[Lyall has no idea if he is retreading ground that someone else has already visited when debating this with Jon, but he forges ahead just the same.]
There is a difference between what one feels and what one does. [This truly is the discussion from Aziraphale's salon, or at least part of one that Lyall had.] I highly doubt there is a person in the world that hasn't had a thought or impulse that was upsetting to them. What matters is the action.
There's always a choice in my world. It's just not always obvious or both alternatives might be unpalatable, but it's still a choice.
[He wraps his arms around himself.]
Helen Richardson was a woman who came to the Institute to give me her Statement. This was before I knew what I was doing to people when I listened to their stories. She'd encountered a strange man with a yellow door. He'd trapped her in endless, impossible corridors after making her step through the door. She'd somehow managed to find her way out, to get to me, looking for help.
I knew who she was talking about. What she was talking about. The Distortion. It was calling itself Michael and wearing the body of a man who was once named Michael Shelley. It had helped us with another avatar invading the Institute. But I had its victim. Ms. Richardson left and Michael turned up a moment later. I tried to tell him I wouldn't let him hurt Ms. Richardson, but... she was already gone. She'd left, you see? Through a yellow door.
I never saw her again. Not her, but a few months later, Michael made a mistake. He'd come to take me from someone else who'd kidnapped me so he could feed me to his corridors. It was a selfish desire, born from the hatred Michael Shelley still had toward the Archivist, toward my predecessor, Gertrude Robinson. He'd been her assistant and she sacrificed Michael Shelley to stop the Spiral from completing its apocalypse ritual. She'd bound the Distortion into a human form. Michael, but not Michael Shelley.
[Jon draws in a breath.]
The Spiral had larger plans for me, I suppose. Michael's revenge distracted him and he lost control. And then... Helen appeared. Not Helen Richardson; though, it was wearing her body. The Distortion had chosen a new host. She was a new avatar like I was, confused, worried, still human enough to want to rescue me because Helen Richardson had liked Jonathan Sims.
She helped me and from that point on I-I rejected her-it... whatever the Distortion is. Every time she tried to reach out to me, to talk about what had happened to her, what she was having to do now, I just turned her away. I was scared and angry. That thing was wearing her face.
She didn't have anyone else. So, she stopped caring. She made the choice, said it was easier, freeing. If I'd just- [He shakes his head.] Most avatars don't have what I did, people who gave me a reason to keep trying to be human. Without that, without them... I probably would have been like her, like Elias.
I could still become that, just enjoy enjoying it.
[Yes, alright, choices exist in all worlds. Lyall amends his argument.]
Let us say, then, that you were manipulated into the choice and would not have chosen it otherwise.
[He believes, at least, that's true. But then Jon has his story to tell and Lyall listens quietly.
That was a choice, certainly. One he can see Jon making. (Not the best choice, of course, but it seems like Jon recognizes that.) At the end, he just nods.]
Yes, you could. Of course. But I don't think you will. Especially if you have, as you've pointed out, tethers to humanity.
[Jon's not so sure of that some days. The longer he spends as the Archivist, the harder it is to imagine how things could have ended any other way, even with forewarning. He'd had just been insatiably curious, anyway, the boy who followed to see what happened... exactly what his patron needed.]
Thank you. [A pause.] For being one of my tethers. I know this whole... pack thing was to help you out, but... [Jon rubs his face.] It helps. You're right.
[There's something warm that blooms in his chest. It's not... hope, per se, but...]
It's just... It's nice to know I'm not alone.
[That had been one of the biggest challenges in the Archives with Peter at the helm. That sense of having no one around to support him. Here? He has more support than he really knows what to do with. And Lyall is a big part of that.
[Physical affection is something Lyall is only particular comfortable expressing with certain people. His relationship with Jon isn't generally that kind, the kind where he would he might consider reaching out to hug him. Of course he's not opposed - he'd been perfectly willing when Jon had grabbed onto him that one night - but without it being instigated by Jon, Lyall doesn't feel it appropriate.
He does, however, find it appropriate to reach out and Jon's hand - the uninjured one - in both of his for a moment, looking sincere and still sporting that smile.]
You aren't. You certainly won't be as long as Alessandro and I are around.
