jmart corruption au

[eyediot]

Corruption JMart au for Rho

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[eyediot]

[The world ended. Jon had made sure of that. He'd lost Martin to Peter in the Lonely. That alone had been enough for Peter to be killed for. But going back to the empty Archives, the quiet despondent Institute had taken real effort. Jon hadn't wanted to, not really. But he knew he had to. Where else could he go?

Elias had been waiting of course. It had been... not good. Hell, in fact. But Jon stayed long enough to be fed. Recup after the events of Peter's domain.

Ending the world had been a natural path to take. What good was any of it anymore without Martin? Or Tim or Basira and Daisy, without Melanie or Georgie? No, if he was going to be alone, then Jon wanted nothing more than to see the end himself.

Even then it didn't... quite end, not fully. The suffering is neverending. It stretches as far as he can see - and he can see everything. It's fascinating, and eerily beautiful now. He can see how everything fits together so, so perfectly. Unfortunately, in doing so, he'd lost track of Elias. And he really wanted to kill that man for doing this to all of them. So Jon had begun the trek through the Apocalypse. Taking in meals where he could, watching others suffer and not helping (not that he could, given what he is now, but who would want his help if he was able?). He's killed a few others along the way that deserved it he thinks.

But he stops when he approaches a new domain. Cold and foggy, dreary as a Victorian era novel introduction.]

I don't suppose you'd just let me through would you? It'd be far easier for everyone involved.

[The fog, of course, can't really answer him.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Of course the fog can’t answer him, right? Who would even be here to answer him in this place? This far after the end, with everyone having been devoured or faded or god knows what in this quiet place.

And yet. The fog goes thick in front of him. It’s nearly a wall of cold and chill and soft sadness. ]

Far easier.

[ The fog agrees with him even as little tongues of mist tug at Jon’s clothing. Not clinging, exactly, but more feeling him, as if rediscovering an old toy. ]

[eyediot]

[Ah. That's...

Of course. Someone in there would answer, wouldn't they? He knows the answer more than he hears it, feels the little tugs of chill against him.]

I guess that means you will. All right.

[He takes his first step into the fog, not sure what exactly to expect. His vision isn't as powerful here.]

I'll go straight through and be on my way.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ The mist is powerful even for someone as strong as Jon. The instant he steps in, it blankets him on all sides, completely removing all sense of where he is. For all he knows he could be suspended upside down in fact.

Ice starts to form on his clothing as the fog echoes back: ]

Go straight.

[ Up ahead, Jon can just make out a splitting of the path: left, right, or straight. ]

[eyediot]

[He sees the split and stares at it with those words in his mind.]

Ah. Straight it is, then.

[He gives the other two paths a glance over before continuing straight. He still can't see far ahead. He shouldn't trust this but.

It feels right. It feels like he can trust it, even if every bit of his paranoia and slowly dwindling sight says otherwise.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ As Jon passes the threshold, he may sense (more than he sees) a weight behind him. Hardly physical, barely a shadow, but actively trailing him. It continues to pick and tug at his clothing as he proceeds.

Ahead of him, a corridor stretches with multiple rooms. There are nameplates on the doors, their letters obscured by dust and time. ]

Then - ah -

[ The voice falters, unable to find anything to say with that echo. ]

[eyediot]

...Then?

[He stops when he approaches the doors with nameplates he can't make out (yet, yet).

But there is someone here. He waits a moment to get his breath (does he need to?) or steel his nerves before turning to look.]

Are you there?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ For a split second, there's a figure there. A shadow much taller and broader than Jon, with the faint glimmer of spectacles shining through. As Jon turns and looks, though, the figure makes a strangled noise and dissipates back into nothing. ]

There - there -

[ The echo returns to a spot just behind Jon again, nearly a whisper once again. Too delicate to be perceived directly. ]

[eyediot]

[He saw it. Just for a split moment, he saw it. It's so familiar it aches but it couldn't be. Soon the spirit or whatever it is, is out of his sight and grained to just a whisper again.

A different mystery is in front of him now, and he wants to see it through.]

I know you're there. If you're trying to trap me, I'm afraid you'll have to make it worse to get anything out of it.

[But he reaches for the doorknob in front of him and turns it slowly.]

[curriculum_fictae]

Trying. To - get out.

[ The voice is almost pleading as it drifts in after Jon. As before, its voice strengthens as it goes along, and more as it finds sensible ways to reply to Jon. It can't make its own words, but it can repeat Jon's.

