(no subject)

[magnus_archivist]

The door opens, nudged slowly by a foot in sensible and (somewhat) fashionable leather loafers. A man who clearly at some point knew what 'upper management' office wear in a fairly image-conscious facility was supposed to wear but who had to buy both on a budget and in a bit of a hurry backs through the door, balancing a large stack of paper files in his arms, topped by a tape recorder.

"No I... look, it's fine, I'll just... no, no, Martin, don't, I don't need... no it's... yes, a cup of tea would be fine, thank you." He huffs, teetering on the edge of trying to be polite and utterly exasperated as he retreats through the door.

It's only when it closes that he realizes that this isn't his office.

Welcome to Milliways, Jonathan Sims.

Comments

[the_cupbearer]

"Little lost?" asks a voice, lilting and foreign and accompanied by the subtle pop of a cork from a wine bottle.

It's probably the fourth or fifth Ganymede's drunk today, the evidence neatly lined up by where he's sitting across an easy chair. He's still stone sober despite those efforts, regrettably. "Might want to put the papers down before you drop them."

[magnus_archivist]

"Yes I... yes." Jon doesn't do flustered terribly well, his words tripping and stilted (as he does his best to not actually trip with his arms full of files). "I seem to have made a wrong turning... somewhere. A very..."

He trails off, blinking at the bra pinned up over the bar. Somehow he doesn't think that's Elias'.

"Very wrong turning. Yes."

[the_cupbearer]

"More likely the door interrupted your route, don't fret," Ganymede says, voice placid as ever.

"It likes to do that on occasion. You're welcome to the table there," he mentions, nodding at the mostly-empty coffee table between them. It has a corkscrew lying on it and an empty plate, but nothing else.

[magnus_archivist]

"I'm sorry, it likes? To... what, kidnap people?" For someone who has, theoretically, been kidnapped, Jon sounds less frightened and more... decidedly put out about the whole thing. One might even say salty. He wouldn't, but there you go. He does, however, set the stack and tape recorder on the table and shakes out his arms. There's a reason digital files are better, Gertrude. Your arms not feeling like they want to fall off is one of them.

[the_cupbearer]

"Of course to kidnap people. How else would we all get here?" Ganymede chuckles, bringing the wineglass to his lips as he watches Jon set his things down.

"She means little harm, really. The bar just likes to bring new people every so often. Drink?" he asks, holding out an unfilled-until-now glass.

[magnus_archivist]

Jon wasn't hired to be Head Archivist for nothing.

(Actually, there's some very... good? Very pertinent reasons Jon is Archivist, none of which he is aware of, and all are definitely sure to piss him off later, but that is for some other time.)

Anyway, right now, he believes it is due to the fact that he tends to pay attention to things - wording, context, important things like that.

That and he's nosy as hell, but that's not something one puts so plainly on a resume.

"Err..." He eyes the drink warily, forgoing the more traditional answers about being on the clock and such as they seem a touch ridiculous at the moment. "What would I owe?"

Because he was a researcher for the Magnus Archives for years now, and yeah, while no one has proven the Fair Folk are real, there's enough parallels here that he's not going to just take food.

[the_cupbearer]

At that, Ganymede's eyebrows go up, and he laughs, shaking his head and still holding out the glass. Can't say he's gotten that one in a long while.

"Considering it's my wine, nothing. You'll be fine."

[magnus_archivist]

Jon cannot for the life of him remember if his phrasing was correct, but it doesn't feel like something that left too many loopholes. He supposes there's really only one way to find out, right?

"Well, then... um." For a moment there is the weight of the things he should be doing - there's an absolutely endless stack of boxes that need opening and sorting and dear lord he does not even actually care if Martin cries if he finds one more spider it is dead...

He takes the glass.

"Thank you, then. Cheers. I'm Jon, by the way."

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede smiles and lifts his own glass, filled with a deep red wine that's surprisingly fruity and sweet.

"Şerefe," he chuckles. "Nice to meet you, Jon."

[mogget_cat]

It is certainly not Jon's office.

For one, it's a bar, and two, there's a cat in here, and it's gotten up on the furniture, too. It is lounging on the bar like it owns the place, as cats do, and watching the newcomer with mild interest.

[magnus_archivist]

What... what the...

Jon is... monstrously confused. And more than a little alarmed, though he feels fine, so that... that counts, right?

Surely.

Still.

These files haven't become any less heavy, and standing here aimlessly isn't going to improve matters any, so.

So Jon takes his stack, and his recorder, and his confused self to the bar, and addresses himself to the only intelligent-looking being in sight.

"Well hello there, you've acquired yourself quite a bed, haven't you? Hope you don't mind sharing."

Look, he misses his ex's cat, okay? Shut up.

[mogget_cat]

The white cat - why yes, he's quite proud of his vantage point and napping place, thank you for noticing - blinks calmly at the archivist, quite unperturbed at sharing his space.

