agoodyarn | for kithe: a gentle twist of chronology

[The Institute is a place that is more than familiar to Gerard, though he's spent as much time avoiding it as he has in wondering about its secrets. Yet it is a place that is held by one of them, and is linked to those that his mother often looked to as a role model family of sorts. For those reasons alone he has avoided this place. Until now. Until he hasn't any other choice.

Shifting awkwardly, holding the black messenger bag he carries close to his body as if avoiding even brushing anything if he can avoided it.]

Keay. Gerard Keay. You're the Archivist?

[ That has him pausing, because there's only one sort of person who calls him that, who just calls him that. Most people when they come in, they see the plate on his desk, they assume from the office. But only certain people put a capital letter on that word by itself.

The last name certainly corroborates.]

And how can I help you, Mr. Keay?

[He shifts in the space, taking in all that's around him. Sharp eyes looking over the recorder, the documents in folders on the desk that he knew held pages and pages of stories. Stories to feed the master that looked down upon them from every angle. He knows that too and it shows as he cants his head back, glittering dark eyes narrowing as he looks up into the shadow above them before turning to face the Archivist once more.]

Why does everyone else come to see you? What? I don't seem the type to come and tell you a fancy story?

[Using sarcasm because it's easier than emotions and the truth as he gnaws at the side of his thumb, desperately wanting a cigarette before admitting why he's there, before asking, before risking this man, his last chance, laughing at him.]

I need your help. You're the only one I think that might be able to help me.

Clearly, you've got a more unusual need.

[ His hand gestures to the bundle in Gerard's arms, the bag he's holding. He doesn't move to take it or even to do anything to it, but he does lean against his desk.

He ignores the mockery, the unnecessary questions, and nods.]

If I can help you, I will. Tell me.

You're quick. I suppose that comes with the job, doesn't it?

[He shifts, hand stroking over the bag, tugging at the flap as if wanting to keep it closed though he knows he can't.]

You know who I am, don't you?

[ Jon's response, an ever helpful sort of grunt, is an affirmative of sorts, though definitely on the more non-commital side of things. That's only to the first question, though, since Jon doesn't really know what to do with any kind of compliment. Usually, he's used to fending off criticism. Or, eugh, Elias's 'encouragement'.

To the second one, though, that he nods.]

I knew your father. And I... unfortunately know of your mother. But I wouldn't say I know who you are. Not yet, anyway.

[Gerard is quiet a moment, considering that for a long moment. So many comments he wants to make of that, to pursue and interrogate, but he knows he needs help now and if he alienates the Archivist, he'll lose what little chance he has left.

So instead he focuses on the important part of that statement.]

Trust me, knowing of her is enough for most to last a lifetime.

[Even in saying that, Gerard laughs in a way that is more hollow noise that actually laughter.]

Though, if you can help me, you may get the chance yet.

This is when I say 'I was under the impression that she'd died' and then you say something clever.

[ Look, when people who are aware of the reality of the world come into his office with something vaguely rectangular in a bag, you don't accept the normal answers as most likely. You are aware that the answers you'll be getting are the unfortunate, ugly, and unnatural ones. Especially when the Keays are involved.]

At least I'm assuming. But vague, pithy comments aren't going to get us much of anywhere, so...

[Despite himself, Gerard laughs at that. The sound is rough, a throat unused to making such sounds.]

At least we can skip over that. How about I say something telling about how we both know how little death truly has a hold over some and then we both give a knowing nod?

[Which is a sad truth in both of their lives.]

You must know that what I was accused of and knowing as well that if I had actually been doing those horrible things to my mother's corpse, then what I was attempting was to make a page for the skin book. You've heard of it?

[He hopes the Archivist is knowledgeable in it, but he doesn't assume.]

I do.

[ They'd gotten a statement from one of the police who'd been on the scene; he'd been developing something of a working relationship with a few of the sectioned officers and it kept him more in the loop. There'd been something of a misunderstanding with his assistants about one of them; Jon didn't- he certainly wasn't- they weren't, thank you. But it was a useful arrangement.]

And I have, yes. Gertrude collected a statement a few years back from your mother. She mentioned it at length.

[ He puts his knowing nod to use towards the bag.]

[Gerard's eyes rolled back far enough it was painful.]

Of course she did. Obsessed with the damn thing. Which, not that anyone would listen to me, is what happened that night.

[There's a lot of bitterness in those words, in the tightness of his shoulders and the way his hand clenches on the bag.]

I didn't touch her that night. She begged me to, but I didn't. If I had...

