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makinglies2025-09-27 05:54 pm
lysoke) wrote in makinglies2025-09-27 05:54 pm
Entry tags:
Respite
Respite
The lake is dark and calm with a small breeze by the time they arrive at its shores. The stars above reflect perfectly in the still waters before them, and a small copse of trees lines one side, starting on their side of the river and jumping along the other side.
Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.
He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.
As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.
Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.
"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.
Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.
A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.
Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.
"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."
Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.
He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.
As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.
Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.
"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.
Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.
A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.
Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.
"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."
no subject
They've reached the point where Jon would ordinarily walk away, but that's not really an option anymore. He can't go and stew at home, away from Amelia for a few days or weeks. They're together here, and there's no running from the problems to give them space to breathe. It's a similar issue for Chris, he expects, having to deal with each other without the time to lick wounds and let them fully heal.
"They are the same." Jon balls his hands into fists. If he's going to have it out with her, he might as well have it out. Let them both bleed and see where they stand in the aftermath. Maybe this will ruin everything, but he's never been good at keeping his relationships intact. He always messes it up somehow. "If you want to stand there... and tell me I wasn't desperately in love with Martin Blackwood because I'm split from the Jonathan Sims back on Earth, you can go and fuck yourself. I've already had to live with being half the man I was because of the Eye. You don't get to tell me I'm not even that.
"Is that how you feel about Aloïs? I know he was important to you, that he was in Duplicity. But what you felt for him wasn't real enough because of how you were split off from the other version of you? That he wasn't real enough?
"You're exactly the woman you were before you knew the specifics of how your personal timeline diverged, Amelia. You did have a life. I had a life. Chris and Wolfe had lives. We all existed and mattered and no, we're not the people we were, but that's because we've gone through things those other versions of ourselves haven't. Just like Wolfe's gone through things that Garrett never did when he was part of that space fleet. You can believe what you want." Even if it's wrong. This is wrong. He can feel himself getting worked up, but with her... with her, it's easier to hold to the anger and keep the tears at bay. "But I know who I am."
The woods grow quieter again, the sun seeming to dim as the shadows of the trees grow longer. "I am the Archivist. I am the living record of every horror, every fear, every supernatural experience that I have ever seen or heard. I am the avatar of watching, of the truth you fear and fail to recognize. That you are Amelia Royer, and you have to live with knowledge that you are changed. You live in the shadow of yourself, Shadow Mistress, because that is where you feel safest. But I see you in the dark." Jon's eyes--there are too many eyes--have changed as he stares at her, unblinking. "I see you cowering from yourself and your own expectations. Frightened girl."
no subject
She can let most of that go for the sake of keeping the peace. Hells, she was on the edge of telling him to walk himself back to the temple or where it was if Chris has taken it down and to cool off by herself when he brings up Aloïs. Then all she sees is red.
Aloïs as he was in Duplicity was her lover and friend. Aloïs as he is in Ragneux, the Second to the Shadow Mistress, was not. Those two, for whatever feelings they might have buried beneath their duties and loyalty to the House, are not and never will be in love. They won't grow enough to get there. If they do, it's none of her business. Just as the way Jon feels about his memories and everything that comes from them, so is she entitled to feel and believe what she wants about what she now knows she is.
"Be who you are, Archivist." She all but spits the name at him. "Have your feelings and know they're true, but don't you dare tell me mine. Don't speak names that don't belong to you. The man who arrived at the same time as me and with paired memories may have come from Aloïs du Pont of Ragneux, but what I had with him could only exist there. It doesn't mean he was the same man and it doesn't mean that I am the woman my memories come from. I am my own person and I don't have a clue who that is when everything I believe was ripped from me less than a day ago. You don't get to dictate to me who and what I am just because you know who you are. Believe whatever the fuck you want to believe, but don't you dare tell me that you know who I am better than I do when you aren't me!"
She rounds on him and grabs him by the throat with one hand, the other holding the point of a dagger in the skin between two of his lower ribs. "I'm allowed to be frightened of the unknown, Jonathan Sims, and you have to let me be. And if you don't? I will stop hesitating where it comes to showing you how violent I can be when you stoke my anger."
Hold back. Keep it in. A cut will get you yelled at but you'll be cast out if you truly hurt him. No matter how much you want that right now.
Her breaths are steady but tense as she leans over Jon, grip tightening on his neck. "I have always been in someone's shadow. It just so happens that this time it's got my shape. I'll deal with it in my way, and you're going to let me. Do you understand?"
cw: mild PTSD
Amelia isn't ready for that, for the hard 'truths' that she still seems to be denying in the Archivist's eyes.
That knife, though... Jon grasps her wrist and the darkness deepens around them as more eyes manifest along the trunks and branches of the trees, in the shadows. He isn't the helpless man he'd been with Daisy Tonner, ordered to dig a grave for a man he'd barely known and one for himself, too. This woman's knife is nothing magic, there's no power behind it. He still feels fear fluttering in his chest, knowing it will hurt, that he doesn't want to be stabbed, that there's some slim possibility he won't be able to heal from it. And there's the fear that he's going to ruin everything for their group by pushing her too hard.
But then, he's also a stubborn bastard. "You're allowed to be frightened, to feel anything, but I'm not going to pretend to make it easier for you. You are Amelia Royer. Feel whatever way you want about it, but stop hesitating and cowering from that truth. And if you're going to stab me... maybe aim for my hand or face. We can hide it better from Chris that way."
cw: PTSD, panic attack
Away. She needs to get away. Free from the hand that's not--
ropes around her wrists, a hand pinning them to the bed, shackles she can't take off until the city sets her free
She snaps her wrist away from him startled gasp and her other hand shifts around her dagger so she can punch him in the face. A quick jab that's over in an instant, followed up with a push to his shoulder to send him stumbling as she does the same backwards and away from him. It's not until she's moved back several yards and almost trips over the whining dogs that she remembers that anything else exists. Her chest heaves with each breath, hands shaking as she puts away her knife and touches each of the girls on the top of their heads.
Away. Go. Run. She needs to be as far from all of this as she can be.
"Fuck you." She whispers it as she tears her gaze away from Jon and the eyes and the dark, then turns on her heel to lead the girls away from him. She can't think of the trouble it'll cause when Jon shows up by himself. She can't imagine the looks of disappointment from Chris or Wolfe when she returns later with--
Game, yes, food for them to eat. Something for her to do. A way for her to be useful even as she's no hunter or ranger. The girls can do this. They already have rabbits in their teeth and are trying to get her attention to take them. She'll do that in a minute. After Little Thunder finds her shoulder again and utters a concerned Dreams! in her ear. After she's finished rubbing and staring at her wrists to prove to herself that they're free. After she can breathe and be certain there's no ropes around her chest or blindfold over her eyes to keep her bound or dull her senses.
It's not safe for her to be alone here when they're so recently arrived and recovering from too many things all at once. She doesn't have a single thought to spare to any of that while there's still panic and adrenaline in her system.
Patience eventually manages to push her rabbit in Amelia's hands, then boofs at Cookie. The latter wags her tail in understanding and moves closer to the rogue as the former turns and quickly makes her way back to Jon. All the people of their pack are going to be looked after and Patience is going to make sure of it.
no subject
“Fuck…” Patience moves to press her nose to his hip as Jon covers his face with his hands and pulls himself together. There goes his attempt at finding some sort of relationship with Amelia. Whatever he believes about her and her stupid ideas about who and what they are, this isn’t what he’d wanted. Patience being there to watch him just makes him feel worse.
“Go be with her,” he tells the dog, peeking through his fingers at her. Patience boofs and shakes her head. Sometimes, he wishes she weren’t quite so intelligent. “I don’t need you to watch me.” Unfortunately, Patience seems to be stubborn enough to ignore him. “Fine. Am I allowed to go to the lake?”
He takes his first step and feels very suddenly hungry. Ravenous, in fact. The Archivist shoots a look over his shoulder, knowing how close potential prey is, but he masters himself and continues onward. He doesn’t need to eat. He doesn’t need to eat.
The next half hour is spent kneeling at the edge of the lake, sleeves rolled up as he tries to rub the pen on his arms away. It only works so well given how hard he’d pressed the ink into his skin. He spends another few minutes just staring blankly into the water, trying to find an excuse that saves himself and Amelia both the trouble of conversations they don’t want.
He could maybe get away with pretending they broke up for him to wash his arms privately. Play at having fussed and broken up for himself, not because he’d terrorized her. But the lie will depend on Amelia going along with it. It’s something to start with, at least.
Jon heads back toward where the temple had been, Patience leading the way in front of him.