8710/Where You Go, I Go

Where You Go, I Go
Date of Scene:	14 November 2021
Location:	Martin and Jon's Suite
Synopsis:	The Archivist finally gets to the bottom of what's been bothering him for weeks, with a little help--and he and Martin make a promise that even if it means going to the Underworld, they're going together.
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood

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Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon had come home still Archivist Friday night, taken the weekend off of training, then run off when he'd gotten a call from Chas and not come back. Saturday turned into Sunday and Jon was still gone, incommunicado save for terse texts reassuring Martin that he was, indeed, alive and okay.

    So it might be a surprise when Martin comes in to find the apartment full of the smell of curry.

    Jon hasn't cooked at all since they moved into the place, grabbing takeout or eating in the cafeteria. It's maybe been a subtle indicator that he's still mad at Martin, even if only a little. He used to cook whenever he had the time. Now, the air is filled with a familiar melange, his paternal grandmother's family recipe, Martin's favorite.

    He's singing, too, lower harmonies to one of his upbeat mostly-female-vocalists playlists, currently playing Florence + the Machine. He sounds... /happy/, in a way he really hasn't since Gertrude died.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin enters, holding a folder full of printouts and summaries on the recently collected 084s and the incident that occured at Great Falls. Recent missions. Things for him to study and pour over and cross reference. It was better than being near the phone worrying.

    He tosses his keys and wallet in a small bowl near the door and calls. "Jon?" There's hesitation in his voice, but it's more hopeful curiosity than concern.

    He makes his way toward the kitchen calling again. "Jon, I'm back. Are you...?" he lets his voice trail off as he takes in the view of the kitchen.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The kitchen isn't a disaster--Jon always cleans as he cooks--but there's rice and curry both cooking, dishes in the sink indicating that Jon did a bunch of prep work. He turns as Martin comes in and puts down the spoon he was using to stir the curry. Stares at him for a long moment, takes a deep breath.

    Then he walks right over and leans down to kiss Martin rather firmly, tangling his hand in the other man's hair.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin returns the kiss, it's instinct at this point but as the man pulls away he blinks. "Where have you 0been?" he asks. "I mean... two days, no word--not really--and now... this?" he asks, gesturing to the amazing smelling kitchen.

    There's concern now, he had been worried for the past two days and Jon comes back and now cooking with no explaination. It's a bit jarring. "What... what happened?" he asks his husband.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I realized where I should be. Should have been, this whole time. Or, well, last night anyway. /Here/. With you." Jon rests his forehead on Martin's for a moment, takes in a long breath.

    "I'm sorry," he says softly. "I'm sorry I worried you. I'm sorry I didn't come home, or at least /call/. I thought you'd be mad. It was... stupid."

    Deep breath. "John's back. He was in Hell, evidently. But... he's back."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin stiffens in Jon's embrace. "Oh... I see. Well, that's... good for him, I guess?" he sounds confused. And there is a sharp pang of jealousy running through him. With John back was all forgiven? Did going to hell make everything that had been driving Jon insane better?

    And then guilt follows, because John--or the demon looking like him--wasn't the only thing that had ruin's Jon's life. It was Martin faking his death that was the real kicker. Leaving Jon alone for a month with no support.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Martin..." Jon's voice has that soft tone, gently chiding, and he pulls back to kiss Martin's forehead. "It was a... demonic construct of some sort. The thing that... that hurt me, that did all that to me. Not him."

    He pulls back a little further. Swallows. There are tears glittering in his eyes, making them bigger. "Look, I... I talked to... a really lovely girl. John's betrothed, I think. Meggan. She's one of the Fair Folk." He laughs. "Ice cold, Winter-bound, but that didn't really matter. I... /talked/ about it all. Actually talked about it. Actually..."

