o2 . september catchall (closed)

[itknowsyou]

Who: Jon Sims + CR new and old; tap me at ochrona for a starter.
What: The Archivist makes excellent decisions.
When: Late August into September.
Where: Throughout Trench.

Comments

[cryptograms]

Jon remarks on trying to make sense of 'this place' and Ford, naturally, assumes he means the Archives. That gets a sympathetic nod from Ford, though one that carries a sort of fondness to it. The Archives are kind of a pain... but there's something exciting about an endless, maze-like library that contains books on nearly any subject he can imagine.

"There's some tricks to navigating it, though I doubt they're consistent from person to person."

That seems like the sort of half-baked metaphor that Never Mind would enjoy. Still, despite what he just said Ford sees no reason to not share his own observations.

"The most dangerous stuff always seems to be in the basement, for me."

[itknowsyou]

Jon looks cagey, at this, which may be readily misread as discomfort that he's surrounded by dangerous things.

In fact it's the unsettling feeling that he is one of the dangerous things. Still, he screws up his face in open distaste at the local organization, which is an easy enough topic to settle on.

"I've received that impression." He is not pleased about it! This isn't the sort of dream logic that comes readily to him: it only seems interested in stalling him, keeping him an arm's length from real knowledge. It feels like an unkind joke, a sort of ever-stretching funhouse hallway, for no real purpose. "Is that Never Mind's sense of humor, or Remina's?"

[cryptograms]

The nonsensical (at least, nonsensical by human standards) method of organization is anything by convenient, but Ford finds that it rarely actually annoys him. Even when he's in a rush, there's something kind of fun about being handed a puzzle every time he walks through the door.

Thus, his tone is still light and bordering on cheerful even as he responds to Jon's question.

"Never Mind's, I'm certain. He's the sort to think of this sort of arrangement as particularly clever. Remina is more..."

He drums his fingers against his knee for a moment before he lands on a response he likes.

"Well, she's far more direct, but only on her own time. If she thinks you should know something she'll tell you whether you want her to or not, and if she doesn't think you should know something you won't even see her."

[itknowsyou]

Jon does not strictly know who his patron is; he's never had it confirmed; but a grotesque giant eye, goddess of archives, is not terribly subtle.

"I haven't seen much of either of them," he admits, almost rueful. "In Deerington, things made a different sort of sense. The most powerful beings— Pthumerians, I suppose— were out of reach, except by... generally ill-advised means." The memories, he means; the hideously difficult battles. "Our interactions were rarely friendly and never, well, banal. Here I never know whether I'll round a corner and find one of them playing a practical joke."