( it's not as though bondrewd's desire for the rigor and thoroughness of the scientific method is something entirely alien to john — for many years longer than he had been Head Archivist there, he had been a researcher at the Magnus Institute, and he had prided himself in his own comprehensive approach at pursuing following up on the various statements, artefacts, and other bizarre situations came their way to deal with. he had actually been perhaps a little too proactive at times, and especially when it came to the books from jurgen leitner's library that had either been mentioned in various statements or those rare enough occasions when one of the books had actually passed through their hands at the Institute. for obvious reasons, those had always incited him to action in a way that ill befit the aim of the Institute itself. theirs was a mission to "record and study, not interfere or contain," or so elias had told him multiple times even prior to being appointed Head Archivist. ironic, then, how hands-on his job eventually ended up becoming, but magnus had ever been cautious in introducing him to such dangerous situations gradually, wary that burdening him with too much knowledge or putting him under too much pressure too early on would overwhelm him and waste a perfectly good and useful resource for his theorized mega-ritual.
bitterly, and not for the first time, john wishes that he hadn't been so characteristically difficult to kill, but it ultimately didn't matter. either he would have been used as the focal point of that ritual or some other poor sap would be eventually set up into the same position. since all the other rituals were doomed to fail, it had just been a matter of time and opportunity for jonah magnus.
and the Web had delivered john so perfectly to him, just for that cause.
it's an assertion that he can sense to the marrow of his bones that bondrewd believes, but... it doesn't resonate with john's personal experience. the Fears certainly couldn't experience such affections, and their agents similarly had typically viewed their victims with a sort of... indifference, at best? and contempt, at worse? or perhaps amused bemusement, in the instance of simon fairchild.
though perhaps it was (ironically, considering what this conversation had triggered within him) the Corruption that seemed to utilize human emotions of togetherness, of intimacy, of belonging to solidify its grasp upon its avatars. it seemed that those afflicted with severe loneliness either succumbed to it, drawn in to the Lonely itself, or they were preyed upon by the Crawling Rot — he recalls a man devoted to giving all that he was to a monstrous beetle and her kin, another who had wept maggots when telling him of the dark places he had searched for love and acceptance, a young woman who had felt the sharp sting of rejection when she hadn't been chosen to become a part of the monstrous amalgamation that a dog named Agape made of her cult, and, of course, jane prentiss. a woman who, without strong guidance in her life, heard the singing which emanated from a wasps' nest in her attic, and who had lived to become a well-loved home for thousands upon thousands of Filth's children.
love, like anything else, is something he must view with wariness. it is just as susceptible to perversion. )
If you believe strongly in that as a prerogative... then I am in no place to deny you. I want Zenith to be open to those that might feel doubt, but... try to mark those that will not be shaken from their desires to pursue Meridian, no matter what it costs them. They will only become exponentially more dangerous to us the more threatened their victory becomes.
( for some, conflict is inevitable. he has never liked that reality, but it's a reality nonetheless. there is nothing he could have done, there's not a single Goddamned word he could have said that would cause any number of agents, avatars, or monsters from coming to claim his life. it wasn't a matter of understanding. it was that they had their own unique and individual goals, and the Archivist had posed an unavoidable obstacle to them.
the same would be the case for Meridian and Zenith, unavoidably, always.
he becomes almost brittle at what feels like — praise? he isn't certain. it doesn't entirely feel accurate to him, not through his own lens. he doesn't believe that he is a creature meant to be able to help anyone at all; neither his form nor function are conducive to it, and despite his best efforts, he feels he can only deliver those he reaches to help to a worse fate. so his input in the Communion is silent for a long moment, fraught with the thorns and barbs of this internal perception. )
I am not so noble, Bondrewd.
I just - I can't bear to consign them all to torment once more. Not when I am the one making the decision this time. Not... not when I don't have the believe that I could find any other way to deliver them from it.
That's all.
( said simply as his consciousness begins to try to pull itself free from the roaring current of this strengthened Communion. )
no subject
bitterly, and not for the first time, john wishes that he hadn't been so characteristically difficult to kill, but it ultimately didn't matter. either he would have been used as the focal point of that ritual or some other poor sap would be eventually set up into the same position. since all the other rituals were doomed to fail, it had just been a matter of time and opportunity for jonah magnus.
and the Web had delivered john so perfectly to him, just for that cause.
it's an assertion that he can sense to the marrow of his bones that bondrewd believes, but... it doesn't resonate with john's personal experience. the Fears certainly couldn't experience such affections, and their agents similarly had typically viewed their victims with a sort of... indifference, at best? and contempt, at worse? or perhaps amused bemusement, in the instance of simon fairchild.
though perhaps it was (ironically, considering what this conversation had triggered within him) the Corruption that seemed to utilize human emotions of togetherness, of intimacy, of belonging to solidify its grasp upon its avatars. it seemed that those afflicted with severe loneliness either succumbed to it, drawn in to the Lonely itself, or they were preyed upon by the Crawling Rot — he recalls a man devoted to giving all that he was to a monstrous beetle and her kin, another who had wept maggots when telling him of the dark places he had searched for love and acceptance, a young woman who had felt the sharp sting of rejection when she hadn't been chosen to become a part of the monstrous amalgamation that a dog named Agape made of her cult, and, of course, jane prentiss. a woman who, without strong guidance in her life, heard the singing which emanated from a wasps' nest in her attic, and who had lived to become a well-loved home for thousands upon thousands of Filth's children.
love, like anything else, is something he must view with wariness. it is just as susceptible to perversion. )
If you believe strongly in that as a prerogative... then I am in no place to deny you. I want Zenith to be open to those that might feel doubt, but... try to mark those that will not be shaken from their desires to pursue Meridian, no matter what it costs them. They will only become exponentially more dangerous to us the more threatened their victory becomes.
( for some, conflict is inevitable. he has never liked that reality, but it's a reality nonetheless. there is nothing he could have done, there's not a single Goddamned word he could have said that would cause any number of agents, avatars, or monsters from coming to claim his life. it wasn't a matter of understanding. it was that they had their own unique and individual goals, and the Archivist had posed an unavoidable obstacle to them.
the same would be the case for Meridian and Zenith, unavoidably, always.
he becomes almost brittle at what feels like — praise? he isn't certain. it doesn't entirely feel accurate to him, not through his own lens. he doesn't believe that he is a creature meant to be able to help anyone at all; neither his form nor function are conducive to it, and despite his best efforts, he feels he can only deliver those he reaches to help to a worse fate. so his input in the Communion is silent for a long moment, fraught with the thorns and barbs of this internal perception. )
I am not so noble, Bondrewd.
I just - I can't bear to consign them all to torment once more. Not when I am the one making the decision this time. Not... not when I don't have the believe that I could find any other way to deliver them from it.
That's all.
( said simply as his consciousness begins to try to pull itself free from the roaring current of this strengthened Communion. )