    He stops, because he doesn't want to flood Martin with the sudden pang of /anger/ that runs through him, but it leaks out anyway. He pulls away, turns to go pull a wine bottle from the fridge, a red left over from a few nights ago. "I'm going to destroy that thing," he says quietly. "It hurt so many people. The things it did to Meggan..." He shakes his head. He's always had an easier time being angry for other people, more than himself. "But that... that's not what's important right now." He pulls the cork out of the bottle, sets it aside.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin blinks at the wave that pours out, the sensation almost overloading his own feelings. He manages to get ahold of himself though. "Wait... you talked to... a Fairy?" he asks. "Those are... those are real?"

    He had seen metahumans. Aliens. Witches. And other things that he couldn't explain. But he couldn't let himself believe in fairies that was just... absurd. "I... sorry... Meggan? Is that it's... her... name?" he asks moving to lean against the counter. Anything to be closer to the smell of the curry.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smirks at Martin. "/Really/, love? Your mother was a witch and you fight aliens on a regular basis but you don't believe in the /Fair Folk/?" He quirks a brow; the discussion of 'you don't believe in magic?' was one they'd had quite early on in their relationship, with Jon on the sketpical side.

    Or, well... supposedly skeptical. He hadn't been in a great place, mentally, back then.

    He goes to stir the sauce and then starts turning off burners. "Meggan, yes. Meggan Puceanu, I believe. She... she's like me, I think. An empath. She knew what I'd been... holding inside. All the... pain." He places a hand to his chest.

    "The demon... it hurt her, taunted her, spun her 'round, used her up. When it was done, it tossed her aside, despite being Oathbound in the old ways." He sighs, shoulders slumping just a bit. "And then... it moved on."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin looks aside at the skepticism of his own beliefs and disbeleifs and glares at the wall. He would have to meet one to believe it for real and until then... he'd reserve judgement. It wasn't that he didn't trust Jon, it was just... Fairies were something altogether different from aliens, metas, witches, and the like.

    After Jon turns around he moves up behind him and wraps his arms around the man's waist. "To you...huh?" he asks, his tone sympathetic and hurt. "But she... she helped you?" he asks, his tone and emotions hopeful.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods. "It tried to... seduce me, you know." He shakes his head, laughing sardonically. "Not that it was ever going to get... /that/ from me, but... well... I /did/ have that crush, you know?" He glances over his shoulder toward Martin, smiles down at him.

    "You can rest easy," he says softly. "I'm /well/ over all /that/."

    Deep breath in. Deep breath out. He gently untangles himself from Martin's embrace, then starts making plates, rice and chicken curry and naan he'd warmed in the oven--store-bought naan, he didn't have time to make his own--and two glasses of wine. "I figured something out, though. The thing that's been driving me mad, all this time. Well... one of the things. I..." He hesitates, standing there holding Martin's plate and wine glass out to him to take to the living room.

    "I'd like to ask for your help, with something. If... if you'd be okay with that."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin takes the plate and glass and nods. "Anything" he says. He knew about the crush. John Constantine was charismatic, in his own way, and dangerous and a musician like Jon himself. Their similarities were bound to result in the development of feelings of comraderie and with Jon those often grew into more.

    But he didn't have any fear that Jon would cheat on him since... that just wasn't the way Jon was wired.

    He moves to the living room. "What... what do you need me to do?" he asks, curiousity winning the war with apprehension in his mind. "And... how?" he asks as he sits down.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Eat first," Jon murmurs as he goes to sit down. And he does eat, in silence, lets Martin enjoy the meal, makes sure he has fuel in him for what he wants to do. It's going to /hurt/, what he wants to do, and he's half-terrified of the answers he might find.

    Finally, when the meal is about halfway done, he says, "The demon, it... it gave me a statement." He's taken to calling them that, since he started figuring out what the physical Archive might actually be. "The second one I ever got, recorded to cassette. I figured out that was the source of my... madness. Or part of it. There's something in that statement that the Archivist wants. Needs, maybe."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin eats, enjoying the meal with a emotion of warmth and affection that was borderline cloying to the empathy at his side. At the explanation he frowns. "Something in it? Like what?" he asks.

