pressed her hands so tightly to her eyes that it seemed she would push them to the back of her skull. After ensuring that I would have time alone with her, I began to speak and actually convinced her to uncover her eyes.

She told me that every surface in the room including the pair of us was made of eyes. That they all stared directly at her and came from a point in the room. It brought a smile to my lips as I told her to stare back at them. To stand up to the eyes rather than fear them. I needed to see what would happen even though I knew it was impossible for her to have the strength to withstand the full force of the Eye tearing into her very soul. Never the less, she did as I said while I sat there with a notepad and pen utterly transfixed as she attempted to have a stronger will than the eyes around her. This lasted a matter of minutes before I could see the exact moment her soul broke and she screamed.

Without hesitation, she grabbed the pen from my hand and started to stab them into her eyes over and over again until the liquid poured down her face. Even then she didn't stop, still trying to brutally destroy all traces of her eyes when they came rushing in to save her. They tried to save her but in the end the blood loss and trauma was too great and she died on the floor of that room.

Her last words as she rattled out a breath with a smile was this: "The eyes are gone, daddy. It's so dark now."

[With that, Elias falls silent, allowing Jon to absorb his tale as it finishes.]

Statement ends.

[It's like he's a starving man who's just been granted a full, five-course meal. The Archivist closes his eyes and breathes out a heavy, pleasured breath. This is, of course, horrifying. That poor little girl. But... fascinating at the same time. The Eye is rarely so direct with its victims (maybe outside of the Archivist, itself, mentally assaulting people). Or at least, he rarely gets Statements about its victims, likely due to them instinctively avoiding a place like the Institute.

The yawning pit in his stomach is filled for the moment, though, and that's good. It's bad he'd got that from feeding on one of Elias' multitudes of horrors. But... Christ, he needed that. After taking a moment to just relish the meal like a bloody addict taking a hit, he opens his eyes and focuses on the elder avatar.]

Madeline Hayes. [The name comes to him just as easily as her face, whether he's extracting it from Elias' memories or the other man is helping him along by pushing it out.] Why were you called in? Was your doctor 'friend' superstitious or did you insinuate yourself?

[Presumably, most doctors wouldn't have believed in the eye business.]

Edited (i swear i can type) 2020-08-21 21:35 (UTC)

I was another person in those days. The doctor was a friend of that person. Nothing more, nothing less. Really it was to my advantage since it meant I could see one of the times the Beholding reached out to someone so directly.

[He can see how satisfying it was for Jon to have that meal too. It brings a smile to his lips as he sees how settled he looks.]

He felt the incident was unusual and reached out to a friend who had been studying the unusual.

1913. Interesting. I suppose there's some silver lining in young Ms. Hayes's story. She never saw the War.

You said you were thinking of making something of her. one of your Archivists?

No. She wouldn't have been suited to that given her avoidance of the unusual. Not enough curiosity. But she would have made for an intriguing subject if she'd survived that day.

[On some level, Jon recognizes just how horrible this conversation is, how detached they're being. A little girl stabbed her eyes out, and they're discussing how she might have been turned into a puppet. The Archivist finds that he's more intrigued by the situation than anything else in the moment. He'll feel bad about it later.]

Did you ever find out why it targeted her in the first place? Just unlucky?

It would seem that is the case. My further research following that day didn't provide further evidence to suggest she might be special in any particular way outside of being a victim.

Pity. End recording.

[He presses the button to stop the recorder and considers the man across from him for a long moment.]

Tim isn't going to like me methods for fixing his memories. I'll have to find something gentler.

[But at least he knows what's real now.]

I think that's all. Unless there was something else you wanted to talk about?

[He lifts a brow at that.]

There is no gentle method for fixing a memory, Jon.

[He waves to the tape recorder.]

You have the evidence of that right here. Tim will be better off without you trying to fix everything.

There's no gentle method in our world.

[Magic is horrible and earned from Eldritch fear monsters, after all.]

I'm exploring possibilities outside of it. And he wants to remember the real Sasha.

[Would Tim have been better off if Jon had never told him the truth about the photo album? Probably. But he's not the avatar of gentle white lies.]

Edited 2020-08-26 14:01 (UTC)

Well that will be fascinating to watch the fallout for. Really, I must thank you for the constant entertainment you provide me, Jon.

[As he just...casually sips at his coffee. Perfectly confident this can ONLY go terribly like everything else Jon tries to fix.]

Duplicity IC Inbox

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cw: self harm, eye gore, death

cw: continue from above + reference to addiction and drug use

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cw: mentions of self-harm