It's something I've- well. I think about it a lot. The job I'm doing, the situation I'm in.
Apparently, I'm-
[ This is something he hasn't brought up to anyone, anyone else. Not Elias, certainly, and not Martin. Not Tim or Basira and certainly not Daisy. It's something he's struggled with, the very idea of it of course, but also what that means in the long run. Where he's going.]
I'm a very very good Archivist. I don't- that's not- I mean, you understand I'm not trying to-
[ Lark understands. He's sure he doesn't need to explain. He has a feeling Lark had the better part of his 'number' as it were well before now.]
The problem is, I don't even know what that means. At least, not in- not how it translates to my... abilities. Or whether things will go differently than... than how they went for the previous Archivist.
[ There's no other way to put that. Sometimes, he thinks of it as murder. Other times as an execution. It's certainly difficult not to think of it that way, given the cold and precise manner of her death.]
Three shots to the torso.
[ He presses his lips tight for a moment, wondering if he should mention it. It's relevant, but-]
She was, apparently, going to destroy the Archives. Her and... Jurgen Leitner.
[Maybe it's not a bad idea, if it's possible. Lark is increasingly doubtful that it could ever be done in a single lifetime.] What does that have to do with balance?
Because that was what Gertrude wanted. Or- or what it seems like she spent her life working towards.
[ And this is something that's bothered him for a while, something that's been niggling at the back of his head since he found out about the first ritual that Gertrude had stopped. Since he heard what the Entities did, how they worked- story after story of lives destroyed, people scarred. Or worse, taken. And Gertrude. Gertrude working for fifty years, preparing and knowing and watching to stop the rituals, using every account, every statement given to her like puzzle pieces.
Pieces. Instead of people. All in an effort to maintain balance. To keep the world exactly as it was, unchanged and unchanging. To keep it churning bodies just to keep it running for the rest of them. The needs of the many etcetera etcetera but how many?
How many more.
And all that while, she gave up pieces. Gave up her assistants. Gave up Gerry. Gave up her 'conscience', by her own telling. And who knew what else she gave up, over all those years? All while carefully measuring. All while planning. All while considering each and every tactical advantage and doing what was necessary for an immediate gain that would nevertheless equate to a zero sum game: the world as it was.
Balance as a microcosm. Balance as a macrocosm.
Was it all worth it?]
If you really care. If you really want something. If you really believe in something, if you know your path... what's the point of halfway?
Because even when you set out with one goal, one wish, one thing in mind...and even if you're devoting all of yourself to it, something else can sneak in. Even the robots here aren't built to be impervious to it.
And when you end up with two equally vital things-- losing either one would be giving up on something irreplaceable in you, because you realize that no one thing can ever bring to life all of you. So you can't stop, and you can't cut either one in half. You have to just find a way to keep juggling them, or better, to integrate them.
[ He wants to have an intelligent discussion on this topic, because it seems like... like Lark has a lot to say, a lot he feels on it. He wants to be able to discuss the intricacies of this, but the fact of the matter is that he can't. That experience is- it's alien to him, completely.]
I've only ever had one.
It's... changed, shifted a little. [ He considers for a moment. ] I've gained a better understanding of it, gotten my hands more firmly around what it is when for so long it was just a- just a nameless yearning.
[ He presses his lips together. ]
But I can't understand the idea of anything outside of it. Anything that doesn't... fold into it, when I'm being truly honest with myself. Anything important, anyway.
[ His voice is... it doesn't crack but the hair-line fractures are there all the same. It's not pain, exactly. Just... confusion. And something very like horror that it could even be possible.]
[Lark is ashamed that he can't say that with any force. That it comes as a near-whisper, as if he's as superstitious as a kid around a campfire. But he hears the way Jon's voice snaps, ever so slightly, and knows that if he tried to speak up the words would choke him.
But he has to say it. It's like warning the Titanic about ice bergs it can't yet see.]
[His voice is a little stronger, as if that will somehow make his point more clear.]