[He drops Jon's hand after that, nodding.]
Thank you for telling me Jon. I appreciate it. [He takes another look at the man, and then very neutrally adds:] Now, I think it might be time for bed. Wouldn't you agree?
[He can live in hope that Jon won't continue to stay up.]
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craftylikea) wrote2019-09-17 10:48 pm
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no subject
There is a difference between what one feels and what one does. [This truly is the discussion from Aziraphale's salon, or at least part of one that Lyall had.] I highly doubt there is a person in the world that hasn't had a thought or impulse that was upsetting to them. What matters is the action.
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Have I told you about Helen?
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[Come now, Jon.
But, he does look faintly curious at the question.]
I don't believe you have.
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[He wraps his arms around himself.]
Helen Richardson was a woman who came to the Institute to give me her Statement. This was before I knew what I was doing to people when I listened to their stories. She'd encountered a strange man with a yellow door. He'd trapped her in endless, impossible corridors after making her step through the door. She'd somehow managed to find her way out, to get to me, looking for help.
I knew who she was talking about. What she was talking about. The Distortion. It was calling itself Michael and wearing the body of a man who was once named Michael Shelley. It had helped us with another avatar invading the Institute. But I had its victim. Ms. Richardson left and Michael turned up a moment later. I tried to tell him I wouldn't let him hurt Ms. Richardson, but... she was already gone. She'd left, you see? Through a yellow door.
I never saw her again. Not her, but a few months later, Michael made a mistake. He'd come to take me from someone else who'd kidnapped me so he could feed me to his corridors. It was a selfish desire, born from the hatred Michael Shelley still had toward the Archivist, toward my predecessor, Gertrude Robinson. He'd been her assistant and she sacrificed Michael Shelley to stop the Spiral from completing its apocalypse ritual. She'd bound the Distortion into a human form. Michael, but not Michael Shelley.
[Jon draws in a breath.]
The Spiral had larger plans for me, I suppose. Michael's revenge distracted him and he lost control. And then... Helen appeared. Not Helen Richardson; though, it was wearing her body. The Distortion had chosen a new host. She was a new avatar like I was, confused, worried, still human enough to want to rescue me because Helen Richardson had liked Jonathan Sims.
She helped me and from that point on I-I rejected her-it... whatever the Distortion is. Every time she tried to reach out to me, to talk about what had happened to her, what she was having to do now, I just turned her away. I was scared and angry. That thing was wearing her face.
She didn't have anyone else. So, she stopped caring. She made the choice, said it was easier, freeing. If I'd just- [He shakes his head.] Most avatars don't have what I did, people who gave me a reason to keep trying to be human. Without that, without them... I probably would have been like her, like Elias.
I could still become that, just enjoy enjoying it.
no subject
Let us say, then, that you were manipulated into the choice and would not have chosen it otherwise.
[He believes, at least, that's true. But then Jon has his story to tell and Lyall listens quietly.
That was a choice, certainly. One he can see Jon making. (Not the best choice, of course, but it seems like Jon recognizes that.) At the end, he just nods.]
Yes, you could. Of course. But I don't think you will. Especially if you have, as you've pointed out, tethers to humanity.
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Thank you. [A pause.] For being one of my tethers. I know this whole... pack thing was to help you out, but... [Jon rubs his face.] It helps. You're right.
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I'm very glad to hear that.
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It's just... It's nice to know I'm not alone.
[That had been one of the biggest challenges in the Archives with Peter at the helm. That sense of having no one around to support him. Here? He has more support than he really knows what to do with. And Lyall is a big part of that.
Jon takes a deep breath.]
Well, that's what I wanted to let you know.
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He does, however, find it appropriate to reach out and Jon's hand - the uninjured one - in both of his for a moment, looking sincere and still sporting that smile.]
You aren't. You certainly won't be as long as Alessandro and I are around.
[He drops Jon's hand after that, nodding.]
Thank you for telling me Jon. I appreciate it. [He takes another look at the man, and then very neutrally adds:] Now, I think it might be time for bed. Wouldn't you agree?
[He can live in hope that Jon won't continue to stay up.]
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I'll lie down.
[No promise for sleep, though, as he rises and makes his way to the door.]
Goodnight, Lyall.