agoodyarn | before everything went to hell: for ataraxeia

[ He should be more responsible.

He should, really, he should because now he's a supervisor, now he's the head of a whole bloody department. Head of the Archives, Jesus Christ, not four years into this place and he's head of the bloody archives, which is a dungeon, really, the pits, to be honest, but it'll be his pits soon enough. Him and Sasha and Tim and-

Well, Martin but there has to be a bit of a raincloud for there to be a silver lining, after all. He's handled worse. He's certainly handled worse.

Sasha kicked them out, because she saw the look in their eyes, the look that said they were going to be pulling out the bottle of scotch, the good one and she knows better than to get between them when the scotch comes out. Certainly better than to let them be in her apartment while they're drunk and silly. She'd seen them out, laughing at the two of them, ruffling their hair and lamenting that it would be the last time she could ruffle Jon's, obviously, since he was going to be the 'boss' now. Jesus Chris, the 'boss'. Their boss. What kind of lunatic made him a boss of anything?

Elias Bouchard, apparently. Clearly, an absolute gem.

And the thing is that Sasha, of all of them, lives closest. Closes to the Institute, that is. And Jon's got the key now, he's got the keys to the building and to the Archives themselves and it's a fucking genius idea to head down there and get a proper look before he's actually on the clock.

Besides, he'd rather not be out and about if they're going to keep drinking. Bad form, that, even if Tim's convinced it's a great way to meet 'cute' police officers. Jon's never met a 'cute' police officer in his life and he doubts he's going to now so he shuffles in front of the door, the little side one that he has the key for and hopes his keys aren't too loud. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Jon can be the responsible one all he wants. Tim's teased him about it before, frequently mercilessly; he's a year older, after all, but here's Jon, barely thirty and already going on fifty and about a decade older than Tim in every other way. People frequently mistake him for the younger of the two, and that's no surprise, considering the warm, infectious grin on his face, the jokes he cracks, his easy manner flirting with everyone in sight and half the people who aren't.

It makes perfect sense, then, that Jon's the one getting the Archives. Boss, Tim's been calling him half the night, more and more the deeper they get into that bottle of scotch, and laughing about it, but honestly? Honestly, he's thrilled. He'd worried that Jon was going to shift jobs and forget all about him, or worse, they'd just be the sort of people who vaguely talked about making plans to meet after work and then felt relieved when the other never did. But no--Jon had looked at him like Tim was an idiot when he'd half-joked about remembering to write, and Jon had told him well obviously I'm going to need assistants, who else d'you think I'd have? And Tim had hidden the warmth and relief he'd felt with a laugh and an answering who else would put up with you and your moodiness before your first cup of tea? and everything had been better.

Everything was still better, now, and he leans against the wall next to the door as Jon furtively pulls his keys out, doing his apparent best not to make a sound while Tim tries and fails to suppress his laughter, bag with mostly full bottle of scotch dangling from one hand.]

They're keys, Boss, not a bloody siren. And we aren't breaking and entering. Because you have keys.

Well, perhaps I don't want to wake anyone, hmm? [ Spoken with all sorts of half-drunk primness as he finally slots key into lock and turns it. There's no alarms or anything, because keys, but Jon does need to swing around before the beeping starts to turn off the security system before things get loud. He's not sure his head could take it if it got loud.

Thankfully, he'd been given the numbers earlier today so they're fresh in his mind and he taps them in easy as can be.]

Keys and the code.

Who're you going to wake? There's hardly any flats around here, I could probably start screaming at the top of my lungs and the only one who'd be disturbed is you.

[Not that he's planning on it, or that he isn't still keeping his voice down as he follows Jon inside, but the point remains.]

Almost like you work here or something. No, wait--almost like you're in charge. Look at that.

I am in charge. Some lunatic put me in charge.

[ He can't help a laugh at that as he locks the place up behind them and turns the security on again. Can't let anyone burgle the Institute on his first night, after all. ]

Have you been down there yet? During the day, I mean. The Archives. It's such a- people talk about it like a death sentence, you ever notice that?