Inside is ... well. A familiar room. The old shared office in the Archives, with three desks placed in a T shape. Across the way, a dust-smeared glass door likely reads HEAD ARCHIVIST if Jon's memory serves him correctly. Where there would be decorations or names on the desks, however, there's only the vaguest hints of shapes under the thick layers of dust. Sasha's notebook, the one with the Monet painting on it. One of Tim's (no longer) loud shirts hanging over the back of the chair. A thick mug with a cute cartoon cat on it, overturned. ]

[eyediot]

[He stares at the scene, hand still gripping the doorknob and tightening as he takes it all in.]

I see. That's what this is, then.

[he doesn't fully understand it, but he can see the general shape of it.]

What do you want me to do here?

[curriculum_fictae]

Here.

[ The voice is insistent, leaning down close to Jon's ear. ]

See. Me.

[eyediot]

[The whisper gives his whole body a shiver, and he twists to see the soul speaking to him again.]

I'd like to try, but you do disappear when I look.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ As before, the figure is only there for a moment: tall and broad, with gleaming spectacles. This time, there's a suggestion of a jumper, a faint sense of solidity to his body. And then - as before, he dissipates.

Behind Jon, at the desk, there's the sound of ruffling papers. A mug rattling against the wood. ]

Try - try - look -

[ He pleads, a little stronger now. A hint of masculinity to his voice. ]

[eyediot]

[There's the start of a pang of ache in him as the idea settles in his mind. A hope he'd given up on ages ago (months? weeks? years?) when he watched what remained of Peter Lukas disappeared before him.

But it can't be.]

How... are you here? Are you a memory?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Silence for a moment, followed by the soft noise of someone settling heavily into a chair. The mug stops rattling abruptly.

He can't respond in the way he wants with those words exactly; he has to struggle to create even a short one on his own. ]

No.

[ Another rustle of papers as if a hand were waving across the little cluster of desks. ]

Memory here.

[eyediot]

Memory here.. What-

[He doesn't really understand this. A real fault of the Beholder, really, not being able to understand. But he notes everything, tries to look harder, even as he feels the start of a sharp pain in his temple around his eyes. Always the Lonely, this. Almost as bad as the Dark.]

I'm trying.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Perhaps worse in some ways, given the hints of memory remaining vs.the Dark being all-consuming as an opposite. There's just enough to be tantalizing without providing a full picture.

As he Looks, Jon gets a brief glimpse of a honeycomb of different rooms, all dilapidated and all connected to one another. Some pitfalls too, which will gladly swallow him up if he wanders too far. And ... at the centre, something fragmented, with all the pieces scattered around it.

The figure manages enough solidity to grip Jon's shoulder. ]

Here. [ Another struggle to form words. ] Jon.

[eyediot]

[When he feels the grip on his shoulder, he lets his vision go with a gasp. He's powerful, but still getting used to doing this in other domains so vehemently opposite his own. It hurts. The hand on his shoulder is like an icy vice.]

You- [ No... It can't be. His voice sounds very small when he finally finds it again.] Martin?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ It sure is. Ice sinks into his shoulder at even that slight touch, creeping up his neck. Not pleasant in the slightest.

But the voice behind him strengthens, almost seeming to laugh with relief. ]

Martin. [ Or is it a sob? ] Martin.

[eyediot]

[Jon moves instantly, reaching his scarred hand to Martin's arm? Elbow? The appendage gripping at him, leaning in a bit more earnestly.]

I see you. I'm here, Martin.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ As long as Jon doesn't look, he can grasp the figure's arm well enough. He's miserably cold and heavy, though. ]

I'm here.

[ A faint, frigid kiss is pressed to Jon's hair. ]

I'm Martin.

[eyediot]

[How long has it been since he's had tears in his eyes?

He'd thought Martin lost. Gone forever in the void Peter had made and swept him away to. He had searched for months in that forsaken place, drifted himself before finding himself again. He'd given up.

He shouldn't have. Jon's eyes are wide hearing that. If this is real...]

Are you real? Is that really you?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Cold fingers find his face, touching delicately along his cheekbones. It's still miserably cold, but that weight and solidity is growing by the second. ]

Real. Really real.

[ A pause; he's hesitating, struggling to form words on his own. He feels just barely solid enough to manage a sentence. ]

In - pieces.

[eyediot]

[He keeps watching that, feeling it. Tries not to freeze himself when he feels those ghostly fingertips brush against the green scars but Martin couldn't know, he had no way of knowing.]

Then. I'll help you put the pieces together. I'm here.