    He still wasn't sure what *he* could do. The statements/stories/whatever Jon wanted to call them were for the Archivist and the Archivist alone, his own powers couldn't affect them... could they?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "That's just it... I don't know. I... haven't been able to go back through the memory. Every time it comes up, I... shove it aside." That's saying something; normally Jon just lets the memories over come him. "It was... awful. And... and I've told you, I experience the statements as if they'd happened to me. So I wouldn't be repeating the memory of listening to the tape... I'd be repeating the /memory/."

    Jon hesitates, staring down at his plate. "A memory," he says softly, "of going down into the Underworld."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin swallows. "Oh... that..." He sips more of his wine and eats another bite, savoring the flavor of the curry before he loses his appetite. "I can see how that would be... a problem. Yeah."

    "So, my being there while you go through it... will you be aware that I'm there?" he asks. "I mean, I've not watched you do... what you do... but I. I'll admit, I'm curious to see it" he says, with a bit of trepidation.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I... don't know," Jon admits, frowning slightly. "But at least if you are, you can... shake me out of it, take care of me. And, well, if you listen to my, ahh... recitation... I won't have to repeat it for you later."

    He frowns down at the plate. He has no desire to repeat the experience any more than he has to.

    Finally, he looks up. "So... will you? Help me?"

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin manages to finish off the curry. No need to let it go to waste. He sips the last bit of his wine to mix with the subtle spices and nods. "Of course..." he says. "If it will help you and I can... be there for you, I will."

    He sets his plate onb the coffee table and moves a bit closer to Jon. "I'm... I'm not saying stop, but I don't like the being alone bit. It's... rough and I... I'm not used to it. But if I can help with this... I am not going to pass up the chance to help you. We go together." He smiles at the man he loves and nods. "Ready when you are."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon finishes his own food, even if he's lost the taste for it. Then he sets the plate down in front of him and shuffles himself around a bit on the couch. He winds up stretched out and lying on the couch a bit, leaning against Martin's torso, head resting on his shoulder.

    He takes a deep breath. "I don't want to do this. But..." He reaches over to grab Martin's free hand, laces their fingers together. "Yell at me mentally if I freak out and you can't bring me out of it, okay?"

    Once he has that reassurance, he starts.

    It's not the demon's memory that he goes into first. It's Cael Becker's.

    "Pixies in the garden," he says, eyes staring at the ceiling. "Cutting people's throats. Screaming and running, terror. I have to help. Have to protect them. But then there's darkness, black tentacles. They turn a man inside out before he has a chance to scream. Withering plants, the garden is alive. I run for the gazebo."

    A long, deep breath. "A man touches a bronze plaque. He turns to ash beside me, it's in my mouth and my hair--"

    Jon sits up suddenly, eyes snapping back to the present. "She saw John go into the Underworld. Oh, lord, I didn't even put that together until now."

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin allows Jon to use him as a resting place as he starts to go back into the memories of those who have given him statments. It's the first time he's seen the man jump onto another person's memory. The change in voice and speech catches him off guard for a moment, it's so different from the voice he is used to hearing from that face.

    He starts and blinks at Jon's realization. "What... who... and..." he frowns. "Is it relavant?" he asks. "Whose memory was that?" he asks suddenly. It clearly wasn't John's the speech pattern and mannerisms were all wrong for the man, demon or no.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "That's confidential," Jon says, which means whoever it is, that was a /patient's/ memory he's gone into. He grabs a notebook and pen off the end table and hands it to Martin. "Write down /any/ names I mention," he says. "They're people we might need to contact in order to track this down."

    Then he settles back where he was, shifted a bit so Martin can write on the notebook. Takes deep, shuddering breaths. "Alright. For real this time. Ready?"

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin blinks in surpise at the denial and then seems to get it. "Oh... a client. I see..." he nods in understanding. Taking the notebook from Jon he makes a quick slash to see that the pen is writable and not dried out. It was fine and he poises it above the first line, ready to record anything that may pass as a name coming from the Archivist's lips. "Alright..." he says, with a pause. "Ready. Go."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon settles back and stares up at the ceiling again. Deep breath, and then his voice changes. Not feminine this time; not even the Scouse accent familiar to John Constantine. It's an odd voice, deep and resonant, not quite Jon's stage voice.