There is more to lose. And I hope you get to leave before that happens. The second you start thinking you're at the bottom here, Jon? The Admiral will take away your body. And when you think, at least you have your thoughts, he'll take those too.
There is always more to lose here. He will give you something just so he can take it away, if he has to.
[ He hears you, Lark. He hears every word, and he is- it's there, in his voice, clear as day: he is absolutely terrified of it. He's thought before that things couldn't get worse, that the world couldn't get any darker and he's seen it happen. There's so much to be afraid of in his world. But-]
But I can't-
[ He won't repeat it. That's just- unkind. Unfair. But even then, that's not right. It's not true. Instead-]
If you mean the real price is being stripped down, or being alone...maybe you're right. But I hope you never forget Merton's take on prophecy.
You won't be alone here, anyway. Whatever goes on at home, this place is a different kind of hell. You're helping no one if you tempt it, and you're making things worse if you ignore the few good things it does give.
[ And that... hurts. The first time, the real first time that Lark's misunderstood him. And on something so deep, so clear to him.
Don't bite. Don't run. Don't hunger. He might as well ask Lark any of those. Or all of them.
Maybe it's his fault, though. Maybe- maybe he just hasn't explained. Or maybe there is no explanation. Maybe there's something wrong with him, has been something wrong with him since well before he started being changed by something outside of his world.
There's a hollowness to his voice but even then, even now, he's still trying.]
I have... no intention of ignoring what gifts this place might give, Lark. I'm not a fool.
And I have no desire to be... alone.
[ Just a terrible tendency to be anyway. Mostly because it meant that he wasn't putting people in harm's way.]
I know you don't. [There are people here, have been others too, who have wanted to be alone. It's usually temporary. The Admiral doesn't bring on board anyone who is truly solitary. But more than that, Lark has seen Jon's desire to have friends, to make connections.
Just like he can hear now that the conversation is off track.]
[ There's the soft, low sound of his breath out, a relief that Lark caught that and a mild panic because he's not used to anyone caring even if they did. And the idea of apologizing-
To him?]
Asking. Not asking.
[ That's not enough, is it? No, he'll try again.]
It's like telling you not to bite. Not to run. Not to hunt.
[ A breath out.]
You asked, earlier. The price for my answers.
[ He hopes Lark understands this time. He doesn't know how else to put it.]
[Oh. Lark is quiet for a moment, thinking, arranging this over the mistaken assumption earlier.]
I phrased it badly. Because when it comes to asking...I would never ask you not to. I may not always be able to give you answers, but you are always free to ask me anything--and I'd fight to make sure that it's true for everyone else on this ship. The one thing that leads to growth is curiosity.
I just meant that question, what else can I lose, is a dangerous one. I don't believe in fate, so it can't be tempted. But the Admiral can. And besides that....
Just don't let Alec ever hear you ask that. [Because if there is one person on board, one person who knows the answer to that question, it is Alec McDowell. It is X5-494, who was born with no name and just a barcode embroidered in his DNA.] When I met him, I asked him that question. And later on I realized how glib and how cruel it had been. So just...for me, don't say it where he might want to answer it.
[ Lark is no doubt aware of the tensions between Jon and Alec. But there's no anger from Jon's side, just frustration: the itch of two people who agree, completely, on something but disagree just as completely on the means of doing it.
And the idea of lashing out like that, using his abilities or even just excusing his tendencies with that-
No. Never.]
Whether you'd asked or not. Like I said: I choose.
[ He swallows then.]
I have to know. I have to ask. But it's my price to pay.
[ He'd asked that question not glib but lost, tired, feeling hollow. In the privacy of a conversation with someone he's made a habit of opening up to.]
[ A question he's considered a few times, to be honest. Which is why he has an answer.]
I think I knew my world had... shifted...
Right there during my first proper statement. When I felt myself... slide into this- this whole other person. I could- I could taste the alcohol on my tongue, the heavy flavor of tobacco when they'd pulled out a cigarette...
