Working in Artefact Storage means a lot of note-taking. I am given a list of items to write up reports on, and that is the start. I do not have all that much to say about a good portion of our supposed artefacts, there is so much junk with the occasional twinkle here and there. Nothing to be of concern to a power like the Eye. The more dangerous objects require more time and energy from me, and I always find I have so much more to say. I never felt exhilaration like this with the Lonely. It feels like a breath on the back of my neck or someone watching me sleep, and I can't say I hate it. What a strange thing! After being so Alone for so long, the constant company is so different. I think I almost enjoy it. It might just be the change of scenery, but I think sometimes I might just be happy. I often wonder if I would be happy with a different entity or if I feel this way because of the Beholding alone. Why was I sought out? I do not think I am particularly good at my job. I have little experience with the Leitner's. It just seems like I have the edge of having grown up with the influence of the Lonely, and I do not scare as easily as some of the other people here. What did he see in me?
The more time that passes, I find Elias having me look into objects of increasing power. Gone are the days of mouse traps and toilet paper. Occasionally he assigns me objects more associated with the Eye, but it feels like a test when he does. He calls me into his office to report on my findings and explain any holes he feels my written reports may have had. He likes to rip into my papers. The whispers of artefacts become familiar to me. I find there is so much to see and to write, and the more I write, the smaller they become.
I am writing up a report on a book of final thoughts. It is clearly associated with the end as it details people's dying thoughts and elegies. I suppose in the typical victim it invokes a sense of mortality and paranoia. Is it wrong of me to find some of these entertaining? It feels like edgy people-watching, and I love people watching. On the way to the institute this morning, I was grabbing myself a latte. As I was waiting for my drink, a man asked out the barista. She smiled, withdrawing her hand from his drink: "I have a girlfriend." Then he kept trying, and it was absolutely ridiculous. Her eyes locked with mine a moment. She turned back pouring oat milk into my latte, and then called out my drink with a shout: "Iced Latte with Caramel and Oatmilk!" The man winced, leaning away from the counter.
I flashed my teeth at the man as I grabbed my drink. "Thank you, dear! Are we still on for tonight?" The man scoffed and stomped away. She breathed a sigh and mouthed a thank you to me as I left. When I got into work and Martin saw me, he asked me what my drink was today, I told him it was a London Fog. His eyes lit up at that. That boy and his tea.
So many last moments were just so banal. They were so mundane it was entertaining. Call me a bad person, but yeah. It feels a little wrong to laugh at people's final moments, but. This one guy, whose name was Guy Stephen by the way–yeah he had two first names–had claustrophobia and died in an elevator. As he was dying, he bemoaned the lack of imagination from the universe in his execution. I think the Beholding and other entities revel in the spectacle of human folly. I really would like a cup of tea right now. Perhaps I will take this report to Elias early. Ugh, he is totally going to say at least one degrading comment about the unpolishedness of this but still. It would be nice to talk to him after all this time alone I suppose.
I arrive outside his office and Rosie waves at me. "He's waiting for you." She looks away to note something down on a piece of paper.
I crack his door open, pausing. I hear a throat clearing, and I step in. I have my back to him as I close the door. I have this habit of holding doors until they close. I like closing them with care. It's one of the things that I feel need not be loud.
"How is it that you are both early and late?" The first of many digs to be made I am sure.
He balances his chin on a hand, and there is no point in defending myself. "I finished with the Last Rites Leitner as asked."
He exhales and holds out an expectant hand, "You are such a liar." I pass him my report, and he flips through it with the speed of a turkey being chased by a child. He puts the paper down on his desk and pours me a cup of tea, the water is still hot. Rosie did say he expected me. "Do you intend to destroy this one?"
I watch the steam rise off the cup he has poured for me, he holds it hostage on his desk. That bitch. "If that is what you would ask of me."
He stirs a small serving of honey into the cup. I must be Tantalus from myth. I am a victim. Give me what I came for.
"Where is your sense of independence? Isn't that what you wanted? What do you think you should do? And there needs to be some kind of reason. I would like you to have a reason, Helen." I hate him so much. He's so right.
He sets the spoon aside, and my tea still moves with the memory of his touch. What do I think? "It exercises control over others from an entity that is not the Eye, why keep it? The potential for future use against the Eye is just another edge another fear could have on us." I look into his eyes as I speak, and for once I do not stumble over my justification. I really am getting better at this. "Destroying it is also about maintaining mystery. The pursuit of knowing is not something we wish to be widespread. It is about distribution, is it not? Why keep it? It's just another thing that can be turned against us one day. We want to be underestimated, not actually less."
He passes me the cup. "Good enough for me." He gives me structure in a way that feels like freedom, and I cannot figure out if this is an act of manipulation to make me stronger or something else entirely. I do not mind it. He isn't so bad. He also is not the worst to look at. He has nice eyes.
I close my eyes and take a sip. Lady Grey. He bought my tea. Why is he so good at being manipulative? I adore my cruel Elias tea breaks.
"Our Archivist is going to need your assistance regarding some Leitners soon."
Our game is he playing at? He is playing on a board of a game I don't know, and I am playing tic tac toe.
"What kind?"
"Guess you will have to wait and see." He takes my cup from my hands. He pulls it away with a gentle motion, but his hands are stuck fast to it. There was still a sip or two left. I cannot help the disappointment that surely seeps from my lips as I watch him steal the last of my tea. I worked so hard for it.
A clear dismissal. I leave his office, and I wish Rosie a good morning as I leave. She stifles a giggle. At least someone appreciates me!
She wishes me a goodnight, and I head home for the evening. I need rest if I am going to have to deal with that man soon. Jon Sims. His denial of the supernatural is brittle and irritating. He is going to break one day, and I am curious which way he will shatter. If only he knew!