[He wonders now if he could have destroyed her page then, ruined it in the process, and saved himself all the trouble and pain that is haunting him now.]

I need it destroyed. I need her destroyed.

[ His response is to hold out his hand. OBVIOUSLY, Mr. Keay has it in his possession, of he wouldn't be holding onto the backpack as his life depended on it. It very well might, but it won't help him sitting there.]

Gertrude left some notes. If you let me take a look, I'll see what I can do.

[Gerard shifts, his hand inching towards the flap on the bag, though he stops.]

I don't ever want to end up in this thing. I want it destroyed, if it can be, but I never want to be one of the pages.

[He knew what his mother wanted, that she still wanted that and was pushing him towards it. Coming here is fighting the chance, especially not knowing who else might well know how and would try.]

If I give you this, I ask your word that if it's not destroyed, you don't let me become a page.

You know perfectly well that even if I do destroy it, I can't make any such guarantee.

[ There's no telling if another one won't pop up, or what someone might steal, or whether or not the destruction he plans will result in what they're looking for.]

But I'll do everything in my power to prevent it and I certainly would never put anyone in there myself.

[Gerard waves his hand, shaking his head.]

I should have been clearer, especially with you. Words are important, aren't they?

I meant your word that you will do nothing to cause me to be part of this book. The last person who held on to this damned thing has every intention of driving me mad enough that I'll repeat their failures.

[He stares at Jon for a long time, silent, almost unblinking.]

You'd be surprised the things a person will do when they're pressured hard enough. Even you.

[ Jon doesn't blink. At all. And his voice is actually rather soft, but no less intent for that.]

No, I wouldn't. And I think it's clear I only make promises I intend to keep.

Words are very important, after all.

[That's enough for him, opening the flap and pulling out a package wrapped in what appears to be old and soft leather, symbols marked on it in what might be white chalk.

He held it out to Jon.]

It's treated with agrimony and angelica, and the symbols are meant to keep what's inside contained. It doesn't work as well as I would like.

I can tell from the smell...

[ Which is not really a complaint but a slightly irritated observation, though the irritation is not actually directed at him. Instead, fingers careful not to smudge any of the marks, he takes the book and puts it on his desk.]

I've already been looking into ways to neutralize this one. Gertrude left some notes, thankfully, and for once they were complete enough to be useful.

[ He looks up at Gerard, like he's currently an invasion he doesn't have the time for. It's not personal.]

If you could step out for a few minutes?

I wasn't raised with the knowledge of a grimoire to not use it to my advantage.

[Which is the one good thing he can say about his upbringing. At least he has the tools he needs for a world he never would have chosen for himself.

A brow arches at that though, frowning.]

She had that much knowledge of it already?

[That very thought sent a cold, painful shiver up his spine, but he rose, smoothing down the flap of his bag as he nodded.]

I'll just entertain myself with the staff or something.

Gertrude... tended to plan for things.

[ Whereas Jon tended to, well, he followed his instincts. He acted very much on impulse. He did, on occasion, try to plan but he wasn't exactly the best about it.

But in this instance, he doesn't need her notes. He Knows what needs doing, knows exactly the herbs to take from the storage area, what sigils to draw down in the closest room in the caves.

He knows that when the book is nothing but smoldering ash, this particular manifestation of the End will not be seen again.

He heads up shortly after, a little drained from all of it.]

[Nothing in those words about Gertrude is reassuring. Plans for how the book can be used meant someone deciding to use the book. Whether they wanted to or not when they got it.

It's why leaving this new Archivist with the book is unsettling, a cold chill up the length of his spine as he paced the hallway.

The entire place had an unsettling feel, one that Gerard suspects is about more than whatever it linked to this place. Leaning back against the wall, he aches to light a cigarette, to drown the panic in smoke and sharpness and death in it's own way.

Closing his eyes, he considers a prayer to a god he's never believed in, or even a small word asking for forgiveness. Instead he just tells himself it must be working, because if not she would be there for him now. One way or another, this would end only with one of them dead.

By the time Jon comes back to the office, Gerard has given in, pulled out a pack and is shaking one out for himself. Let someone yell at him. He doubts the entity behind this place will let him get it lit anyways.]

You'd best not even think of sparking an ignition source in my Archive.

[ Comes the voice from the door underneath the floor. A door which opens soon enough to reveal Jon, a bit of soot on his hands as he makes his way up and closes it behind him. He glances over at Gerard.]

First of all, the spot for that is out the side door. I'll show you. And second, you're sparing me one after all that.

But of course, Archivist.

[A slow, wicked smile curves Gerard's lips, wondering if, in truth with that single lighter, he had summoned the man in that moment. He wouldn't be surprised. Well, not surprised if he had summoned that which watched, who may well have interrupted the Archivist.

The smile fades as quick as it began.]

It's done though? You... It's gone?

[His hand shakes, lowering the cigarette to hide that tremble.]

[ He holds up his hands, which are sooty and very much empty.]

The book is gone. At least for the meantime, and I doubt it would contain your mother should- er, should it decide to reestablish itself in this corner of reality.

[ He tips his head towards the door, though. ]

Now about that smoke?

[Maybe he expected there to be something that would let him feel it, to feel released in some way from her spirit as it had sought to punish him for not he;ping her.

All he has is the Archivist's word, and that all he can do. Accept that word. At least until he has a reason not to.]

Sure. Lead the way to where I won't scare you that I'm considering the entire place.

[He holds up his hands.]

Which if I was going to do, I wouldn't say them where it can hear.

Which is anywhere.

[ Just in case they aren't clear on that point. Because they should be. ]

Follow me.

[ He does lead the way, through a small side door and out into an enclosed alley. The brick walls seem to swallow the sound of the city around them instead of reflecting it. There's a small ashtray that's been tucked up in a pitted area in the wall. Jon nods towards it.]

Here's fine.

Yeah, trust me. I'm aware. I've dealt with them since I was a child. Hell, my father used to work here.

[And he's not sure if his mother had dated him and married him because of that, or pushed him into the job for the connection and information.

He pulls out a cigarette and puts it between his lips before offering the pack to Jon.]

She tried to get me to get a position here. Because of the Leitners you might have.

I wouldn't recommend it unless you're in rather dire straits. And even then.

[ Working at the Institute has it's... strings, obviously.]

In the library, I'm assuming?

Trust me on this. I have absolutely no plans to work here. I almost didn't come here today, but... Honestly? I didn't know who else to turn to to destroy it. Most wouldn't. Hell, for all I know, it's hidden somewhere for you to use later.

[And he shrugs, accepting that for the time being, having no reason to think otherwise.]

Where she wanted access to, yeah. I've worked so hard tracking them down, just so she couldn't have them.

[ Jon lies poorly. Very poorly. And when he's not lying, he's extremely obvious. Which is why the clearly confused expression on his face when Gerard mentions him having hidden things somewhere-]

Why would I want to use something like that-

[ And he clears his throat to cut off the end of the sentence so it doesn't- well, so Gerard doesn't have to say anything. He clears it again before continuing.]

And if that's the case, would you perhaps like to be- that is... there's always contract positions. If you're interested.

Why the hell does anyone want to toy with those damned books? Power. Control. Desperation. All of which drove my mother in all she did.

[ For a long time he stares at Jonathan, considering him in another light. ]

Very few people aren't interested in taking control for either of those two reasons. I haven't met many that can't be used for those reasons.

[ Which means if Jon isn't merely protesting to cover desires, then he is one of the most interesting people that Gerard has come across recently. ]

I doubt your bosses, whichever you chose to consider, would be happy with you making such offers to a man that would, given half a chance, destroy so much of this place.

[And yet he can't help but to be intrigued. Perhaps he could work within this, if nothing else to give him clout to get to other items not in this building. ]

Do go on though. What would such things entail?

[ There's a finger stretched out to point towards Gerard's hands, or more specifically to the eyes tattooed across his knuckles.]

No, I don't think you would. You know the value of knowledge. You know the cost, even if there might be a benefit.

[ He spreads his fingers.]

And as for what you could do... obviously, we'd be delighted to have a statement but... I certainly wouldn't mind your assistance on something... more proactive?

[Gerard pauses then, watching Jonathan with a hooded gaze, considering him for a long time and those words.]

I also know the value of the wrong knowledge in the wrong hands. Or worse, the right knowledge in the wrong hands. That said, I don't go for them until they become a threat I can't ignore. I suppose I could make the promise that if it's already crossed your threshold it is then out of my hands.

I admit though, I'm curious. Never quite held what you might call anything close to a real job, so could be interesting.

As for the statement, my most infamous one is a matter of court record, you know.

[Even though he knows it's not even close to the same thing.]

Not a statement with any truth to it, then.

[ Which means it's not one that he's all that interested in. He'd much prefer to hear the real story.]

Even if you were no doubt trying to explain. I haven't read it though. But-

[ His eye goes to the tape recorder.]

If you'd like to give a proper statement on it...

for kithe: a gentle twist of chronology

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