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an-aura-about-you · 2 years

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November 7th, 2013

The Thread of the Idol

From the Files of the STP

Jon has been tasked with finding a vision of the future in today's entry:

“Yesterday I saw the Body of the Bridgekeeper engulfed in flame, and I saw the Bridge created by one-third. Tomorrow I saw the Soul of the Bridgekeeper reduced to ash, and I saw the Bridge created by two-thirds. Today, the Mind of the Bridgekeeper shall meet with its destiny, and I shall see the Bridge extend between the realms, and the many children of the King shall leap and dance and sing praise in His name, for great is His wisdom and His benevolence.”

Jonathan Sims groans and rubs his temples, shutting his eyes to the Book of the Bridge. He’s never cared for the Books of CHZO, both for the horrible events they predict and Jack Frehorn’s writing choices. But preferred reading material or not, they hold vital information regarding CHZO and the entities tied to him, and Jon needs information.

In the nearly 20 years since Trilby learned his place in their holy books, he has been studying anything he can find on the prophecies written by CHZO’s followers, desperately looking for any way to stop their plans. But sometimes those choices play right into a prophecy, that they can happen specifically because the person in it is trying to avoid it.

(Jon’s made a nice little side career writing songs about the very topic, though even he has his limits when it comes to writing songs about work. The idea of a concept album featuring Yog Sogoth hits a little too close for comfort. He’s pretty sure CHZO is the only one actually out there. But he also gets the feeling that, in this situation, calling the wrong number still might result in something picking up the phone.)

As it is, while Frehorn’s prophecies give them information on the predicted outcome, Trilby would still like the specifics. And honestly, Jon can’t blame him. If he had found a wooden idol that housed the souls of two people whose existence is now nothing but pain upon both themselves and others, sealed it up in a metal box with a message not to open it under any circumstances, launched it into space, and then read a prophecy saying it’s destined to be opened anyway? Well, the truth of the matter is Jon doesn’t have to be the one to do it to want to know who was foolish enough to ignore such a warning. It only makes sense that Trilby would request a vision of the future from the Ministry of Occultism. Now it’s just a matter of finding the path to get to it.

He considers his main leads, none of them terribly promising. The Bridgekeeper, whose soul is in the idol, seems like the obvious choice. But he is a dangerous wraith and might use the opportunity to possess Jon. The Prince, whose soul is the wood of the idol, is another option. But he has the mind to hunt, and Jon has no desire to become his prey. Trilby, who has had direct contact with the idol, might be the best option available to him. But using the thread of someone Jon knows personally carries the risk of learning more about his own future than he should or might want.

He closes the book. No matter how carefully he goes about it, he’s going to be tapping into knowledge that’s dangerous for humans to have. Knowing the future is something a lot of people wish they could do but don’t know how to properly handle or recover from once they actually see it, even if it’s not a future they figure in. There’s also the near-certain exposure to CHZO, who can’t properly be conceptualized without pain since that is what he is. Even if he’s successful, he’ll likely need a couple of days off to properly recuperate.

He spies a cup of tea just as it’s set down beside him, and he looks up to find Martin standing there. He smiles in unexpected relief.

Martin had insisted on joining him at home when he takes his days off. While Jon initially said he didn’t have to go out of his way to do that, that them living together is enough of a balm to soothe him, Jon’s appreciation for Martin’s choice is growing as the time for it draws nearer.

Jon reaches to take Martin’s hand, gives it a squeeze, and then kisses the back. “Thank you, love.”

Martin squeezes his hand back. “’Course. Just don’t spill it on the books, yeah? I’m technically the librarian.” He then looks at the cover. “Oh, Frehorn’s bullshit? Never mind, I’m sure we’ve got another copy of that.”

Jon laughs and lets go to pick up his tea. “Horrible sadomasochist of a man that he was, I’m afraid his prophecies amount to a bit more than bullshit, making him as useful a resource for my purposes as any down here.” He takes a sip and follows it up with a sigh of appreciation. “God. What did this office even do before you came here?”

“Relied on a shitty instant coffee machine from what I heard,” Martin answers. “When Trilby found out I was the one responsible for his first proper cappuccino in he doesn’t even remember how long, he looked at me like I was the second coming of Christ.”

Jon gives him another warm chuckle and takes his hand again, keeping him close as he drinks.

Martin halfheartedly tugs like he’s going to pull away with a chuckle of his own. “Jon, I do have a job besides bringing you tea, love.”

“Hmm,” Jon hums before finally letting go. “Alright. Wouldn’t want you to have to wait up for me.”