[ Not quite the question, though. Which he addresses a moment later.]
I think I knew I was the Archivist, got my first clue, when Jane Prentiss threatened to kill me on Martin's phone.
No, I haven't. I didn't want to intrude. Things have been- rough, anyway, right now. And I don't make the best impression on intuitive people even when I'm not stressed and sleepless.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It's something I've- well. I think about it a lot. The job I'm doing, the situation I'm in.
Apparently, I'm-
[ This is something he hasn't brought up to anyone, anyone else. Not Elias, certainly, and not Martin. Not Tim or Basira and certainly not Daisy. It's something he's struggled with, the very idea of it of course, but also what that means in the long run. Where he's going.]
I'm a very very good Archivist. I don't- that's not- I mean, you understand I'm not trying to-
[ Lark understands. He's sure he doesn't need to explain. He has a feeling Lark had the better part of his 'number' as it were well before now.]
The problem is, I don't even know what that means. At least, not in- not how it translates to my... abilities. Or whether things will go differently than... than how they went for the previous Archivist.
And thus if a balance is... wise.
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And he has thoughts, but he holds them back until he knows a little more.]
What happened to the previous Archivist?
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[ There's no other way to put that. Sometimes, he thinks of it as murder. Other times as an execution. It's certainly difficult not to think of it that way, given the cold and precise manner of her death.]
Three shots to the torso.
[ He presses his lips tight for a moment, wondering if he should mention it. It's relevant, but-]
She was, apparently, going to destroy the Archives. Her and... Jurgen Leitner.
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[ And this is something that's bothered him for a while, something that's been niggling at the back of his head since he found out about the first ritual that Gertrude had stopped. Since he heard what the Entities did, how they worked- story after story of lives destroyed, people scarred. Or worse, taken. And Gertrude. Gertrude working for fifty years, preparing and knowing and watching to stop the rituals, using every account, every statement given to her like puzzle pieces.
Pieces. Instead of people. All in an effort to maintain balance. To keep the world exactly as it was, unchanged and unchanging. To keep it churning bodies just to keep it running for the rest of them. The needs of the many etcetera etcetera but how many?
How many more.
And all that while, she gave up pieces. Gave up her assistants. Gave up Gerry. Gave up her 'conscience', by her own telling. And who knew what else she gave up, over all those years? All while carefully measuring. All while planning. All while considering each and every tactical advantage and doing what was necessary for an immediate gain that would nevertheless equate to a zero sum game: the world as it was.
Balance as a microcosm. Balance as a macrocosm.
Was it all worth it?]
If you really care. If you really want something. If you really believe in something, if you know your path... what's the point of halfway?
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And when you end up with two equally vital things-- losing either one would be giving up on something irreplaceable in you, because you realize that no one thing can ever bring to life all of you. So you can't stop, and you can't cut either one in half. You have to just find a way to keep juggling them, or better, to integrate them.
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I've only ever had one.
It's... changed, shifted a little. [ He considers for a moment. ] I've gained a better understanding of it, gotten my hands more firmly around what it is when for so long it was just a- just a nameless yearning.
[ He presses his lips together. ]
But I can't understand the idea of anything outside of it. Anything that doesn't... fold into it, when I'm being truly honest with myself. Anything important, anyway.
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What else could I lose?
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[Lark is ashamed that he can't say that with any force. That it comes as a near-whisper, as if he's as superstitious as a kid around a campfire. But he hears the way Jon's voice snaps, ever so slightly, and knows that if he tried to speak up the words would choke him.
But he has to say it. It's like warning the Titanic about ice bergs it can't yet see.]
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It's gentle. Not with placation. With a truth he know Lark will understand immediately]
I won't ask you. I promise.
[ But he'll ask. He'll always ask. That's just who he is. He can't help that.]
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There is more to lose. And I hope you get to leave before that happens. The second you start thinking you're at the bottom here, Jon? The Admiral will take away your body. And when you think, at least you have your thoughts, he'll take those too.
