agoodyarn | for corkscrewed: of all the ridiculous nonsense...

Those are terrible for you!

[ martin is actually slightly staggered by surprise, just caught entirely off guard by the casual way jon just pulls a pack out of his pocket and offers him one.

(it comes with a stupid, petulant flood of thought in the vein of 'how much do i not know about him,' but he shakes that off.) ]

I mean, I-I suspected, you do sometimes smell a bit like smoke, but- Jon, honestly, how is working for Elias not dangerous enough all by itself?

Edited 2019-01-14 19:51 (UTC)

[ Oh, for goodness sake. This is what he gets for trying to be personable.

He sighs, heavily, and tucks the rest of the pack back into his jacket as he takes a pull and lets the smoke curl out from his lips in contemplation. The answer he has for that is, well... morbid, and even to his general sharp sensibilities, mean. Mean enough that he actually has enough forethought not to speak it as he puffs out the rest and takes another pull.]

If I had an urge to quit [ Which he does not as a point of fact since he doesn't smoke all that regularly; he'd needed a bit to steady out and like a man might decide to have a drink with dinner, thus had he pulled out the pack] I should think it might come some ways behind the rather pressing issues we are currently focused upon. Both in priority and in potential lethality.

That's not a good argument, you might as well - stop wearing your seatbelt in cars, too.

[ it's not really the same, but it's the best he can come up with off the cuff. he slips his hands back into his pockets, feeling weirdly closed off, and falls into awkward silence.

despite everything, jon really is a mystery to him. parts of him are, at least.

finally, uncomfortably, he'll gesture ahead. ]

That's it, right?

[ He almost snaps something back, but Martin looks displeased enough about it that the whole thing seems pointless so he simply smokes as he walks. Or he'd intended to, but after the second pull or so from when Martin'd started fussing at him, the whole thing had lost its usual soothing effect and he ends up snubbing it out on a lamp post and tossing it into a bin as they walked. After that, he keeps his hands in his pockets and keeps his thoughts to himself (or rather, plays out about three or four different discussions that involve some real zingers on Martin and his desire to tell him what he can and should do for his general health, and they are very satisfying until he looks over to see Martin walking beside him, vaguely dejected)... and he's very glad they're at the restaurant. ]

Unless another restaurant decided to steal their sign, I would assume so.

[ He only sounds a little gruff as he says it; there's some embarassment in there, something he never does well with, and some feelings of having his hand bit off for trying to extend it a little.

Thankfully, the place does not look crowded and Jon practically charges forward down the block towards it with a purposeful and perhaps even angry sort of gait. The host or hostess might get used to blunt his frustrations a little when he gets there.]

[ the hostess, a chipper teenage girl fresh out of high school, seems completely undaunted by the way jon charges in and ahead. martin sticks close behind, still kicking himself for ruining what had been a pretty nice conversation, as the girl shows them both to their seats.

their waiter is smiley and bouyant as he takes their drink orders and heads off to fill them. ]

The menu looks good. Um. We could split an appetizer.

[ a hesitant olive branch. he wants it to be a nice lunch. :c ]

If you don't think the 'Dynamite Shrimp' will kill us all...

[ Muttered under his breath, because he's still feeling a little wounded from earlier and it never does well by him. He is actually being cordial, if tight with the wait staff. And he forces himself, after a short huff, to give Martin an actual answer. ]

Whatever you think looks good.

[ He's going to use the menu to hide behind so he can brood for a few minutes, lick his wounds a bit. It wasn't easy for him to- that didn't make it- there was no excuse for it, really, he was being childish, he knew that, but it stung and he's never had much reason not to lash out and take his pound of flesh right back when someone made him feel like that. It's what happens when you don't have many friends.

As it is, he swallows and he manages to put something light in his tone to take the bite out of- ]

You won't come after me for having a drink, will you?

What? No. I- Jon, I can't tell you what to do, you're an adult and- well, you know, still my boss besides, and- sorry I ruined your cigarette.

[ because jon doesn't have a whole lot of things that are just his own anymore, does he? his reaction had been a kneejerk one, fueled by surprise, and he felt a little bad about it now.

the waiter returns with water for them both; martin waits for jon to order his drink, before martin places one of his own.

the waiter, attractive in a generic sort of way, winks and tells him good choice before leaving them a little more time with the menu, and martin finds himself weirdly embarrassed. ]

Customer service is, um, really friendly here.

Edited 2019-01-14 20:39 (UTC)

[ Jon's eyes focus on the waiter with an uncommon ferocity. It'd be interesting if, say, he felt as if he was being watched because of some eldritch energy but no, it's just a rather fussy Archivist (or rather, archivist, in this particular moment) who for some reason or other Does Not Like how he looks at Martin. When he leaves and Martin makes his joke, Jon remembers breathing and looks over at him with an imperious lift of his head. ]

You do recall our talk this morning.