“Oh, wait,” Martin says, cupping Jon’s cheek and leaning down for a brief kiss.

Jon gladly kisses back, leaning up to meet him. When they part, he asks, “See you at home?”

“Of course,” Martin answers with one more quick kiss before he pulls away.

“I love you,” Jon says by way of farewell before Martin goes too far.

Martin looks over his shoulder at him, his smile brightening his face as if falling in love for the first time all over again. “I love you, too,” he returns. “Don’t work too late, alright? I know you’ll find what you’re looking for when the time is right.”

Jon watches as he leaves, holding that image of Martin’s lovestruck look in his mind. It’s not the first time Jon’s seen it, not by a long shot as Martin chided him years ago when they first started dating, but he never gets tired of it. Considering their lackluster first meeting, he’s wondering how he ever got to be so lucky.

He shakes his head a little and forces himself to focus. Right. He has a job to do. He gets back to the book and resumes his search. He can’t just hope for a divine strike of intuition to suddenly give him the vision he needs. Hell, even Jack Frehorn had to work for his prophecies, however gruesome the “work” was.

He pauses when that thought comes to him. If Frehorn’s prophecies really are true, then he saw what Jon’s looking for to some degree.

Can it really be that simple?

Even if it doesn’t actually lead anywhere, it’s worth a try. Just in case.

Jon heads to the Artefact Storage desk. “Sasha, could I sign out Frehorn’s Blade?”

Sasha looks up from her work. “Really? Frehorn’s Blade? Care to explain how you intend to use it?” she asks.

“I have no intention of using it for its created purpose. I plan to use it as a tool to divine the future.”

“Technically, that is its created purpose,” Sasha points out.

“Oh good lord. By non-fatal means,” Jon specifies. “All I want to do is hold it. But if you have any other artefacts that belonged to Jack Frehorn, then that could potentially work instead.”

“I don’t think we do short of breaking into one of the Order’s compounds. But if all you want to do is hold it, that’s fine. We still have to make a record, and you’d have to hold it on the premises, but you can do that without the full sign out sheet.”

Jon grabs a pen for the paperwork. It’s good enough for his purposes.

While Sasha retrieves the knife, Jon works towards a meditative state, opening himself to the possibilities thrumming through time and the universe. Set aside the linear experience of time and see it from the outside, the past and the future collapsing together and meeting in the present. Time is just something humans must abide by, something Jon has to step out of if he hopes to find the vision Trilby wants.

Sasha brings out a sleek black case and opens it up. Frehorn’s Blade waits inside, still immaculate in spite of centuries of killing. The sharp, serrated knife gleams in the dim light. The most unusual part is the tip, which has two longer teeth compared to the shorter ones that run along the length.

“Like a key,” Jon thinks as he delicately picks it up.

And the thoughts trickle in, slow and heavy and collecting deep down in his mind.

“Just use the key and leave by the door.”

“Jon?” Sasha calls, shaking him out of his vision.

When Jon returns to himself, he finds he’s still holding Frehorn’s Blade in one hand but has his other on his throat hammering the pulse that he found in the door. He pulls back, surprised at how much pressure he had put there, surprised he didn’t accidentally choke himself.

He places Frehorn’s Blade back in its case and says, “I’ve found what I need for Trilby’s request.”

Jon comes back to his own senses, leaving Malcolm’s in the 24th century where they belong. Or tries to, anyway. He takes a deep, shaky breath and asks Trilby, “Will that suffice?”

Trilby nods, likewise trembling as he gets to his feet. “Yes, that will do. Thank you, Jon.”

Jon walks the last stretch home on his own, not entirely sure if he wants the time and space but not entirely sure he would have liked it had he accepted Claire’s offer to see him to his flat. Martin had gone home ahead of him to get dinner started, both of them just expecting another one of Jon’s Typical Late Nights instead of actually finding the vision today. Claire sent a text to let Martin know what was up, so he’ll be waiting when Jon gets there.

There are enough people around that he’s not alone enough to be afraid, but he’s alone enough to try removing the thoughts that aren’t his. To try to get back to Earth’s gravity instead of floating above the ground, thin threads keeping him from wandering off.

Jon can smell dinner in the oven when he gets in, and his feet feel a little more solid on the floor. Then he hears Martin on the phone, can hear him wrapping up the call as he steps inside.

“Oh, sorry Tim, I have to go. Jon’s home,” Martin explains. He gives Tim one of those sighs that would be exasperated if it wasn’t so tempered by fondness. “I’ll see about coaxing Jon out for drinks soon, but it’s not a good night tonight. ...No, just a long work day, just need to crash at home. I’ll text you later. Bye.” He hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket. “Hello, love.”