There is always more to lose here. He will give you something just so he can take it away, if he has to.
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[ He hears you, Lark. He hears every word, and he is- it's there, in his voice, clear as day: he is absolutely terrified of it. He's thought before that things couldn't get worse, that the world couldn't get any darker and he's seen it happen. There's so much to be afraid of in his world. But-]
But I can't-
[ He won't repeat it. That's just- unkind. Unfair. But even then, that's not right. It's not true. Instead-]
It's who I am.
It's what I am.
[ A breath, a heartbeat, before-]
Maybe that's the real price.
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You won't be alone here, anyway. Whatever goes on at home, this place is a different kind of hell. You're helping no one if you tempt it, and you're making things worse if you ignore the few good things it does give.
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Don't bite. Don't run. Don't hunger. He might as well ask Lark any of those. Or all of them.
Maybe it's his fault, though. Maybe- maybe he just hasn't explained. Or maybe there is no explanation. Maybe there's something wrong with him, has been something wrong with him since well before he started being changed by something outside of his world.
There's a hollowness to his voice but even then, even now, he's still trying.]
I have... no intention of ignoring what gifts this place might give, Lark. I'm not a fool.
And I have no desire to be... alone.
[ Just a terrible tendency to be anyway. Mostly because it meant that he wasn't putting people in harm's way.]
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Just like he can hear now that the conversation is off track.]
Tell me what I got wrong just now?
[It isn't a challenge, it's an apology.]
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To him?]
Asking. Not asking.
[ That's not enough, is it? No, he'll try again.]
It's like telling you not to bite. Not to run. Not to hunt.
[ A breath out.]
You asked, earlier. The price for my answers.
[ He hopes Lark understands this time. He doesn't know how else to put it.]
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I phrased it badly. Because when it comes to asking...I would never ask you not to. I may not always be able to give you answers, but you are always free to ask me anything--and I'd fight to make sure that it's true for everyone else on this ship. The one thing that leads to growth is curiosity.
I just meant that question, what else can I lose, is a dangerous one. I don't believe in fate, so it can't be tempted. But the Admiral can. And besides that....
Just don't let Alec ever hear you ask that. [Because if there is one person on board, one person who knows the answer to that question, it is Alec McDowell. It is X5-494, who was born with no name and just a barcode embroidered in his DNA.] When I met him, I asked him that question. And later on I realized how glib and how cruel it had been. So just...for me, don't say it where he might want to answer it.
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I wouldn't.
[ Lark is no doubt aware of the tensions between Jon and Alec. But there's no anger from Jon's side, just frustration: the itch of two people who agree, completely, on something but disagree just as completely on the means of doing it.
And the idea of lashing out like that, using his abilities or even just excusing his tendencies with that-
No. Never.]
Whether you'd asked or not. Like I said: I choose.
[ He swallows then.]
I have to know. I have to ask. But it's my price to pay.
[ He'd asked that question not glib but lost, tired, feeling hollow. In the privacy of a conversation with someone he's made a habit of opening up to.]
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[ There's a very huffy sort of noise there, pure irritation more than anything.]
Apparently there are just... things I need to 'experience'.
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When did you find out you're the Archivist?
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I think I knew my world had... shifted...
Right there during my first proper statement. When I felt myself... slide into this- this whole other person. I could- I could taste the alcohol on my tongue, the heavy flavor of tobacco when they'd pulled out a cigarette...
[ Not quite the question, though. Which he addresses a moment later.]
I think I knew I was the Archivist, got my first clue, when Jane Prentiss threatened to kill me on Martin's phone.
[ There's a pause now, as he realizes-]
Have you met Martin yet?
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No, I haven't. I didn't want to intrude. Things have been- rough, anyway, right now. And I don't make the best impression on intuitive people even when I'm not stressed and sleepless.
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[ How does one describe Martin? How does he describe Martin?
Whatever he says, it will be said with a begrudging sort of fondness.]
Kind. Skittish but...
He's more than you'd expect. Though not particularly... intuitive.
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