( if there is one thing john has learned in the last few years since his being appointed Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, it's that he's about to have a very bad time if someone approaches him calling him "Archivist."
when he is the "Archivist," he is not himself as a person — he is not jonathan sims, who had been raised at arm's-length and brusquely pacified with books of all manner of stories and information until he had grown old enough to pursue it on his own. as "Archivist" he is just one man standing in a very long lineage of instruments to the Eye, faceless and uncharacteristic; to agents of the other Powers, he had just been a piece on a playing board. often a piece they had, with either relief or delight, realized was much less clever, formidable, and incendiary as his predecessor. an obstacle to be either avoided or cleared altogether.
it's what jane prentiss had called him, standing above the trapdoor he and tim had come up from the tunnels through. he'd heard it echoed from jude perry, from nikola orsinov, from breekon and hope, from michael crew, from the boneturner, and from the distortion —
hell, even elias had sung "Archivist" rather than "john" in his own damn birthday song, before all of this had even started.
so when set approaches him in the streets of highstorm in the midst of all the chaos and destruction that the tree roots and the Blight are spreading, calling him "Archivist" and cresting himself with the mantle of his divine helm, something familiar and certain twists in his stomach. understanding. dread. he might not come to john as many avatars and monsters have in the past, eager to remove a particularly dangerous piece from the board, but it's not as though none of them have ever approached him singing — that's why the fierce, palpable glow of set's delight does little to diffuse the taut, wiry tension that winds through him.
because when he looks up at him, a Mark buried so deep that he tries to forget it rouses itself; the most miserably powerless he had ever felt in his life, as daisy tonner had driven him into the woods to execute him. hunter — hunted.)
Set. ( his greeting is perfunctory, as hard and icy as the Archivist himself is. he does not look well. he has not managed his Blight, and he did not heed yima's commands to perpetuate himself at the expense of the others in the city. he is pale as someone who has been lost in the elements of the wilderness for several days, his hair now more gray than it is dark. the lines and angles of his face are sharper, shadows thrown in starker relief; his gaze is just as incising as ever. )
That rather seems like something you will have to find out for yourself.
no subject
when he is the "Archivist," he is not himself as a person — he is not jonathan sims, who had been raised at arm's-length and brusquely pacified with books of all manner of stories and information until he had grown old enough to pursue it on his own. as "Archivist" he is just one man standing in a very long lineage of instruments to the Eye, faceless and uncharacteristic; to agents of the other Powers, he had just been a piece on a playing board. often a piece they had, with either relief or delight, realized was much less clever, formidable, and incendiary as his predecessor. an obstacle to be either avoided or cleared altogether.
it's what jane prentiss had called him, standing above the trapdoor he and tim had come up from the tunnels through. he'd heard it echoed from jude perry, from nikola orsinov, from breekon and hope, from michael crew, from the boneturner, and from the distortion —
hell, even elias had sung "Archivist" rather than "john" in his own damn birthday song, before all of this had even started.
so when set approaches him in the streets of highstorm in the midst of all the chaos and destruction that the tree roots and the Blight are spreading, calling him "Archivist" and cresting himself with the mantle of his divine helm, something familiar and certain twists in his stomach. understanding. dread. he might not come to john as many avatars and monsters have in the past, eager to remove a particularly dangerous piece from the board, but it's not as though none of them have ever approached him singing — that's why the fierce, palpable glow of set's delight does little to diffuse the taut, wiry tension that winds through him.
because when he looks up at him, a Mark buried so deep that he tries to forget it rouses itself; the most miserably powerless he had ever felt in his life, as daisy tonner had driven him into the woods to execute him. hunter — hunted. )
Set. ( his greeting is perfunctory, as hard and icy as the Archivist himself is. he does not look well. he has not managed his Blight, and he did not heed yima's commands to perpetuate himself at the expense of the others in the city. he is pale as someone who has been lost in the elements of the wilderness for several days, his hair now more gray than it is dark. the lines and angles of his face are sharper, shadows thrown in starker relief; his gaze is just as incising as ever. )
That rather seems like something you will have to find out for yourself.