Communications Officer Doug Eiffel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
littletonoidea) wrote2022-03-02 01:29 am
littletonoidea) wrote2022-03-02 01:29 am
IC Inbox
"This is the audio log of Communications Officer Doug Eiffel of the-- previously of the U.S.S Hephaestus, leave a message and I'll see if I can bear to drag myself away from whatever utterly engaging task I must be doing to not notice my comms--"
BZZZZZZZ
Action | Text | Voice | Video
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The quote makes him actually pause, though, and take a moment to actually try and think about what Elias is saying.
It's all a bit... much. More believable than it would have been this time last year when he was pre-hearing his own voice come from a radio because ALIENS and pre-space jail prison ship redux, but there's something that sticks out there.]
That... dooooeeesn't really sound like you're doing much reigning there, Eli. Kinda sounds more like Norman the doorman.
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No. Here I am. Changing my ways. Turning over a new leaf.
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Okay, but what I'm hearing is, on last week's episode of The Bouch-elor, you gave Chuck [why does the Eye insist that name in fact means Cthulhu] a smooch behind the bleachers, but you didn't get the rose. [There's a moment's pause as he takes another drag.] And then you got merked.
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[Is this a bad idea? Almost definitely. This is giving Elias permission and that means something bad is probably going to happen isn't it.]
Y...eeeees? Um- okay, sure. Hit me?
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but there's no physical force behind it. he just reaches into Eiffel's mind and implants a memory. it's not simply a knowledge of events. he wants eiffel to feel all there is of being stabbed to death. the pain of it. the agony. the--
"It's over," says the Archive, a man quite similar to the Jonathan Sims on the barge.
"Yes, I suppose it must be," he responds.
-- a fraction of a second is enough for elias to realise he's given eiffel more of the memory than he wanted. but it's already playing out, and eiffel won't know what elias was thinking, he'll only feel the physical sensations of it all, like --
the quiet emptiness in the back of his mind where Knowledge has flowed though for months. the faint wrong echoes of a world where phyics and sound exist only in senice of fear. the sudden lance of pain and heat as the knife disregards his skin.
his own voice. quieter than the rush of blood in his ears but unmistakably his. unmistakably afraid
-- the effort of sharing the memory drains elias. his cigarette drops from lax fingers, his hands grab uselessly at the railing before he slumps to his knees, spots swimming before his eyes ]
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And then - he's not. He's- someone else, picking himself up from the floor to face- Jon, the Archivist, his Archivist, beating the shit out of him.
P-Please John... He coughs, rough and wet. I don’t want to die.
Neither did they.
The sense of the knife slipping between his ribs is icy cold, vicious, and the sharp heat of blood and sudden loss of pressure makes him cough, ragged and wet and fear wells hard and fast as the impossible world fades away...
...and when the memory lets him go Eiffel is still coughing, doubled over on his hands and knees, heaving and wretching with one hand white-knuckled gripping at his chest where the knife went in, where the Decima ravaged and suffocated him, but the only thing spilling from his mouth is saliva, and his shaking hands go to his throat as his breathing finally begins to-- not even out, but it turns slowly into deeper, wheezing breaths, as that memory of fear and dying crystallises into his own mortal terror.]
Wh-what-- [Speaking still hurts, ribs still twinging with the phantom stab and the real coughing fit.] What- th-the fuck?!
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So why think about the worst moment of his life? why relive hearing that fear in his voice? the way he had begged? how he had utterly failed to predict what the Archivist would do, or how the state of affairs was unsustainable, or even his own fear at --
his failure mocks him, as all his failures on the barge mock him. flawed. unacceptable. worth nothing but scorn and contempt
which this idiot was now aware of.
he tries to stand, ends up resting all his weight on the railing ]
I think-- I believe -- that's. enough for one day.
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When words do manage to make it between the pain and the breathlessness, they're monosyllabic at best, and the fear is still clear in his tremulous words.]
Sure. Y-yeah. Let's... t'morr'w. Okay. Hoooookay. [He takes a long breath and a disgustingly wet sniff.] Try... t'take. Iteezy. Okay...?
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[ it takes longer than he wants, which is to say it takes more time than immediately before Elias feels stable enough on his feet to let go of the railing.
his voice sounds shaky in his own ears. he needs to leave ]
I'll-- see you then.