He is a generous creature, truly.

Though it admits to being a curious creature as well, as the cat does lean just enough to sniff with idle curiosity at the nearest corner of the stack of papers, before settling back down again. The scent reminds him of the Clayr's great Library.

[magnus_archivist]

"Needn't bother with those - most likely just hysterical recountings of the over-excited, I expect." Jon... is disturbed about the lack of academic rigor enforced in the choosing of who gets to make a statement. Honestly, he's going to have to throw out so much stuff, it will be ridiculous.

"Though after this, I'll have to make a statement. This doesn't seem like something Elias would set up." Even if, thinking about it, it might be nice to have an office cat. Bookstores have cats, after all. An archive is sort of like a bookstore. Sort of.

[mogget_cat]

A good cat in the archives could keep down the risk of rodents or other pests making nests in the stacks of old papers, certainly.

A good not'cat in the archives could keep down the risk of other pests making nests in the stacks, as well.

The cat yawns at him, licking its whiskers with a very pink tongue. Jon is right, clearly. Those records aren't worth bothering about. Probably a waste of time. But in case there might be something of interest, the cat is a relatively good listener. And soft, too.

Though also... a bit peckish. The cat sniffs at the bar counter, clearly in the attitude of a cat who desires something.

A moment later, a small saucer of milk appears on the wooden counter top. The cat makes a small noise of enthusiasm before lapping at the drink.

[magnus_archivist]

Jon startles, sending a couple folders sliding off their perch, taking the tape recorder with it. He doesn't notice that the dang thing has turned itself on as he hurries to re-capture everything, setting it firmly back on top of the stack (like that's supposed to do something).

"You know, I don't think it's a very good idea to just eat something spirited out of thin air." He points out, not that he expects a cat to listen to reason in the face of a saucer of milk. He knows when he's outclassed.

[mogget_cat]

Even if cats might not know (or, usually, care to listen to) the words being spoken to them, they know when they're being addressed. The cat pauses in its drinking, its ears perked and green eyes attentive from the fallout of Jon's surprise, and blinks at him.

It licks its whiskers again, still watching Jon. The milk seems perfectly good to it. Milk had been what the cat wanted, and the bar had provided. As good bars do.

[magnus_archivist]

"I mean, you've already had some, you might as well have the rest." Jon huffs, holding up his hands. "Don't come to me when you're captured by fairies or something, or whatever this place is run by."

[forgottenmotley]

"What sort of tea," the man in the bottle green coat and top hat, colorful patches adorning each, amber eyes just visible under the hat's shadow. He rested his hands on the top of a walking still with a tarnished brass knob. He speaks in the accent of whomever the listener fears most, which is, of course, different for everyone.

But his expression is politely pleasant and he's not making any hostile actions. The confused look on Sims' face is politely ignored.

[magnus_archivist]

Look, the Magnus Institute gets some... interesting characters at the doors at times. It's the sort of place that just attracts the weird, even (especially) when they're unwanted.

Jon sighs, shifting his stack of folders just enough so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. He's going to have a raging migraine if this keeps up.

"The persistently unwanted sort. How did you get back here?" If one of the receptionists really let this guy back, he's going to have an absolute fit.

[forgottenmotley]

He frowns just briefly with thought, "Tea that's barely seen some tea leaves?" That's sort of tea he figures people would persistently not want. He knows he wouldn't want it.

Have they met before?

Not that the last time he checked.

Considering time is strange here, perhaps this man has met him already and this is the first time he's meeting him. Makes about as much sense as anything else. "The same way everyone else did; through the door."

[magnus_archivist]

Jon unceremoniously drops his stack of statements and their folders onto a nearby table, sighing.

"Right, then you'd best be on your way, the Institute isn't open to the public." He's hoping to make due with a stern voice - Jon's never been what you'd call a big man.

[forgottenmotley]

He grins. "We're not in the Institute. Whatever that is," he said. "So no."

Now that's settled, he's going to limp over to see what the files are all about.

Also, he nudges the closest wait rat to get the man some really, really, really, really, really weak tea. Like really weak.

[magnus_archivist]

Jon steps in his path, blocking the way to the files.

"No. What part of 'not for the public' do you not understand?" He asks, peeved. Sure, he's not a huge fan of these particular statements at the moment, as they are defying all attempts at digital storage, but that doesn't mean they're for everyone!

[forgottenmotley]

He rocks on his feet, using the walking stick for balance, staring up the ceiling of the bar, thinking. Then he looks back at the man.

"Exactly what are we saying 'not for the public' is?" he asks. "The Bar, this institute of yours or the papers?"

Because he will accept 'no' for the latter two but not for the first.

[magnus_archivist]

"'We' aren't saying anything. I am saying no. You are being argumentative." Jon clarifies, dourly.