TMA!Jacobi and Jon

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Are you sure this is the place?" he asks the driver, who was already speeding off, leaving Jacobi in front of the old building.

"Thanks for your help!" he calls out with false cheer, rolling his eyes before trudging his way up to what he had been told was the Magnus Institute. He doesn't even flinch at the screech of tires that comes from blocks behind him. He doesn't have to see the car erupt into flames as a very confused driver crawls out and phones for help. That's chaos for someone else.

Instead, he takes the steps up, backpack on his shoulder. He had flown all the way out here, so it's not as if he's going to be missing any leads. Besides. He has an appointment.

The closer to the door he gets, the more uncomfortable he feels about this. It's like a whisper of wind against his skin, a suggestion of something dangerous, but Jacobi's never let something like that bother him. He walks through, hands in his pockets.

Comments

[mrballisticsdummy]

"No, I came back because I told you I'd come back. I told you about it because it's exciting and somehow that fucking matters."

[epistemological]

"It does," he says and there's a brightness to his eyes that wasn't there a moment ago. Then he's ushering him. "I'm glad you came back, though. I... I would have been concerned, otherwise."

Basira still isn't back, after all.

[mrballisticsdummy]

"About little old me?"

He walks in, hands in his pockets. "I can take care of myself. But you? You're in here like a hermit by yourself."

[epistemological]

"Actually," he says with a gesture to the rest of the building, "there's a former member of the Piper's fellows here, an avatar of the Flesh being hidden somewhere, specifically by the Distortion's new skin. Not to mention our leader who is an avatar of the Lonely, not that we've ever met him."

"But they all avoid me."

[mrballisticsdummy]

Jacobi wrinkles his nose.

"You just hide them here and you don't know where it is. Gross and disturbing. Anyway, being avoided is the same as being alone. So, for real, where did you go? You heard about my night!"

[epistemological]

He pauses.

"...I do have needs. I was... attending to them."

And he'll start leading the way down to the Archives this time. He's made a decision, as insane as it is.

"You fed your patron, and I... handled mine."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Handled. That's one way to put it, I guess."

He trails dutifully along behind. "So where are we going? Gonna give me my knife now?"

[epistemological]

"No one was killed during my business either, if it matters," he says as he keeps leading him, down this time. "And no, I'm not giving you the knife."

He glances back.

"Why did you think I was going to give it to you now?"

[mrballisticsdummy]

"I didn't. I just thought it worth asking. And I don't care if you kill people."

He shrugs.

[epistemological]

"Yes, well, it's not really how my particular... I don't. In general."

A soft sigh to himself before he says something that sounds very much like "I just get them killed".

There's a sign that says they're heading into the Archives.

[mrballisticsdummy]

He hears that and sighs. "Who cares? People die. That's what they do."

[epistemological]

He looks back at him.

"And the ones you cared about. The ones that make you want to mutilate yourself. Are they not also 'people'?"

[mrballisticsdummy]

"They are. And they died. Just like everyone else."

He meets his gaze steadily. "And no one cares but me."

[epistemological]

He shakes his head and he'll lead him down into his office, gesturing to a chair.

"I care," he says quietly, "but I care distantly. Politely. But I do have the means for more than that, and I'd like to offer that."

He sits in his own seat.

"Tell me about them. I want to Know so you don't have to mourn them alone."

[mrballisticsdummy]

He takes the chair and leans back, lounging more than actually sitting.

"I don't know if I can..." he admits.

[epistemological]

Jon looks at Daniel thoughtfully.

"Do you want to? No worry about 'can'."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Are you going to force it if I say yes?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Does it even count?"

[epistemological]

"No, I won't," he says, "not that I can't. But I- I don't like to. The option is open for you, however."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Nah, it's alright."

He sits forward, finds a paperclip, and leans back again to unwind it between his fingers. "Uh, Colonel Kepler was my - boss. There were three of us, but Alana, uh, yeah."

He's not ready to talk about her.

"We fought. A lot. In the end. But he was the one who saved us all. We had worked together for years and it all went to shit after the mutiny, and I was too angry and grieving to realize that he had always been on my side."

[epistemological]

"Ah."

And there's a quiet consideration before he offers-

"My... my friend Tim- Timothy Stoker. He, uh... I get the feeling that if he was sitting here instead of me, the two of you would have a lot to talk about. And, um... I like to think he'd have something like that to say about me."

[mrballisticsdummy]

He raises a brow. "Yeah. Was he in love with you?" he challenges.

[epistemological]

He wobbles a hand.

"Tim, when he wasn't... very very angry, was a little bit in love with everyone. But especially with another coworker of ours we lost earlier. Her name was Sasha."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Yeah? And what happened to her?"

He continues trying to twist the paperclip into a knot.

[epistemological]

"She was taken by a Not!Them," he explains. "Which is part of why he died hating me."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Was it your fault?" he asks, almost afraid of the answer.