And before Jon could say a word, Martin opens an arm to him, ready to provide a hug but giving Jon the freedom to approach or not. Jon has absolutely no intention to refuse, but he does pause for a breath of a moment, taking in that Martin both anticipated what he wants and offered it as a choice. He wraps his arms around Martin’s middle and crushes himself to him as tight as he can.

“Oh!” Martin lets out, a little taken by surprise at the strength of Jon’s hug. He returns the embrace and holds him just as tightly. “I’m right here, Jon.”

Jon nods into Martin’s chest, grateful beyond words. After a moment of quiet, he says, “I feel like my mind is still hurtling through space.”

Martin rubs his back like trying to provide a massage standing up. “It’s okay. You’re here with me now. We have time to let the rest of you catch up to that.”

Jon nods again, just letting himself breathe. It’s times like this, oddly enough, where Jon can kind of understand people who experience physical attraction. He may not care for the mechanics, have no desire to enact it, but being held by the person you love? Being so close to them and only wanting to be closer so the last barriers that make you two different human beings are gone for a time? An intimacy that touches a person Body, Mind, and Soul? Jon can understand that as Martin draws his fingers down his back, not clawing or scratching but pressing hard enough to leave wonderful trails of release in their wake. He places his hands on Martin’s shoulders and kneads there the way a cat might.

Martin presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ve got you, love,” he tells him.

At some point, Martin guides him to the couch. Jon gladly leans into him, sighing as he adjusts his embrace to snuggle into Martin’s side and feeling him move to match. A deep, grounding peace falls upon him, gentle as the night, and the longer they sit it finally feels like he’s in the present.

“Better?” Martin asks, his voice carrying a bit of a laugh.

“Much,” Jon answers, muffled with his face half-buried in Martin’s chest.

“Good.” Martin lightly runs his hand up and down Jon’s back, and Jon melts under it like butter under a hot knife.

Maybe he should stop thinking about knives. But Jon is able to let the thought go, a surprising feat for him. It always seems easier with Martin here. Everything seems easier with Martin here. He could stay like this forever.

Jon takes a very deep breath when that last thought hits him. It isn’t panicked, though it is a little daunting to realize the full scope of it in a single moment. Much like before, when he was confronted with a distant future, linear time doesn’t seem to matter as much. But in this case, it takes the form of an everpresent, that strange unshakable truth that while now will constantly change it will forever be now, and he wants to be with Martin and wants to be for Martin what Martin is for him as long as he has a now.

When he puts that in its proper social context, that he wants to marry Martin, the idea fits into everything like a puzzle finally complete. A giddy joy not unlike what he first felt when they started dating simmers in him, and he knows at some point it will boil over and he’ll likely blurt out a proposal when it does. He’s half-tempted to do it now, and the main thing holding him back is that he had been specifically warned that seeing visions of the future can prompt some people to rush into big decisions. But it’s alright. It is always now, after all. And right now, he’s here with Martin.

Jon takes Martin’s other hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles, “Make you a cuppa tea?”

“Jon, I’m supposed to be taking off to take care of you,” Martin protests instead of answers.

Jon just squeezes his arms around him a little and says, “I know, but sometimes taking care of me includes me doing things. Things like making you a cuppa tea. Or I can make a pot of tea so I have some, too.” He shrugs a little, trying to minimize the tidal wave of love he has for Martin. “Sometimes it feels good to do something normal.”

“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Martin agrees. “Now that I’m not at the cafe, it does feel good to take a break and make some tea.”

Jon looks up at him and smiles. It’s not even about Martin agreeing.

Martin must take it that way, though, because he says, “Okay, you can make me a cuppa tea. But can I join you in the kitchenette while you do?”

“I never did get to use the espresso machine on my one day working for you,” Jon says even as he gets up, tracing his fingers along Martin’s arm and taking his hand.

“And I wasn’t going to let you unless you worked at the shop for a good three months minimum,” Martin says, giving Jon’s hand a squeeze as he follows him.

“I’m surprised I lasted a day,” Jon admits as he turns on the electric kettle Martin brought when he moved in.

“You were cheating, weren’t you?” Martin asks.

“Only a little,” Jon admits. “If you just focus on what they’re about to say, it’s not as bad. What kind of tea do you want, love?”

And the two hold hands as they dance their pas de deux of kitchenette navigation, moving to the rhythm of an evening making tea and the song of humming to shared heartbeats and tender kisses.

#tma #chzo mythos #aura's fanfiction #on this day in aura's tma/chzo mythos fanfiction

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