( for the last few weeks, john has enjoyed a break from what has become typical for him in his past few years. even marooned on islands tethered to the very border of all that was and all that wasn't, there had been a certain amount of normalcy he'd been given, permitted to walk the streets of highstorm and springstar with relative anonymity. even those that recognized him as a Shard-Bearer had at least not known who he was, and they generally hadn't wanted to kill him. really, it had all been rather nice, apart from the one time a centaur had shot him in the shoulder with an arrow.
now he feels as though he has been unceremoniously dumped right back into a situation that had become all-too-familiar for him in his last few years in the Archives: helplessly imperiled while those around him operate at a level of such elevated efficiency and ease that it only makes him feel bedraggled in comparison. as the Archivist, he had never been meant to act in such a way. it's why he had purposefully been surrounded by those touched by the Slaughter, by the Hunt, those who by their employment to the Institute had been made responsible for his protection. it's never been a particularly pleasant feeling, to rely so completely on others, but he does it both reflexively and begrudgingly at this point.
as Archivist, he isn't meant to fight — he is an instrument painstakingly prepared for the sole purpose of feeling fear, and he's feeling plenty of that right now. the scuttling of arachnid forms breathes life into decades-old trauma he typically tries to keep a tight lid on (personally fortunate that the Web is not so unsubtle as to send their agents at him actively). he wouldn't have even hazarded a guess as to how this new john might defend himself, but as a fully-fledged skeleton with scything blades for arms is pulled together out of the fragments of a smashed spider, he can't help his eyes from flying wide, muttering, ) good Lord,( under his breath. fortunately enough the construct slashes through one of the creatures as it prepared to attack him, but he nevertheless feels unsettled by the dim red pinpricks of light hovering in the empty sockets. he recalls the chill, grasping touch of death — of tendrils tethering each beating heart to their inevitable cessation. he's... just going to have to unpack the rather obvious display of what he has to interpret as necromancy (???) for another time.
and all the while, in the tumult of swinging weapons and slashing limbs, the crunching and cracking of splintering bone, and the high-pitched shrieks of the dying creatures, his two companions carry on a thoughtful conversation as if they were at afternoon tea and not culling a swarm of skeletal spiders in an underground monster zoo. there's something about that seriously grates on his nerves, though maybe it's just because he's the only one feeling worried for his well-being here, even though his newfound bodyguard has been doing a great job of crushing anything that gets too close to either of them.
though, he can't help but ask: ) What - What exactly do you mean by - ah — ( an pincer attack from two angles this time, though be it by zhongli's spear or the raised skeletons, they're dealt with without much issue, ) "amateur" here?
( he's not questioning your knowledge on the matter, mr god, sir, but he's just... curious... )
cw skeletons, bones, spiders
now he feels as though he has been unceremoniously dumped right back into a situation that had become all-too-familiar for him in his last few years in the Archives: helplessly imperiled while those around him operate at a level of such elevated efficiency and ease that it only makes him feel bedraggled in comparison. as the Archivist, he had never been meant to act in such a way. it's why he had purposefully been surrounded by those touched by the Slaughter, by the Hunt, those who by their employment to the Institute had been made responsible for his protection. it's never been a particularly pleasant feeling, to rely so completely on others, but he does it both reflexively and begrudgingly at this point.
as Archivist, he isn't meant to fight — he is an instrument painstakingly prepared for the sole purpose of feeling fear, and he's feeling plenty of that right now. the scuttling of arachnid forms breathes life into decades-old trauma he typically tries to keep a tight lid on (personally fortunate that the Web is not so unsubtle as to send their agents at him actively). he wouldn't have even hazarded a guess as to how this new john might defend himself, but as a fully-fledged skeleton with scything blades for arms is pulled together out of the fragments of a smashed spider, he can't help his eyes from flying wide, muttering, ) good Lord, ( under his breath. fortunately enough the construct slashes through one of the creatures as it prepared to attack him, but he nevertheless feels unsettled by the dim red pinpricks of light hovering in the empty sockets. he recalls the chill, grasping touch of death — of tendrils tethering each beating heart to their inevitable cessation. he's... just going to have to unpack the rather obvious display of what he has to interpret as necromancy (???) for another time.
and all the while, in the tumult of swinging weapons and slashing limbs, the crunching and cracking of splintering bone, and the high-pitched shrieks of the dying creatures, his two companions carry on a thoughtful conversation as if they were at afternoon tea and not culling a swarm of skeletal spiders in an underground monster zoo. there's something about that seriously grates on his nerves, though maybe it's just because he's the only one feeling worried for his well-being here, even though his newfound bodyguard has been doing a great job of crushing anything that gets too close to either of them.
though, he can't help but ask: ) What - What exactly do you mean by - ah — ( an pincer attack from two angles this time, though be it by zhongli's spear or the raised skeletons, they're dealt with without much issue, ) "amateur" here?
( he's not questioning your knowledge on the matter, mr god, sir, but he's just... curious... )