    "The world turns to ash. All colour streams away from the darkness, the bright greens and warmer browns of the garden evaporating."

    What on earth is he narrating? Is this really what the demon gave to him?

    "Instead there is a stairwell. As far as stairwells go, it feels particularly unkind. Chopped steps drunkenly meander in a tight curve away from surface level. Where that may be. No amount of light provided from hellfire or a wisp of magic produces a sense of a trapdoor nearby, a quick nick out of Dodge. Stairs twist in such a way to circumnavigate a helix multiple times, drunkenly curving around, and continuing to head further down. Those steps broaden as they descend. In the dark, the confined, pinched walls and uneven footing is plain unwelcoming. Almost deadly. Topple here and who would ever find him?"

    It's as if the story's being written by someone else, narrated by some higher power, let in by the statement the demon gave him.

    "Him. A man in a trenchcoat covered in ash and dust. His corporeal state seems whole enough but that's entirely a matter of perspective. 'Whole' and 'alive' do not have to remain synonymous, after all."

    This is going to take a while.

    "Without light, he wanders in the dark over worn rocks and erratic grout, fingertips not at full span telling which way to wander."

(Taken from the log: https://heroesassemble.mushhaven.com/index.php?title=7544/1000_Faces:_Death_by_Misadventure )

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    The shift to a narrative tone is unexpected but not unwelcome. Jon has the voice for it after all. But it's nothing like the memory of the patient he gave. There's more weight to it. More power.

    He shifts in his seat, his attention focused wholly on taking in the tale piece by piece. Bit by bit. Whatever it is that Jon seeks, he's going to help him find it however he can.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    What follows is a harrowing description of a trek down into the Underworld. Consantine--or rather, the demon, presumably--travels down those steps, stops to have a smoke and a piss (and gets bitten in a tender place for the trouble), keeps going, thinking of Meggan and Chas and, ultimately, Phoebe. Turns around at one point and tries to go back up the way he'd come.

    Jon would berate him for a fool were he not trapped in the narration. One does not try to climb back up /out/ of the Underworld. Once you're on the path, you're on the path, and the only way out is down and through. Hadn't he /known/ that?

    There is a meat hook on which Constantine has to impale himself, and there's a moment where Jon screams in terrible pain, proof that he is indeed experiencing this himself. A trip down to a set of gates, a bus stop, a ride on a bus across a river. And here is where the demon had trailed off before, focused on the experience of seeing the faces of the dead in the bus windows. Perhaps this is why Jon is narrating the event in this way, because the statement itself did not have what he needed.

    On the other side of the river? Bayt al-Hikmah. The House of Wisdom. The Seeds of Destiny that would turn out to be so terribly important were almost glossed over, a side note. The narrative lingers on the House instead:

    "Warm light pours down from a massive ring of pierced lanterns set in the huge cylindrical hall. The round wheel echoes Baghdad's fabled round walls and spoked streets, long since lost to modernity. The high ceiling is enough to strike someone used to seeing great creations dumb with wonder, for the enormous skylight forms an elegant dome inlaid by countless meandering sea-green and lapis lazuli scrollwork over gold."

    "Stairs and halls strike out from the great ground-level galleries, stretching through honeycombed tiers of a knowledge layer cake. Impossible staircases hang suspended like cobwebs, surely incapable of holding his weight, and yet very much can. Narrow halls or grand aisles wreathed in the frosted trappings of art, books, scroll niches, and more fill halls that may just be visible. No direction is off limit, for even at the high dome's pendant rests a tiny chamber with a single crystal-shaped lozenge large enough for a man to curl up and read."

    "Other shapes flit through and forth, most of them not humans. Forth go certain cat-like creatures and soft-winged birds of paradise, long tails swishing in fine detail. No hints of fur, feather or dropping dares disrupt the place. Between the art and the knowledge in vast stores are occasional spots: fountains that splash with wine, blood or coffee. Plates heaped in fruit and vegetables are in one spot. Another contains flavoured ices, further down another brazier warming a set of grilled lamb. The scents don't flow to clash with one another, pooled where they belong. Food, such as it is."

    "Offerings for the living? For the guest?"

    "In the calm of the greatest collection of lore assembled in its age, the violence that destroyed it is little in evidence. Perhaps unsurprisingly, a message etched onto the floor in white chalk is almost impossible to miss: Bring no violence to this Realm."

    "It has a long, long memory."

(Taken from the log: https://heroesassemble.mushhaven.com/index.php?title=7544/1000_Faces:_Death_by_Misadventure )

    There is longing in the Archivist's voice. Yearning, aching. This is so clearly the place he's been looking for.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    There isn't much more. Time stretches out for the seeker, looking for knowledge that can help in the struggle against the Death Gods. And one might presume he found what he sought, for the tale does end. Or does he? It's hard to say. Hard to tell. Did he even know what he was looking for in the first place? Did he even understand the goal? He finds information, and the world is still spinning and the dead are--mostly--where they ought to be. But if everything was resolved... then why is the Archivist so desperate to find this place? Merely for lost knowledge he cannot hope to bring back out?

    Finally:

    "A fluttering page lands at his feet before sleep snarls him. A picture of a river in flood past a city in its circular wall, that terrible sense of perspective before the Renaissance hit fully in play. Reeds bend in the water stained black by ink and loss. A book grows from the papyri shoots. Leaves resemble hands, the slope of a shoulder, an outstretched arm. In another, a very small person in a terrible rendition of a child nestles against a golden wheat sheaf resilient to the water."

    "And then, the sweet oblivion must come, even then."

(Taken from the log: https://heroesassemble.mushhaven.com/index.php?title=7544/1000_Faces:_Death_by_Misadventure )

    And Jon shudders and comes back to himself, and turns over to bury his face in Martin's shoulder. He's crying. With relief? With pain? With terror? It's hard to say.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin hesitates for only a moment before wrapping his arms around Jon. "I've got you. I'm here... it's over..." He gently stokes the man's hair.

    He buries a kiss against the hair. "I think we found the answer we were looking for... didn't we?" he asks in a soft and soothing tone. "That building. You focused so much on it and your voice or well... the Archivist's voice..."

    He frowns. "How... I mean... we can't get there... can we?" he asks. "That way is shut now, isn't it?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon has to take a moment, to stop shuddering and crying. He actually makes noise, for once, which is terribly rare for him to do at all. It's like a poison being pulled out of him, the relief of figuring out what it is he needs to do.

    Finally, he sits up, and says, "There are other ways down into the Underworld. Other people went down there, around the same time. Commander May, for one... other faces I know and don't know." He rattles off a list of names for Martin to write down, and a few descriptions of people whose name he doesn't know; placeholders for later.

    While he speaks, he shifts himself around, kicking off his shoes and pulling himself up to curl in a ball on the couch, knees tucked ot his chest. How a man taller than six feet can make himself so small is a wonder.

    "There's knowledge we need down there still. That... I think that might be why I'm here, even apart from anything else. Something's broken in the world, and Gran refused to help. Or maybe couldn't help." He swallows. "I can. And I will. Even if it means going down into the Underworld." Terrifies him, that does, but there's determination in his tone. He'll do what he must.

Martin Blackwood has posed:
    Martin finishes writing the descriptions and names and gives Jon a slow assessing look and then nods. "And I'll go with you" he says, his voice carrying an edge that doesn't broach arguement. "I'm not going to let you go down there on your own if I can help it." He smiles. "If you go down, I go down too. Together forever. No matter what."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Martin..." It's not a chiding tone. It's... vulnerable, somehow. He peers over at the other man, then unwraps himself and reaches over to give him a hug.

    "Where I go you go, right? That's the deal."

    Words spoken long ago, a promise made in far less dire circumstances; what is trying to escape a cult compared to potentially storming the Underworld? But the words have weight anyway. And finally, they mean all that they should.