[ aka, you're welcome to flirt back, is what he's trying to say there. Not that he's being very obvious about it the way he's watching the waiter as he swoops around the tables doing his job like a perfectly normal wai-

Dammit, he's being paranoid again. Ugh. He really will need that drink. HE's glad he ordered it.

After a minute or so of silence, Jon does actually speak up again.]

I only have one every few days or so. It's hardly... worrysome.

[ An olive branch. A tentative one and to be fair, one that could just as easily blow up as anything else since his back is up but it's an attempt.]

Edited 2019-01-14 21:14 (UTC)

[ martin sees that ferocity and remembers when jon was just - paranoid. god, he wishes more than anything that paranoia had been unfounded.

the remark catches him off guard, though, and he actually takes a moment to parse the meaning behind it. ]

I appreciate you- wingmanning for me, Jon, but he's just being nice.

[ the waiter does return to take their order. he compliments the design on martin's shirt, asks if he and his friend are in town long. martin is a little flustered when he places his order and turns back to jon as the young man leaves. ]

You don't have to justify smoking to me. I just - you know how much I worry about things.

Which is why I thought-

[ Why had he thought to- not justify himself, because he summarily wouldn't, in fact doesn't, to anyone, not unless his back is put to a wall. He is who and what he is, even if that 'what' occasionally scares him, and he's never asked for permission or begged for forgiveness for it. Even with Georgie; it was, he thought, one of the reasons why they were such good friends even now.

When things had ended, it was because they'd realized they were better friends than anything else. Not because they 'couldn't make it work' but because it wasn't going to. And he'd been up front with her about it when she'd made her comments and they'd moved on instead of an extended period of awkward cowed attempts at reconciliation. It was... cleaner. More real.

He was who he was. And those who didn't like it, well... that was their business. Their right. He wouldn't try and woo them by being something else.

He clears his throat.]

-why I thought to let you know. No... three pack a day habit or anything. That is all I meant by it.

[ He likes to be precise, exact, and sometimes that exactness comes off as harshness. It isn't, at least not right this moment. It's just exactness, so Martin knows precisely what he was doing and why.

...for all that, he's very pleased to get his drink and a long sip has the warmth burning down his throat and down his back.]

Have you looked at the cheescakes yet?

[ even now, it's sometimes difficult to remember how analytical and precise jon can be. he had been in so deeply over his head when he had first begun working, surrounded by tim and sasha and jon, what with their actual experience and ability. he knows he's gotten better, and as much as he hates his work - he's proud of it, tiredly proud of himself.

no amount of pride could fully bridge the personality difference between himself and the archivist, however. it would never be pride that managed to do that.

he takes a pull from his own drink. ]

Yeah. There's a caramel one. Do you like caramel?

[ what kind of sweets does jon enjoy? he has no idea, but lord does he want to. ]

[ He hasn't taken alook himself and as Martin asks him, he starts flipping through the list. It's... rather long, goodness.]

Carmel, but not by itself. Especially salted.

[ He's a little distracted as he looks through.]

Might be good with the bite of cheesecake-

[ He's more muttering to himself than he is actually answering Martin. Sorry. ]

Mango key lime could be quite good... oooh, they have a lemon meringue. Hmm. [ His nose scrunches in distaste. ] Banana cream. Or maybe- lemon raspberry?

[ He looks up then at Martin, clearly intent on the subject.]

Were you thinking the salted caramel or the dulce de leche?

Salted. I don't mind sharing a few bites, if you want to try it.

[ there's a weird, protective little tightness in his chest while jon peruses the menu. he wants to be able to do this with him. he wants to live a life where jon is safe and free to spend as much time as he could ever want being critical of different cheesecake toppings.

he tries not to let himself look too fond. ]

It smells great in here.

[ smalltalk is weird. ]

[ He looks up at the offer, but he doesn't say anything until Martin's made his strange, awkward little comment. The thing is that Jon's no better at it than Martin, at least not with people where he actually knows them, and he doesn't hold it against Martin so much as it's a different odd from where he would have gone so he has to think about it. ]

I would have to agree with you.

[ He looks down at the list. ]

Would you be willing to accept a portion of lemon raspberry in exchange?

Yeah, sure, that sounds tasty.

[ martin will busy himself by taking another pull from his drink, halfway through the sip when the waiter returns with a plate of appetizers. he makes some recommendations, then touches martin's arm and asks about england, talks about the study abroad he did there in college.

martin is blushing just slightly by the time he leaves, and he frowns at jon. ]

He's paid to be nice. Don't say a word.

[ He isn't paid to touch you. And that bothers him on at least two completely different but entirely visceral levels. For one, he sincerely hopes the man doesn't touch him at any point in the evening and for another...

He's not examining that right now. He's far too busy putting the effort into not opening his mouth and doing something that he'd regret. Instead, he looks at the appetizers, finds one that seems to be about his speed, and puts it very firmly into his mouth as if daring Martin to complain about his behavior.]

What happened to 'remember what I said before?'

[ not that martin would ever, ever go home with some stranger from a restaurant, but he is still weirdly uncomfortable about this happening in front of jon, of all people in the world.

they have the world to worry about. this is dumb.

he scrubs his fingers through his hair, then blurts: ]

Two drinks is fine, right?

[ Is his eye twitching? It might be twitching. The pure overwhelming desire to say something--

Ugh. Be nice, be nice, be nice, be nice. They're headed back to a relatively small hotel room where they're going to have to share a bed (which he's not dreading nearly as much as he feels he ought to) and he'd rather not have another awkward evening. ]

I don't recall withdrawing my statement.

[ Every word is enunciated to the brink of death. He lets out a huff. The words after that are in a rush, practically muttered. ]

You said he was just being nice.

[ AKA it seemed like you weren't interested. Not that he... cares. Who Martin is interested in. He doesn't. That would be ridiculous. And like he'd said earlier, he'd be more than happy to clear out of the room for a bit, maybe find a pub, maybe just see if there's a library open or a book store, if that's what it takes. Really, Martin. You're reading a lot into all this.

He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. ]

And you're welcome to get what you like, Martin, as long as I don't have to carry you back.

He is. He was. He's not really my type, anyway. [ the blush recedes quickly enough as martin munches on a piece of breaded and fried mozzarella. ]

Besides, we're here for work, even if I was... inclined. Which I'm not. Think dating is sort of out of the question where we work. Even long distance.

[ it is possible that he's just gently rambling. ]

Dangerous, you know? I couldn't stand getting anyone else getting dragged in with me.

[ That actually softens him up, mostly because it's someplace where the two of them agree. Not that he's terribly inclined to date anyway; there's far too many idiots out in the world, and then once you narrowed it down around them, there weren't nearly as many people who were interested in the kind of relationship that he could offer. Once you brought in the final filter of 'doesn't deserve to have their life ruined by evil otherworldly Entities', the pickings were-

Well, let's say nonexistent.

The thing is, though, that Martin's flashed a question in front of his eyes, one he can ask without breaking the promise he made. And having denied himself the last few times, and with at least a drink or two in him, it's like having waved a red flag in front of a bull. The words slip out with the subtle buzz of Power beneath them.]

What is your type, Martin?

It's complicated.

[ it's such a natural follow up question that it doesn't even occur to him that there might be something compelling him to speak. he picks at another piece of mozzarella and shrugs one shoulder gently. ]

Kindness, I guess? Empathy. Intelligence. And- people who are calm, I guess. It's... soothing to be around. I worry a little much sometimes.

[ he's staring at the food, expression a little distant. ]

What about you, Jon?

[ Even he barely noticed he did it. He'd just... in that moment, he'd wanted to know. That's all it is, that's why it's hard. He always wants to know, always has. It's not so much supernatural as it is the most natural thing in the world that works better than it should.

He listens to the description, nodding along because that all sounds very nice, of course. Simple. Martin-y in a way that isn't grating. He thinks of all the people that they know, all the people he's ever heard Martin talk about (and he listens more than most people realize even if he doesn't always acknowledge their words) and he again cannot imagine who Martin has his feelings for.

When he gets the question back, he starts with a low, dark chuckle full of wry self-depreciation.]

Generally, anyone willing to put up with my nonsense. [ He considers some of the other factors. ] Somewhat intellectual... or at least someone who knows what a book is. Warmth. Strength. [ He pauses. ] But not the flashy kind. The quiet sort. Resilience, I suppose. It's... always been rather individual, to be honest.

More about the person than th-the credentials, as it were.

[ and martin cuts his eyes up, doing his very best to seem as casual as humanly possible. ]

The, um, 'person'?

[ he heard 0 pronouns in that description. he's just. checking. ]

[ He actually looks somewhat confused at that. His head tilts and he watches Martin as he answers.]

Yes. Person. Gender's never been much of a concern for me.

[ He thought he'd covered that a bit earlier but apparently not. He's certainly never made a secret of it. ]

I don't- that is, [ He actually, well, there may be the slightest bit of pink to his cheeks as his head tilts down a little. He's only really discussed this with Georgie because he'd had to, for obvious reasons. He suspects Tim is aware. Sasha, he thinks, knew. Melanie probably knows, just from Georgie. But it doesn't exactly come up. It just isn't a huge part of his life.] I don't- with anyone. In the, er, physical sense. But when it comes to a relationship, it's, ah, about the person. As it were.

[ He has. He's tried it. It's just not... he doesn't really get anything out of it. Less than if he takes care of matters for himself and adding that into a relationship is...

He'd just rather not, is all.]

[ in the physical sense.

martin can feel his whole face heating up, because never in his entire life did he think he would actually be discussing this topic with jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute, london.

he finishes off his drink, just because he isn't sure what else to say immediately. thankfully, their actual meal arrives to take up some of that space. ]

Thank you. For, um- for sharing. For trusting me with that knowledge. I appreciate it.

for corkscrewed: of all the ridiculous nonsense...

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