kayakking | (no subject)

If I'm dead, no one's cared to inform me. And Jon may be if we don't get to him.

[ That wraith in the kitchen... it was hard to... what was he looking for. Jon, right? Jon and he couldn't find him because he needed...

He held on to it even harder. The Martin who had come back through time. Filled with that guilty hope, always trying to make himself smaller but never quite leave. Desperate for that love but never quite accepting it either. Oh, and the fucker who GOT THEM IN THIS MESS. He manages to hold onto THAT too. But... the watery eyes of seeing him again, for the first time after he'd died (he HADN'T... but A Him had). . . A good friend, the way he flustered... ]

Algric, you're here and so am I. I can prove it, you just have to ...

[ To what? ]

Remember that statement? Hold onto the thoughts of someone you love, right?

[ ... Shit, he'd made him put the rings back. ] So think about him.

[ Those rings would have been so helpful about now! So helpful! But who knows what damage having them here would have done.

Algric… thinks then. About the people he loves. Jon, of course. Both Jons, the one blind in their flat and the one currently trapped in his own head. Martin, too. Like a brother he never had, enduring the same history together. And … and Tim too, of course. Hotheaded but right, even when - especially when - Algric is screwing up.

Slowly but surely, a solid figure emerges from the fog. All of his colour is gone, but it’s Algric. ]

Tim?

[ He feels his knees get a bit weak and SEEING him again. Both that release from danger, and ... someone. ANYONE here. ]

Algric!

[ He reaches out to take Algric's hand. ]

[ Algric’s hand is neither warm nor fully solid, but he grips Tim back tightly, clinging in turn. ]

I - I’m here, I’m here. Somehow.

[ He holds it as tightly as this place allows. ]

Right. You're here, and I'm not letting go.

Right. Right. God, I -

[ He clings for another moment. ]

We have to find Jon. I’ll lead the way, okay?

[ He’ll start walking anyway, still holding fast to TimX and hope. ]

[The way is at least clear to a Lonely avatar with the Eye's fond blessing. A path of light smokey fog winding its way through the sand dunes and shoreline to that looming, overpowering lighthouse of black obsidian and dark glass. It's large, and that ever present feeling of being watched is bearing its full weight on the two of them now.

Round the back though is a single door. It's small, nondescript and hidden in a small fog bank. Like maybe a staff entrance, or things not meant to be acknowledged.]

[ EVEN OUTSIDE OF THE BITTER COLD OF THE LONELY, Tim keeps that hold on Algric, his turn to cling. Oh, he's been suited to the Eye, but that requires fear too. ]

Think there's a chance it'll be better inside?

[ Algric’s laugh is terribly brittle. ]

No way in hell. But what else can we do?

[ Algric pushes that door open. ]

[How 'bad' it is is likely depending on perspective.

Just inside the door is a narrow stairway, down to their left and up to their right like an old castle tower. The way up is lit by small torches, and the way down the torches peter out into darkness. But evenly space between each are portraits with placecards underneath providing some information to each. Some are familiar faces (Sasha. Tim. Martin. Basira. Daisy. Melanie. Georgie.) while others aren't quite as familiar, but their placecards inform well enough (Tobias Fisher. Naomi Herne. Helen Richardson. Jurgen Leitner. Lionell Elliot. Tessa Winters, etc.) All the live statements he took in his own time and this new timeline.

There is, of course, a recorder somewhere. And the beginning of small webs up in the corners of the ceiling and where the stairs meet the walls.

Up or down is up to the two of them.]

[ ... He immediately looks to the placard with Sasha, staring up at the picture there. Whose memory does it match? ]

[With the Not-Them destroyed, and Jonah's place with the Eye, well...

It certainly isn't a face Tim remembers.]

[ Right. So for a moment then, in this swarm of other faces, some familiar, some not, he takes a moment to trace along the cheek of a face of someone he doesn't know, but has a precious name. ]

... Memories, maybe?

[ Algric recognizes more, of course, and that’s enough to lead him to the right conclusion, probably. ]

Ah. Statements, I think.

[The cold does seem to settle, in that way that the chill creeps into and over bone and muscle alike. One would almost think they were in this forever and had always been.]

Statements...

[ That's... a LOT of statements. Tim takes a deep, soothing breath and lets it back out. ]

Right. Lets not waste time, who knows what Elias is doing.

Up or down?

[ Which direction IS that recorder whir coming from? ]

[ God, that chill. Algric shivers, feeling it keenly. They've always been here. There is no way out. ]

I ... up, maybe? I don't know...

[Going up is a long, almost exhausting journey of its own. But the lights are steady and continuous as they spiral up and around. The portraits star to dwindle until there aren't anymore, at least.

They eventually will make their way to a heavy, metal door, cracked open. The recorder sounding is louder from inside. But the room itself is a panic room. Disheveled and frantic as someone has been living there and trying not to be seen. But it's hard to be ignored when the being in question is the large, multi-limbed winged man curled up on the little cot. Green and black winged with green blotches spotted all over. He looks up when he hears them, eyes wide.]

You're here...

[ Up they go, for what feels like an eternity, and then ...

And then there's a door. And someone past it. Algric's eyes go wide as he takes in the image of ... of ...

Gosh, he doesn't know how he feels about this. It's probably horrifying? It is horrifying, but those wings are just lovely? He swallows thickly. ]

Jon? It's - it's you. Has to be.

Almost, yes.

[He watches them both for a moment, all in pure disbelief.]

You both really came looking for him? M-me?

[ Those wings... those limbs. Is this what Jon is, as much as Tim's waxy flesh is now his, or the insubstantial, bitingly cold hand in his own is Algrics? ]

Of course... We want to help.

[ Probably. That seems ... likely.

Algric shifts forward a bit, but not far enough to leave Tim's grip. He might disappear otherwise. ]

Yes, Jon. We've been looking for you. To - to try to figure this out. Wake you up.

[Those dark bottomless eyes watch them, the little fuzzy antennae shifting a bit. Then he nods, starting to get up and. He's quite tall, almost having to lean down in this small panic room. Trying not to step on any of the recorders or statement folders strewn about.]

I know where you have to go, then. I-if you're really trying to wake me up. But it's... You won't like it.

[ That's... huge. It's a bit like having stepped into the Looking Glass, except it's all horror instead of whimsy. ]

I haven't liked nearly anything so far.

What is it going to take?

[ Holy -

Algric had something to say here, but he's overwhelmed by the sight of BIG MOTH JON. Is he blushing?? He's blushing. Despite the Lonely draining every other ounce of colour out of him. ]