ukan | IC CONTACT

"Close the Entities off from my world," he says quietly, "off from every world. Restore all of the avatars to their humanity. However awful it might be...

"At least they'll have a choice as to whether be that awful. And even if it builds back up again, happens again..."

He rubs at the back of his neck.

"Hopefully it'll be centuries after I'm long gone before it happens."

"And if it does, you can at least leave a road map for someone to follow then," Lark says, always seeing the long game before he sees the details.

"Will it change anything in you?"

"...theoretically, I'd be human again. I'm, uh," he glances towards the door as his mind goes elsewhere, "I'm exploring options for that, just in case, however. I'd much rather not die if I don't have to."

Lark tries not to let his relief show, tries not to let on that he'd been feeling that subject out. He doesn't want Jon dead, and perhaps more importantly he doesn't want Jon to want to die.

"A human with a very impressive werewolf scar," he muses. "I think if the Admiral can save worlds, he should be able to grant you a safe world and a human body."

"One should hope," he says with a small huff. "Martin's going to take care of those I was originally covering with my deal. Well, those who haven't managed to graduate themselves, anyway."

That's a smile to Lark.

His head tips ever so slightly. "Wait- what was your deal going to cover? Or should I say, who? People here?"

He huffs a little, mostly in amusement.

"The way I worded my deal was to include anyone who acted as an archival assistant or who assisted an Archivist in their work. At the time, you had been here for ages and didn't seem to see any end in sight. So I... admit I was hoping that you would be considered on that list, as my assistant on the archive for the Barge."

He tilts his head towards the door.

"At this point, though, it would technically include Gerry, who's here now. In my wildest dreams, I never thought he'd show up here."

Lark opens the cabin door, shuts it with his foot, and looks for the best place to set Jon down. "You know, I'd still like to assist you. However, and wherever, I can. This," the biting, "isn't all I'm good at."

"But you are very good at this," he says as he points towards the couch, which is only a few feet from the door. He relaxes as he realizes that Martin won't be bothering them about this. At least for the moment.

"The fact is that I'm not... all that sure collecting stories is a good idea for me at the moment."

"You've mentioned it a bit before," Lark says, settling Jon down and then sitting on the floor beside him. "I got the impression it's a compulsion of sorts?"

How does he put this?

"...I'm fine. I want that clear. I am fine," because he doesn't want Lark to panic. "But there's something said among the avatars of my world: 'feed your patron, or he will feed on you'."

He look over from his spot on the couch.

"I choose not to 'feed' the way it would like. Meaning many of my powers are... wobbly. Difficult to control. And given the sort of people who come here, there's entirely too much chance of me, er... 'biting in' if I'm not too careful."

Lark just listens, not interrupting even to ask questions, paying close attention to Jon's tone and his body language and the bits he knows about Jon's history.

"Are you afraid of what will happen if you feed your patron here? That it might show up here?"

He blinks at the question, but after a moment, he shakes his head.

"There's a way to bring him here, but that's something I've made sure to take care of."

That particular 'statement' is hidden away, locked in a box, the key frozen in his freezer in a thick block of ice. Someone learned from coffin guy.

"The danger is in undoing someone's progress. What I do... it can tear open the scars of someone's trauma. For some, that... can be good. Especially if something- well, to use the metaphor, if something hasn't properly healed yet, or it healed poorly. But for someone who's worked through their pain, its making them experience it all over again, fresh, and it can do-" he swallows, hard, "quite a lot of damage."

Lark nods as he pictures what that could do. "I think I've told you some of what it takes to change a person into a wolf. It means we get to leave so much of our human trauma behind," even though no person survives a change without having suffered as a human. "I can't imagine the damage the wrong person with the wrong wound opened could do."

Blood baths, if it was a wolf. Massacres.

"Precisely," he says with a low nod. "Besides the fact that it's deeeeeeeply unethical and, well, I've found I rather hate myself when I, er, indulge in that manner."

Lark isn't prone to guilt. He has exactly two instances in his whole life where he can honestly say he's experienced it. But that doesn't mean he has no sympathy for friends who do live with it.

"Even when it does help someone?"

"The problem is," he says, leaning back against the couch a little more as Sasha the cat decides to take up his lap, "that I've no way of knowing whether it'll hurt or harm. Meaning: I made that decision for me not for them. Any help I provided was purely happenstance."

He breathes out and lets his hand settle on the back of the cat.

"I can use my abilities in small ways, little doses, without much trouble. But anything like taking a proper statement... I would rather wait until I've figured something out than risk someone's health or sanity."

He nods. He can accept that, support it, even if he has no frame of reference for it in his own life. He's offered changes to people who would otherwise be trapped, and he's done it for himself first and their benefit second. But it's not the same as what Jon is describing.

"If you ever do figure something out..." A slow, careful breath. He's not even sure he should say this, but Jon is his friend, and he trusts him, and he wants him to know it. "I have things I've never resolved. Not much; I know myself and my path very well. But the things I can't reconcile about how I've behaved, I don't know how to shake."

That has him sitting up a little, and Sasha, sensing the seriousness, decides to retreat to her spot in the bedroom. Jon, however, is focused on Lark, enough that Lark might feel the extra eyes a little more than usual.

"If there's a question you want me to ask you, Lark, I- that's very much within the bounds of things I'm comfortable with."

There is guess usual, constant wariness about giving away any information about himself. It's present even with Alec.

But there is also a small hope of relief.

"Walk me through how this works."

Jon nods, and looks Lark up and down.

"It's relatively simple: in this case, you tell me what question you want me to ask. I ask it... without holding back on my abilities. You'll feel it, the difference, when I do that. And you'll feel compelled to answer, perhaps even in ways you didn't realize you knew."

He turns a hand.

"You can't give me answers you don't have. But if it's in there, I can pull it out. It just might not be... pleasant. Especially if something in you fights me. But if it works... it works."

"Unpleasant usually comes before growth," Lark notes, searching his own mind to be sure this is what he wants to do.

The risks are worth it, it doesn't take him long to decide.

"Ask me about the mutiny."

He breathes in deep, breathes out slow. Then he looks at Lark with an unnerving amount of focus, with more eyes than just the two on his face, and the air will wobble with the force of it.

He's so much stronger than he was before. Even this has a potency to it he never intends.

"Tell me about the mutiny."

Even the man who knows Lark best knows so little about Lark's life before the moment they met. Even when Lark wants to talk about himself, it fails in the face of letting people talk to him instead. He doesn't mind; he has ugly swaths of history in him that are easy to judge, and he'd rather learn about someone else than rehash his own life.

But Jon. Jon says that and the ancient, iron grip he's always had on his introspection eases. It isn't terrifying like he'd thought it would be. If Jon had simply dropped this on him without Lark's permission he would be panicking, but he wants this. It is simply a relief, a touch of cool water on skin that has been too long in the sun.

"Steve saved my life. The first moment I met him it was like with you; an instant connection I'd never had before. Someone whose opinions were so unlike mine and so honest that I could trust them. He was the first warden I ever believed in.

"And I repaid him by manipulating his view of the Admiral. He denies it to this day, but I spent a year pushing a view on him to make him hate this place as much as I did."

He wants to say more. The words want to tumble out but he pauses, watching Jon.

Jon’s always very careful with what he Asks, which is why he’s glad he Knows there’s more.

”What aren’t you saying?”

He’ll pull a little more, less like yanking a chain and more like tugging at a rotted tooth.

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