8669/After the Earth Moved

After the Earth Moved
Date of Scene:	12 November 2021
Location:	Martin and Jon's Suite
Synopsis:	Jon comes home still in Archivist mode and scares Martin. They have a talk about it.
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood

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Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon had to leave in a rush, mid-afternoon on a Friday. Fortunately it /was/ a Friday, so most of what he was doing was paperwork and note transcription, and he'd been just about to go back to some of the tactical studies Martin's had him reading. But then he'd gotten the call that there'd been an earthquake at a certain village on the Egypt-Sudan border, and so he'd left all in a rush, grabbing gear from the closet on his way out the door.

    Yet again, Martin was left realizing that his husband has turned into a superhero overnight.

    It's several hours later that the door opens and the Archivist steps in, eyes still glowing green. "Great news, Martin!" he calls, in an entirely chipper voice. "The witch is /dead/!" And then he's humming 'Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead' as he closes the door and comes into the living room.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin is sitting in the living area of their suite, watching world news. What was being discussed was the severe disturbance in the Egypt-Sudan border and how any attemps to get clear footage was being disrupted by some sort of magnetic interference.

    He jerks at the sudden entrance, turns off the TV, and then blinks at his husband. "...Wonderful?" he says hesitantly. "I thought she had been dead for a couple weeks now. When I killed her?" he said. The entire business in Egypt concerning Phoebe Beacon was not his focus area, even if Jon had discussed it with him.

    "Or... ae you referring to a different witch?" he asks. "Is that what you flew out of here to do? What the earthquake was about?" He didn't sound *angry,* per se but he obviously wasn't happy about the facgt either. Being the romantic partner of a super hero was not what he had imagined when he married Jonathan Sims. Yet, here they were.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Weren't you listening to the tapes? Didn't I tell you?" The Archivist's eyes are /glowing/, a dark emerald green that just about matches the color of his favorite cardigan. "Phoebe's cousin, the necromancer? It was on the tapes, I got Light from Paisi's heart to heal Phoebe."

    He stands there, smiling down at Martin where he's sitting on the couch. He's wearing cargo pants and a black long-sleeved shirt, and there's the bulk of something--kevlar, maybe?--underneath it. He's carrying a staff that has an ankh on the top. He looks dirty and maybe a little sandblasted, but he's /grinning/.

    "She'd caused an earthquake at Phoebe's home village. We came there, saved a whole ancient library--oh, you should have /seen/ it, Martin! It was..." He stops, eyes suddenly looking at nothing.

    "It felt like home."

    /What/ is going on with him?

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    "Jon..." Martin asks hesitantly. "What are you talking about. You're from Bournemouth." He sets the remote for the television aside and stands moving a bit closer to his husband and reaches a hand up to brush away some sand in the man's dark hair.

    He stops upon noticing the green glow of the man's eyes and he takes a step back. "Are you... are you well?" he asks, slowly, carefully. With the recent talk about Constantine's possible possession and now his husband's return with eyes that are not his own, his apprension is more than warranted. "You're... you're eyes Jon... what's... why are they green?" he asks.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "What...?" The Archivist blinks down at Martin. "My eyes... are green? I don't..."

    He suddenly pulls away from his husband, turns to walk swiftly toward the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He frowns at the eyes, at their color.

    "What's /happening/ to me?" he whispers.

    Then he twists the bracer on his wrist, hard.

    The green glow disappears, and the ankh staff clatters to the ground as Jon sways, falls to his knees. He just barely makes it to the toilet before he begins throwing up.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin had followed Jon and moves in to pull away the man's hair out of the toilet as he wretches. "It's okay love. I'm just... I'm glad you're still you..." He looks at the bracer with a frown. "What is that?" he asks. "Where did you get it?" There is an edge of accusation in his tone, as if he blames the bracer for his love's distress and condition.

    "It's not something 'he' gave you, is it?" he asks. He didn't think Jon would use an artifact that the Constantine doppleganger would offer but if it was useful before and still had potential perhaps it was necessary for the destruction of the necromancer?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon peers up at Martin. "What? Good lord, no. Moon Knight gave it to me. It... it's something the Archivists usually have. It makes the difference... clearer." The difference? What? What is he even talking about?

    He clutches at the edge of the toilet. "I'm so tired," he whispers. Shudders, and then his shoulders heave and he's throwing up again.

    Without whatever the bracer was doing holding him up, he /does/ look tired. Ragged and worn, exhausted. Throwing up can't be helping.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin stands sentinel over the haggard man, stroking his back in a comforting manner. "But... you're... you look..." He sighs. "You look terrible, Jon" he says. "If this is what you're going to look like everytime I don't..."

    He didn't want to restrict the man any more than SHIELD already had. He knew it grated on him enough as is. "Will it get easier as you do it more?" he asks instead. The pause might give away that he had something else in mind at first.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "You don't want me to go out without you." It's not a question. Jon rests his forehead on the rim of the toilet, takes long, deep breaths.

    "I channeled gods today, Martin," he whispers. "I called on Osiris to help Persephone free the dead from Leksandria's chains. And then... and then I /judged/ her. A mortal. The gods judged her, found her unworthy, and I sent Ammit to eat her heart. It wasn't just me... all the others helped, we defeated her together. But oh, gods, Martin, I /killed/ a woman today. I sent her soul to hell." He's staring down at the floor, eyes wide, whisper shaky with terror and revolusion.

    "...And I /enjoyed/ it."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    "Jon that's not..." Martin protests. But it was what he meant wasn't it? He sighs. "I know you have to take care of things without me, just like I have things that I am more suited to than you are... but... this effect on you..." He gestures. "You enjoyed judging and condemning a soul to eternal torment. That can't be healthy."

    He shakes his head. "What does the bracer do. What do you mean 'it makes the difference clearer?'" He needs time to properly approach the separation of their own lives and knowing more abotu Jon will help him parcel it out.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon takes in a long, shuddering breath and then sits up, holds out the bracer to show it to Martin, hieroglyphs and ibis and six-ringed design and all. "It lets me control the Archivist transformation."

    At Martin's confused look he frowns down at the bracer. "Sometimes it feels like... like I become /the Archivist/ and not... /Jon/. I can control my reactions better, I have a little more energy--or maybe I can ignore my fatigue. But I'm more relentlessly curious, more prone to running into danger. I... can feel it prodding at me, to do things, to ask questions. Another part of me? Or a piece of Thoth? It's hard to say."

    A hesitation, then, "It was the Archivist that read the Iron-Bound Book of Skelos. Tim had to pull me away from it at first. That... that was the first time I felt it as a... separate thing."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin looks at the bracer more closely. "But after... if you ignore your fatigue..." he frowns. "Nothing is free, Jon. That will come up on you eveutally and if you take too much..." He frowns. "I know you heal now. But... you're not impervious. I'd rather you not end up in a coma because The Archivist pushed your body beyond its limit."

    He frowns at the ground. "I'm not going to tell you to stop. That's not fair to you and I honestly don't think it's even possible at this point. Just... I'm scared." He looks up. "*You* didn't come home... The Archivist did... and it was... terrifying."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon closes his eyes, tears spilling from them. "I'm sorry, Martin," he whispers. "I'm so sorry. I didn't... I didn't mean to frighten you. I just..."

    He looks up at Martin, eyes going very wide as he opens them. "I was afraid if I turned it off, I wouldn't get home. That I'd fall over. I was... /so/ tired.

    He sighs, and his voice grows a little louder, more robust. "And... and it was thrilling, you know? The struggle, the fight. Seeing the library, preserved for millenia. Facing down the villain. Feeling that righteous /fury/ for what she'd done, channeling it to help the others take her down. She started ranting and it... it was a... I've been calling them Stories but they're /statements/. That's what Gran called them, I think. It was a statement."

    He frowns. "Oh... maybe I'd feel better if I went and recorded the statement."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin gives Jon a hug. "I just don't want to lose you to the thing you've become... that's all" he says against the man's shoulder. Then he pulls back and sniffs. "You can go make your statement--after a shower. You smell like a graveyard and... and dog."

    "Shower, change of clothes... then statement" he holds up a hand. "I'm putting my foot down about this. You have perfect memory... it's not going anywhere you can afford a few minutes to clean up."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon glowers. "It... it's /right there/, Martin, it's... /pressing/ on me. It... even if I have perfect recall, it's /bothering/ me, I..."

    The glower deepens in the face of what is surely Martin's unwavering stare. "I might not even be able to stand up long enough to shower until I do!"

    ...Then he sighs. Because Martin's not going to back down. "Fine. /Fine/! I will shower. /But/ it will be quick and I'm recording the statement as soon as I'm done. Deal?"

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin nods. "Deal. I will have the recorder, microcassette, spiral notebook and pen set out in the office for you. Along with a change of clothes." He gives Jon a look of affection.

    "Maybe we should invest in one of those chairs for older people. If you're going to be tired a lot of the time after these excursions." He shrugs. "Just a thought. Don't take too long." And he's slowly backing out of the bathroom.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon glares after Martin. "For /older/...?! You're older than I am, Martin!" He stands, and glowers more. "Just because I'm /tired/ does not mean... augh!"

    He throws his hands in the air, muttering to himself, and starts pulling off his dirty clothing.