#this is basically mag 132 from the web's perspective

[lexbiini]

Uncoffined

@a-mag-a-day I'm being Extremely Normal about the tapes today.

—

[I’m scared? When does the fear go away?... A-Anyway, I’m sorry.]

'Understanding' never was Beholding's strong suit, and much less with an Archivist who was impulsive and reckless and arrogant and oh-so-quick to throw himself out into the gutter for a misguided concept of 'doing good'. He never did give himself enough time to think things through, never grasped that he might need it; the difference between knowing and comprehending. Always too caught up in the big picture to understand the details. I suppose, in many ways, that is the role we play in this particular thread of history, if the wordplay will be excused. We are happy enough to help the Watcher, as long as it will behave and not make trouble.

[Inside of that wooden coffin, there was a staircase. It went down, apparently into the ground below, and seemed to go on as deep as I could see.]

A rib. It was funny at first, and then it was not funny anymore, not when the Archivist actually went through with it and thought it would be enough. Funny for an Archivist to give such importance to matters of flesh and bone. We almost wanted to leave him there, trapped deep below creation, a nifty little solution to set Jonah's plan back at least several years. But he was at least smart enough to take a recorder with him, and Choke did not deserve to have him. He is Ours.

[I can feel the knowledge pushing at my mind, eager to find a way in. But I don’t want it. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see.]

So tape recorders slowly started to show up in the Archives. In the storage rooms. On the floor. In Cupboards. On the floor. But they never could make it on top of the coffin— never, in all of their threading and playing and spinning and spooling, could get hold of their sibling inside.

[I think he thinks that the distance keeps us safe, you know? Like, like, if he just makes sure that we’re not involved, we’re somehow fine.]

He understood quick enough, the Lonely Spinner, when the recorders began to pile up on his desk, to take them back. He stacked them high and left them running, and sat on the ground, filling the Archives with a thick, heavy fog and leaving the recorders and the wooden floor tear-stained.

[We were speeding towards the scene, but couldn’t do anything but listen to it over the radio.]

Their voices wove together beautifully; the Archivist's and the Hunter's and the Lonely Spinner's and the Detective's. Their web stretched far and below and grasped its threads right around its missing link and pulled it closer within its entombment.

The rib lay inert in a desk drawer. The detective burst into the room— one missing tape spooling away her name on her desk, pulling her and the Hunter ever closer.

[Elias is keeping me busy. Hunting. Takes a while. I’m used to working with a partner... It’s fine.]

The Archivist was left to turn the tape recorders off. Thread by thread he undid the web that had been his salvation.

The last was left running until the end.

[We really need you, Jon. Everything’s – It’s bad. I-I don’t know how much longer we can do this. We – I need you.]

He always was a bit sentimental. He should hold on to it— it might just be what we need.