( text )

[optikon]

[ he's spent his time since arrival largely in a sort of traumatized fugue, locked in his bedroom in the housing he was provided, probably alarming and upsetting his housemates. if martin were here, he'd have probably already adjusted-- gently bullying jon into cleaning up, feeding him tea, making him sleep. holding him when the nightmares started. .. jon likes to think that he doesn't take martin for granted any longer, and hasn't in months, but.. god, it's so hard not having him here.

still, he'd begun slowly to get himself together, even to make a foray or two onto the network to learn what he could. and now.. now he needs to address the metaphorical elephant in the room. ]

My name is Jonathan Sims. At home, I was the head archivist of an organization called the Magnus Institute, which is an academic institution dedicated to researching the esoteric and paranormal. [ which is.. true, in that he was the archivist.. before the end of the world. ] With that said, the archives took, researched, and filed statements from those that had paranormal experiences they wished to unburden themselves of.

As it appears that I'll be working in a similar capacity here, I'd like to continue my work from home. Therefore, if you're interested in committing your personal experience(s) to paper or to email, I'd be glad to collect them. However, please don't record them in audio or video format.

If you'd like to discuss the details of what that entails, I'll answer any questions I can. Thank you.


[ ooc; anyone in maurtia falls 006 may also find their secretive hobo-gremlin housemate finally out of his room, showered and looking like he's in withdrawal as he attempts to make tea in the kitchen for himself without shaking to pieces. good luck with that. ]

Comments

andy is the ultimate granny. granny supreme.

[killtime]

For what. For fun?

[ Absent the legwork and all. ]

at last..

[optikon]

Because it's what I know, and I'd prefer to do what I know in a strange place surrounded by strange people in an impossible situation.

[ that's.. actually more honest than he'd prefer to be. ]

[killtime]

Given your line of work, might've thought you'd be a little more used to strange places, strange people, and impossible situations.

But I guess we are creatures of habit.

[optikon]

I'm accustomed to a certain brand of strange place, strange person, and impossible situation.

We tend to be, I suppose.

[killtime]

You find anybody to tell you a story yet?

[optikon]

Maybe. The putting it to paper part seems to be what most are having trouble with.

[killtime]

Because they're stubborn or illiterate? Doesn't seem like it would make much difference how you record that shit.

[optikon]

Stubborn, I assume.
It makes a difference with my powers.

[killtime]

I suppose you're going to elaborate now.

[optikon]

I have no particular intentions to, no.

[killtime]

A little give and take, Mr. Sims.

I happen to prefer writing things by hand. Old-fashioned. But I'm also a cagey bitch, and I want to know what happens afterward.

[optikon]

I create a file for it, research it if I can and collect what I find into said file, record it myself with my personal notes and observations, then archive it.

In the event that I'm in a position to make more of it, I'll allow access to statements by those doing legitimate research, but only with the permission of the original statement-giver. There's a section on the form for that release.

[killtime]

Informative. But that doesn't tell me what the fuck all any of it has to do with your power.

[optikon]

I can't receive recordings of that manner, it could be harmful.

[killtime]

[ A scrutinizing pause.

Then, finally: ]

Fine. Fair enough.

[ In a blatant tone of moving on: ]

We should talk in person.

[optikon]

[ ... should they? he's kind of wary about meeting people in general, but especially when they're apparently interested in his.. powers. ]

About what?

[killtime]

My statement. [ Mildly: ] I'll give it to you. If we can agree on a few terms.

[optikon]

[ a pause as he clearly weighs his options. he's not so hungry that he thinks he'd try to compel it out of her, and she knows it's not safe to tell it to him.. and they can both walk away if they don't agree to the terms. ]

Alright. Where would you like to meet and when?

[killtime]

Maurtia Falls Police Department. Tomorrow, lunch. Ask for Andy at the front desk.

[optikon]

[ somehow he always ends up with law enforcement.. ]

Tomorrow, then.

--> action

[killtime]

[ Tomorrow comes. And when the lunch hour rolls around at the MFPD, there's a woman at the front desk, apparently preparing to leave for her break. She has a stern profile, a natural severity that can largely be blamed on an unforgivingly straight nose and a pensive brow. Her hands are rummaging around in the pockets of her uniform, looking for something when the sound of someone entering the station draws her attention.

The officer looks up, her attention blatant, but she doesn't offer any particular greeting — as if she's debating how much customer service she really owes anybody when she's technically off the clock. ]

[optikon]

[ the figure in question is a small, skinny man in a button-up shirt and jeans that look a little too big for him, with glasses that make his eyes look huge in his face, and with most of his visible skin scarred in some way. his right hand and forearm looks as if the flesh melted at some point as he pushes his glasses up his nose and stops at the desk.

for a moment, there's nothing, just a strange, almost uncomfortably intense stare. but then he crosses his arms loosely across his thin chest, tucking his hands in, the gesture a little vulnerable. ]

Andy, I think you said? I'm Jon. Jon Sims.

[killtime]

[ She stares back. Unwavering. Dragging out that uncomfortable moment until he finally speaks, confirming what she'd suspected when he showed up — this is the archivist. Her gaze breaks then, her attention returning to her pockets. Finally, she manages to dig out a crumpled pack of smokes and a lighter. Pressing a cigarette between her lips, she nods in the direction of the doors he just came through. ]

Let's talk outside. [ The cigarette bobs at the corner of her mouth as she talks. As an afterthought, she holds her pack out for him as she passes by to head out. ] Smoke?

[optikon]

[ he nods once, short and sharp, following her outside. at the offer, he hesitates. he technically quit smoking a couple of years ago, but.. honestly.. he's slipped up several times since then. given what his life looks like, is it any wonder? ]

Yes, thank you. [ he unfolds his arms to dig into his pocket for his own lighter, an old-fashioned zippo with an odd spiderweb design on it. his hands only shake a little as he lights up, tucking the lighter away again and sighing smoke out from between his teeth. ] .. You wanted to talk about your statement?

[killtime]

[ Andy has an unhurried way about her. Like the gods couldn't pressure to do something until she's good and ready. She takes her time lighting up, taking a deep, practiced drag before finally answering through a mouthful of smoke: ]

You haven't been in this universe very long, so you probably haven't thought much about what will happen to all the people you know when the Porter sends you back. [ Maybe that seems like a non sequitur. But she doesn't leave him hanging long. ] I have a family here. There's a lot I haven't told them.

[ It weighs on her, even though her tone doesn't betray much. ]

So I'll give you my statement. With the stipulation that nobody else sees it — unless I get ported out. Then you'll pass it on to them for me.

Do we have a deal, Archivist?