Crazy bastards.

[And yet, he's laughing, and that's a friendly arm slung over Jon's shoulders as they make their way further inside, door soundly locked and the Institute all to themselves. Tim shrugs one affable shoulder by way of answer.]

Once, I think? To drop off some papers, find a book I was looking for. I mean, it's a bit creepy, but it's not so bad as all that, is it? I just figured people were getting melodramatic about their Vitamin D deficiency.

[ He rolls his eyes but hard.]

People around here get dramatic about everything. Georgie, my ex, she apparently told one of our other acquaintances a few years back- She said 'of course he's working there, boatload of drama queens' or something like that. But I think that's mostly because apparently Mr. Bouchard shut off her pass a day early for the library.

[ That's a huff, and he tugs Tim towards the stairs down.]

I mean, we're supposed to be investigating these things, right? So we'll be out plenty. Might even get to travel-

Mr. Bouchard was saying there's a decent travel budget for us. The only place we get preference over the ivory tower upstairs, apparently.

Hang on. Hang on, hang on--an ex? You have an ex in the picture??

[Of course, it's not all that strange a concept, he's figured Jon probably had something in his past, most people did even if they were just figuring things out, but this is the first he's hearing of it. Still, he's willing enough to let himself be tugged along, tossing an amiable arm over Jon's shoulders.]

Travel would be nice. I've been out of country a few times, be nice to do that on someone else's expense. What kind of travel d'you think? Are we talking visiting libraries in Germany or climbing a mountain in Peru?

Why so surprised?

[ His face is an absolute caricature of discontent. A caricature that he can't maintain for long in his good mood, choosing instead to lean up and against Tim in something that's too warm to really be a chest bump back.]

She's lovely. You'd like her. Positively gorgeous. I'm an idiot.

[ All of these things are said without the barest hint of fuss or upset. He adores Georgie. Whether or not they have an awkward, tentative relationship at this point where he avoids her at gatherings that involve mutual acquaintances is not really important right this moment.

Then he's unlocking the door specifically for the Archives, and the scent changes as soon as the door is open, the dry, cool air carrying the scent of the paper.]

From what Elias was telling me, we'll be investigating all of these, making sure that the information is accurate, confirming things, checking up on statement givers to see if they've had further incidents, that sort of thing. So I bet we'll be doing a fair amount of bounding around.

Don't know, guess I thought you were married to your job, Boss.

[Because Jon has always had a rather single-minded pursuit of knowledge. But that's one of the things Tim's always appreciated about him. The rest of the admission just makes him laugh, a rich, light sound.]

Of course you are. Is she single?

[Teasing, really. There are some things he appreciates more than a lovely brilliant person, and this friendship is definitely one of them. He'd never overstep that boundary.

His mood changes slightly as Jon opens the door to the archives and that scent floods outward, Tim breathing deeply as it does. Paper and ink, a hint of dust, the smell of secrets and knowledge and all possible things. Maybe there'll be something here he can learn about the things he's been pursuing. Maybe. But those are thoughts for later. Not for such a happy moment.]

I'd love to see that. You out of the library, bounding about pursuing leads. Hard enough getting you to come to the pub, and that's just up the street.

I'm not your boss till tomorrow, you.

[ Because he's making that point now. He wants to keep drinking and he wants to end up in a pile in the middle of the archives with Tim because maybe he's happiest when he's curled up with a warm, friendly person he cares about and he's far too awkward to admit such a thing.

Can't do that with your boss.]

And she is, but unless you like Hungarian I'm not giving you her number. No one deserves the bloody sheep cheese unwarned. Or warned. Or ever.

[ He keeps walking in and glances around until he finds the head archivist's office. He can't help but pause at the door, opening it up to take a look in. All of Gertrude's things, her personal affects, have been cleared out. Not that there isn't still all manner of junk.]

And I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here, archiving. You're the one who'll get to swan around.

before everything went to hell: for ataraxeia

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject