burntvideocassette

Both.
One of them even used to run a little detective agency here.

It was very cute.

["Very cute." If Tim and his Mirror are this different, at least in the way they talk (well, write), then Jay's not looking forward to meeting his own. Doppelganger plots always unsettled him. Hell, even seeing a familiar actor playing against type sometimes unsettled him.

Now that he's had a chance to...well, like the Mirror said, "breathe", he wants to get right back into it. He wants "Mr. Wrong" to tell him everything he knows about that thing and how it followed them here. But he doesn't want what happened before to happen again, not if he can help it.

After a moment of silence, Jay looks back up at the mirror.]

Look, do you have any way of telling me about...y'know, that, without...

[He kneads at his head briefly, miming a headache. He and Tim never came up with a language for this kind of stuff. They didn't really need to, and if Jay's honest, he doubts either of them wanted to.]

[He never did learn his lesson at all, did he? Even now. Still asking after the thing that would and has destroyed him. But the Mirror is proving more talkative, and so he has Jay's attention. For now.]

Maybe we should work out a system.
Certain words still have power here.

[Knowing his luck, as soon as they figure out words that work, it'll evade those as well. Or make them forget. Jay tries to keep his voice even, casual, tries to mask his concern.]

What d'you have in mind?

Give it a name.
Something only you know.

[This may very well have the exact opposite effect that Jay wants. But if it widens the gulf between him and the Real Tim, it's worth it. That's the endgame, here.

That's what It needs.]

[A few names come to mind--no, one in particular. There's a familiarity to it, like he's seen it before, but he can't place where.]

Wait, but why--how does this help us talk about it?

Isolated from context, even God loses His power.
Without the memories of what fueled them, even the strongest of things wither and die.

[That thing in the window, shadowed in the woods. God?

No.

Gods.]

[Jay checks the corners, checks the shadows. Nothing. Nothing yet.]

Then...why does it make us forget?

[Smart. Smart boy.]

Do you fear it less for having forgotten?
Or more?

[The air around him is thicker, Jay thinks. Is that different from before?]

I don't know. I don't know what it would've been like if I hadn't forgotten.

But I'm afraid to forget.

So name it, but do not fear its name.

[Hold it to yourself, clasp it over your chest, let it work into your chest and wick beneath your skin like candle-flame. Burning into your blood. Clinging to your lungs.

Live with it, with everything you are.]

[He knows what name to give it. A name for invisible puppet strings, for the way it burrows its fingers into the cracks in your skull like roots and the way it weighs heavy in your lungs. A name whispered to him by an old friend.]

Is it the fear that fuels it, or the name?

Both, if you're not careful.

[Fear of the name increases far of the thing itself, and so on and so forth. As it is written.]

So the trick is...not to fear the name.

[Jay feels something prickling at the edge of his consciousness, like a limb that had fallen asleep.]

Easier said than done.

When you're small, everything scares you.
The trees, the shadows, the thunder, the lightning.
But you learn what they are and how they work, and eventually, they aren't scary anymore.

[Of course, those things are natural, and the thing in question is really, really not.]

[He gets it. Four and a half years spent chasing ghosts with a camcorder and a folding knife, all because there was something on those tapes that Jay didn't understand.

Jay remembers sitting on the floor of a dorm room, lit only by an old thrift store TV screen playing Lynch or Kubrick or something, while Alex leans over to Seth and says it like he's had a revelation. People are scared of what they don't understand. That's just the way they work.

Jay needs to understand.]

And you've...reached that point with this?

[You're not scared anymore?]

[The Mirror smiles. Oh, Jay. He was never scared of the one thing he knew he could serve better than anyone.]

It's difficult, at first.
But you get better with time.

[Practice makes perfect. He's talking about it like it's something manageable, something you can deal with if you just figure out how.

Awful lot like Real Tim, actually.]

And then it, what? Just...leaves you alone?

[Can it get bored?]

I couldn't tell you.

[He's a Tim too, after all. He's a source all his own. He simply learned to accept it, instead of running from it the way the Real him did, pushing everything else back. As if that would be enough to hide from It.]

[So he's still dealing with it. Even with everything he knows, he's still dealing with it.

Jay sighs, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.]

Look, if you need any help staying away from that thing, or--or finding somebody who's gone missing, just...

[Just what? He never found Amy, he never found Jessica, he only barely found Alex, and even with all his hotel-hopping and sleeping in cars, it still found him. It always found him.

When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, duller.]

...just let me know.

[The sad default of Jay's existence, once again. The status quo loathes to be dispelled, jealous creature as it is. He cannot unseat the hierarchy of Its mental hold. Gods require worship, and they require sacrifice.

It's for the best that Jay cannot see his face. The smile would crack and splinter the entire exchange and leave it pieces at their feet.]

Of course.
And the same goes to you, Jay.

And thanks, really.

[Jay dips his head, uncomfortable. He's not used to people being so helpful. He's not used to thanking them.]

If I need to get a hold of you, do I...what? Just start talking to a mirror?

If I'm not around, you know how to leave a message.

[The writing works both ways, even if it's not strictly necessary most of the time. Most of the time. It's like leaving a voicemail.

Only he's not Alex Kralie, and he'll be answering it.]

[He knows how to...? Oh, writing on the mirror. That makes sense. He sets the marker from before on a desk near the mirror.]

So, uh...see you around, I guess.

["See" isn't exactly the right word here, but he'll get the gist, right?]

Be seeing you.

[Success. To start with, in any case. Paranoia is never that easy to disassemble, but he has a foot in the door where his Real likely has none. That's enough, for now.]

IC Inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject