FAA

=><= According to legend, there's a cat that lives in the institute... ##[[Felines and Archives|begin]] --- [[Begin|begin]] ---

According to legend, there's a cat that lives in the institute. Well... it's not a //legend// exactly. There is definitely a cat lurking around the place, solid and real, it's only that it's a hard creature to track down. Most people, including Jon, have never even caught a glimpse of it. But when there's an aloof, sneaky predator roaming the halls of a paranormal institute it's practically obligatory that people start making up stories surrounding it. It almost always comes up when [[lunches get stolen|sandwich]] or reports aren’t filed. Though there was one memorable occasion when an artifact on its way to storage was found laying shattered on the ground. Jon still cannot believe [[no one was fired for that.|gargoyle]] (link-reveal:"Jon's asked around ")[ — only when the topic comes up organically, of course — ] and the cat does seem to have been around for [[as long as anyone can remember|painting]] or, at least since 1965. The year [[Gertrude Robinson was promoted to Head Archivist.|Gertrude]]

Tim won’t hear any nay sayers on the topic. Sure, he couldn’t tell you anything about the make or model of the little beast but he knows what he saw and he had the grumbling stomach to prove it. It was a quiet day in the canteen and he was just doing his thing, waiting for his (link-reveal:"lunch buddy to arrive. ")[—Not an actual buddy, since he hadn’t made plans to meet up, but there’s always someone who likes his company. For example:] He heard someone call his name and looked up from his homemade paperbag lunch, already armed with a smile at the ready, to see one of the (link:"librarians")[(link:"Betty?")[(link:"Betsy?")[(link:"Brenda?")[Brenda!]]]] shooting him a small wave. Tim turned around in his chair for a quick chat. Catching up, like friends do. Five minutes. Five minutes tops. He looked away for //five minutes// when something soft, like silk, brushed the back of his arm and a cream colored blur jumped silently off the side of Tim’s table. His head snapped down to follow it, perplexed, but the thing darted under tables, chairs, always only just on the verge of being seen, like it had calculated the route stealthy as a ninja, fast as a bullet. “Did anyone see that?” Tim asked, bemused. (link-reveal:"He looked down at the table. ")[(link-reveal: " Chips,")[(link-reveal:" drink,")[(link-reveal:" napkin,")[(text-colour:#e85555)[ SyntaxError - ItemMissing (''.sandwich'')] [[“Hey! Where’s my—”|sandwich II]]]]]]

There's a painting in the Director's office, dated 1892, of a long haired cat sitting regally on top of a desk in the institute. Oh, the wallpaper has changed and the desk has been updated, but the windows and frame are unmistakable. It was certainly created by someone with very real talent. It perfectly details the shimmer of a smoke cat; the silver roots of its fur highlighting the cream tips and gradually darkening face. Despite the cat’s slitted pupils, its gray eyes seem to take in the room at every angle, [[always following, always scrutinizing.|Painting Eyes]] Probably a quirky prank on the Director’s part, though the canvas does seem to have the authentic appearance of age. Jon, (link-reveal:"who recognizes and acknowledges fine art,")[ (and does not have a bias for cat portraits. He would have just as much appreciation for art of the founder himself, were it hanging in the office. …probably.)] is particularly enamored with it, though he’s only seen it twice; once during his job interview a couple years back and, more recently, when he was [[promoted to Head Archivist.|promotion]]

Sasha rolls her eyes at the tall tales, not that she hasn't been one to indulge in [[such stories,|gargoyle]] but she knows for a fact that the cat spends most of its time in the Archives. Occam's razor: the cat belonged to Gertrude Robinson, [[may she rest in peace.|promotion]] Why Gertrude was allowed to keep a pet on the premises Sasha doesn't know but having been on the wrong end of Gertrude's withering glare, she can take a guess that it wasn't because she asked nicely.

Rotten luck. It wasn’t even a tuna sandwich, the little thief! What sort of self-respecting apex predator goes for ham and cheese? Well, at least Tim has a story to show for it, even if it’s [[not as cool as Sasha’s.|gargoyle]]

It happened ages ago, right around the time Sasha had first started her hellish stint in Artifact Storage. There was a gargoyle statue brought in, donated by an anonymous source. Supposedly it hypnotized anyone who stared at it too long; sent them into a trance. Sasha drew the short straw and was forced to test it out. Immediately she felt like the walls were closing in on her. Literally. Her vision tunneled until all she could see were the flat stone eyes of the statue. She wanted to scream for help, but it was like the air was strangled out of her and try as she might, she couldn’t get her lungs to expand and take more in. A heavy weight squeezed her in and she felt as though she was being squashed by an invisible force. She tried to flail and get someone’s attention, but her arms were pinned to her sides. Crushed against her. She became lightheaded and sure that the pressure was going to pulverizes her. The next thing she knew a heavy weight landed on her shoulder, something sharp pierced her skin. She thought she was being attacked, but it was there and gone in a second. A blur of [[dark and white |painting]] went zipping past her as the thing spring boarded off her collar and crashed into the gargoyle. All at once the pressure stopped and she could breath again, she could move. Her co-workers grabbed onto her before she could fall and they all watched as the thing hissed at the broken statue before dashing out of the room. Sasha’s ninety-nine percent sure it was a cat shaped blur. She didn’t get a good look at it, but she does know a cat when she sees one. Even a blink-and-you-miss-it cat. Sasha stares dumbly after it, bemusedly offering, “thanks?”

Two weeks after Gertrude's passing Jon is called into the (link-reveal:"directors office.")[ "Mr. Wright? You asked to see me?" "Please, call me James, and take a seat. As you know, we are still looking to fill the position of Head Archivist. I see you haven’t put your name in for consideration. Why is that, Jon?" "I considered it, but..." But the fear of failure got the better of him; being passed over because he wasn't (link:"qualified enough ")[(link:"experienced enough ")[(link:"clever enough. ")[(link-reveal:"good enough.")[ "Yes?" James prompts. Jon licks his lips, mouth dry. He can’t tell him the truth. “I wasn’t sure.” Jon says. (link-reveal:"The director smiles.")[ "You've been with us a few years now. Your performance reviews show consistent growth, dedication, and a solid work ethic. Was there some reason you didn't believe yourself capable of filling Gertrude’s shoes?" "I... suppose not, no." "And I quite agree. Presuming you feel up to the task of additional responsibilities? The Archives will need considerable updating given Gertrude's... rather unique methodology. (link-reveal:"Old fashioned, I suppose.")[" "…Of-of course." "And you will need to bring in a new team." "A new team?" "You didn't think Gertrude worked alone all those years?" "Well..." "I see something in you, Jonathan Sims, and would be pleased offer you the opportunity. [[If you're interested?|overwhelmed]]" ]]]]]]]

An optical illusion, of course. One made all the more unsettling by the general… atmosphere of the institute. Which is not a childish flight of fancy. Ask anyone, employee or visitor, and they will say: there’s something about the building that [[always seems to be watching.|promotion]]

There’s a spiderweb in the corner of the painting. Modest. Unobtrusive. It could be a flaw in the paint or an imperfection on the canvas. It's a simple thing, created by a simple creature, centuries ago. It has had many occupants throughout the years. A spider, small as an easer tip, (t8n-depart:"blur")+(t8n-arrive:"blur")+(t8n-time:3.0s)[[sits in the center.|eyes look out]]

Jon's office belongings are packed within the hour and, despite it being six pm and the workday officially ended, he begins moving his things downstairs to his new office. To the basement floor where the Archive department is located. Jon's new department, as officially instated Head Archivist. He swallows down a giddy rush of excitement at the unexpected promotion. His //salaried// promotion. His //name on the bosses door// promotion. His //gets to choose his own staff// promotion. Of course, he hasn't told the others yet, Tim or Sasha. Technically they don't work in the Archives until they've accepted the position and signed documents for the transfer, but Jon has no doubt they'll be just as enthusiastic as he is. With his hands full Jon has to use his elbow to [[turn on the light.|lights]]

It's cold. Jon suspects the heater hasn't been turned on once in the weeks since Gertrude's death. The archives are beginning to take on the musty smell of an unused room. It is, admittedly, unsettling. From the corner of his eye Jon sees a dark shape emerge in his periphery, low to the ground and moving slowly across the wall. His heart skips a beat, a shock of adrenaline making his breath catch. He clenches the box tightly in his hands, pulling it close to his chest like a shield. He freezes, straining his ears to listen for the sound of what could be casting the shadow… Even as it grows larger on the wall, moving steadily nearer, Jon hears nothing. Does it know he's here? The door to Jon's new office is open. If he hurries he can make it inside and [[lock himself in,|hide]] call security — or the cops! — and report trespassers. He isn't exactly [[built for heroics,|brave]] taking on burglars without any backup to speak of.

Jon crosses the room, making it to his office from one heartbeat to the next. He swings the door shut, wincing at the noise, and quickly engages the lock. He leans his back against the door. Jon can feel his pulse pounding in his ears, adrenaline making his body shiver. He holds himself absolutely still and silent, breathlessly waiting to see [[what the trespasser will do in response.|nothing happens]]

Jon takes a shaky breath, squares his shoulders and straightens his spine. He clears his throat. "H-hello? Is-- who's here? This is private property and you're trespassing." Jon says, pausing for a moment, on high alert, waiting for a response. Ahead of him his eyes land on [[the open door to Gertrude Robinson's office.|GR office wo collar]] No. No, not //Gertrude's// office. His office. This is //his// department. With no small amount of chagrin Jon continues, "and no one is allowed in my archives, regardless. Unless you have an appointment?" he mocks. The shadow stops moving, holding itself just as still as Jon is. With a surge of courage Jon turns his head to face the dark shape and says, "if you leave now, I won't call the cops." In reply, the shadow springs suddenly upwards, jumping from the ground and casting its shadow halfway up the wall; five limbs and two horns adorning its top. Jon's heart stops for just a second, even as his brain registers what in the world he's looking at, recognizing the unmistakable silhouette for what it is. The shadow settles itself behind the creature casting it and a [[small smile twitches Jon's lips.|cat]]

The seconds tick by like hours, but (link:"nothing happens.")[ (link:"nothing continues to happen.")[ (link:"silence.")[...is this a good thing?]]] There are no voices shouting or footsteps charging. He sets his box on the floor and fumbles for his phone, unsure of what to do. The longer the silence stretches the less certain he is that calling for help will be a good idea. It's not even his first day and already he'll be causing problems if the police arrive and find no one. If the threat has passed... Jon lets out the breath he's been holding. He can't quite shake the itch in the back of his mind telling him that he is not alone in the archives, but he doesn't know if it's worth listening to or not; it's easy enough to rationalize that being in a building after hours, especially one he's used to being packed full of people, is inherently unsettling. The fact that this floor has been abandoned for weeks only amplifies the feeling. Jon runs his fingers through his hair and [[glances tiredly around his new office.|GR Office w collar]] The silence is deafening and the lingering anticlimax is beginning to make him feel foolish and somewhat put out that his excitement at having won the promotion lottery is being ruined. Jon decides to take a quick peek outside, opening the door a sliver and [[peering through the crack.|look outside]]

The shadow is still there, unmoving. Now that his thoughts aren't whirling themselves into a panic, Jon can see that it doesn't look anything like the outline of a person. Jon frowns, opening the door another inch as he realizes it looks almost like [[the silhouette of a—|shadow pounce]]

The office looks like a mad woman tore through it on a holy crusade to become a career hoarder. Manilla folders, with nothing to distinguish one from the next, are stacked up half of Jon's height like Jenga towers on the floor. Bookcases with books shoved haphazardly on the shelves, crammed in wherever they could fit. Loose sheets of paper scattered on the desk or shoved into overfull and unlabeled boxes. There must be hundreds of documents on the floor, creased and torn. There's a thin collar hanging from a desk lamp. A simple black cord with a small bell pendant and a tag that reads only 'J.M.' Chaos. Controlled chaos? God, he hopes so. Not that it would do him any good, unless she left a manual explaining the method of her madness. It's not that Jon subscribes to anything as rigid as 'cleanliness is godliness' but surely a line has been crossed here. He doesn't know where to begin to sort the prioritized files from the busy work. Jon realizes, on top of his duties as Head Archivist, he will be expected to play janitor. He might have made a mistake only requesting Tim and Sasha. [[It looks like a small army will be in order.|nothing happens II]]

The seconds tick by like hours, but (link:"nothing happens.")[ (link:"nothing continues to happen.")[ (link:"silence.")[...is this a good thing?]]] There are no voices shouting or footsteps charging. He sets his box on the floor and fumbles for his phone, unsure of what to do. The longer the silence stretches the less certain he is that calling for help will be a good idea. It's not even his first day and already he'll be causing problems if the police arrive and find no one. If the threat has passed... Jon lets out the breath he's been holding. He can't quite shake the itch in the back of his mind telling him that he is not alone in the archives, but he doesn't know if it's worth listening to or not; it's easy enough to rationalize that being in a building after hours, especially one he's used to being in when it's packed full of people, is inherently unsettling. The fact that this floor has been abandoned for weeks only amplifies the feeling. Jon runs his fingers through his hair, glancing tiredly around his new office. The silence is deafening and the lingering anticlimax is beginning to make him feel foolish and somewhat put out that his excitement at having won the promotion lottery is being ruined. Jon decides to take a quick peek outside, opening the door a sliver and [[peering through the crack.|look outside]]

The office looks like a mad woman tore through it on a holy mission to become a career hoarder. Manilla folders, with nothing to distinguish one from the next, are stacked up half of Jon's height like Jenga towers on the floor. Shelves packed with books shoved haphazardly on the shelves as though placed wherever they could be crammed into, regardless of the awkward angle required to fit them in. Loose sheets of paper are scattered on the desk or shoved into overfull and unlabeled boxes. There must be hundreds of documents on the floor, creased and torn. Chaos. Controlled chaos? God, he hopes so. Not that it would do him much good, unless she left a study guide explaining the method of her madness. It's not that Jon subscribes to anything as rigid as 'cleanliness is godliness' but surely a line has been crossed here. He doesn't know where to begin to sort the prioritized files from the busy work. Jon realizes, on top of his duties as Head Archivist, he will also be expected to play janitor. He might have made a mistake only requesting Tim and Sasha. It looks like [[a small army will be in order.|bravery II]]

The darkness bursts forward without warning, casting its horrifying shadow along the length of the wall; a five limbed thing lunging out of the ground and looming above an empty desk, two horns sticking out from its top. Jon yelps in surprise, falling backwards. He grabs the doorknob for balance, causing the door to swing open revealing his position and leaving him open for attack. Wide eyed he can do nothing but stare at [[the creature casting the shadow.|cat]]

A cat. Jon rolls his eyes, face heating in embarrassment as a color point cat, cream on the body and darker in the face and limbs, jumps on a desk and sits back on its haunches; back straight, head held regally high, without a hint of wariness. It regards Jon coolly, as though Jon is the trespasser here, being shamelessly disrespectful. Jon's lips spread in an (link-reveal:"involuntary smile ")[(one that he reserves for cats and cats alone).] "I know you," Jon says softly, having seen a portrait of this very cat hanging in the directors office, (link-reveal:"not hours ago. ")[— A Norwegian, Jon thinks, but he can't be sure. To him, cats fall less into the category of 'breed' and more into 'cuddly snuggles.' Two words that Jon would never use out loud. The cat is a beauty, though.] "You scared the hell out of me," he accuses gently. The cat’s [[almond shaped eyes]] stare keenly back at him (with the cleverness that Jon expects of every cat) as Jon steps closer, stooping down to the cat's height and reaching out a hand to pet. The cat twitches, [[dipping its head out of reach.|ducking choices]]

Jon takes a shaky breath, squares his shoulders and straightens his spine. He clears his throat. "H-hello? Is-- who's here? This is private property and you're trespassing." Jon says, pausing for a moment, on high alert, waiting for a response. Ahead of him his eyes land on the open door to Gertrude Robinson's office. No. No, not Gertrude's office. His office. This is his department. With no small amount of chagrin Jon continues, "and no one is allowed in my archives, regardless. Unless you have an appointment?" he mocks. The shadow stops moving, holding itself just as still as Jon is. With a surge of courage Jon turns his head to face the dark shape and says, "if you leave now, I won't call the cops." In reply, the shadow springs suddenly upwards, jumping from the ground and casting its shadow halfway up the wall; five limbs and two horns adorning its top. Jon's heart stops for just a second, even as his brain registers what in the world he's looking at, recognizing the unmistakable silhouette for what it is. The shadow settles itself behind the creature casting it and a [[small smile twitches Jon's lips.|cat]]

There's something about its eyes. The way they watch... There's a weight to its stare that seems to press in from all angles. Outwards and inwards. Hard, cold steel, piercing like a blade. Eyes that see more than they should. A sphinx with answers to immeasurable riddles, secrets upon secrets. Ancient and calculating. [[An old soul.|cat II]]

Jon stops at the cat's obvious discomfort. He winces, feeling like a cocky ass for shoving his hand in the poor things face. "Ah," Jon says, apologetically. "It's okay. I'm sorry." The cat raises its head back up, regarding him with a haughty disdain Jon can only one day hope to achieve. He takes the fact that it hasn't padded off as a good sign and [[considers trying again.|End scratch]] Beseechingly, he asks, [["if you don't mind...?"|End walk away]] Jon smiles hopefully, but finds it hard to gauge if the little mouser would [[rather be left alone.|End stay]]

Jon rolls his eyes, face heating in umbrage and embarrassment as a color point cat, cream on the body and darker in the face and limbs, jumps on a desk and sits back on its haunches; back straight, head held regally high, without a hint of wariness. It regards Jon coolly, as though he is the trespasser here, being shamelessly disrespectful. Jon's lips spread in an (link-reveal:"involuntary smile ")[(reserved for cats and cats alone).] "I know you," Jon says softly, having seen a portrait of this very cat hanging in the directors office, (link-reveal:" not hours ago. ")[A Norwegian, Jon thinks, but he can't be quite sure. To him, cats fall less into the category of 'breed' and more into 'cuddly snuggles.' Two words that Jon would never use out loud. The cat is a beauty, though.] "You scared the hell out of me," he accuses gently. The cat’s almond shaped eyes stare keenly back at him (with the cleverness that Jon expects of every cat) as Jon steps closer, stooping down to the cat's height and reaching out a hand to pet. The cat twitches, [[dipping its head out of reach.|ducking choices]]

Jon waits a moment to see what the cat will do before attempting a second try. He advances with gentle, measured movements; slow and careful to be sure the cat can get away if it feels threatened. Jon's fingers barely graze the tufts of fur sticking out at the tip of its pointy ears before they flatten against its head. A warning growl rumbles in its chest moments before it lashes out, nails connecting solidly with the back of Jon's hand. Jon yelps, jerking his hand back and cradling it to his chest. The cat rises to its feet, hissing angrily at him before it kicks off of the desk, vanishing swiftly into the archives. Jon looks down at his hand, wide eyed at the four deep claw marks slashed into his skin. “Great,” he mutters, face screwed up in pain, [[“nice to meet you, too.”|scars]]

Jon holds still, hand outstretched beneath the cat's eye level, letting it grow accustomed to his presence, hoping it will take the next step forward. The cat stares at Jon for a long moment, ignoring the offered hand. It tips its head with a remarkably judgmental stare that Jon feels straight down into his soul, dissected in the cat's eyes and deemed lacking in some vital way. It only makes him smile wider. The cat tilts its head with a deeply unimpressed look before, at length, it stands up and stretches. Its body elongates as its spine dips into a low arc, holding the pose momentarily before rising to all fours and leaping gracefully off the table. Jon straightens back up and watches as it pads silently away, deeper into the archives, quiet as the ghost it’s rumored to be. He doesn't feel the least bit disheartened. [[He's never met a cat he hasn’t won over.|bookcase]]

After a long moment of the cat staring blandly at him, Jon pulls his hand away with a small shrug. Ah, well. Can't win them all. "My, ah, my name's Jon? I'm the new Head Archivist." God, just saying the words out loud! Jon smiles, beaming to himself and repeats, "I'm the new Head Archivist," full of exhilaration and pride. He straightens, taking a step away from the cat and looking around the office. His eyes fall on the open door to the Archivist's room and he winces at the chaotic mess he sees inside. Jon turns back to the cat, regretfully. "Not sure I'll be great company. At least, not for awhile. My predecessor left this place in..." Jon sighs, threading his fingers through his hair. "Well, not to speak ill of the dead, but I've a lot of work ahead of me. Maybe I'll see you around?" Jon asks, unsurprised at how fond he is of having an Archive Cat showing up here and there on late nights. "Would you like that?" The cat stretches its front paws forward and slowly lowers itself to lay on the desk, resting its head on its paws, tail curling around the full length of its body. "Yeah?" Jon asks, smiling. [["Me, too."|rest]]

Jon feels overwhelmed by the suddenness of it. His life changing from one blink to the next. Hours ago he hadn't considered making a career out of this job and now he's climbing the corporate ladder. //Is this// a career he wants? Will he wake up in fifty years, arthritis in his hands and spine bent like Gertrude’s, and have regrets? Jon's eyes wander up to the portrait of the institute's mysterious feline and (t8n-depart:"blur")+(t8n-arrive:"blur")+(t8n-time:3.0s)[[hesitates. |spiderweb]]

==><== (t8n-depart:"blur")+(t8n-arrive:"blur")+(t8n-time:3.0s)[[Eyes look out of the picture and eyes look out of the web and an archive needs an Archivist.|accept job]]

"Jon?" Jon straightens, attention fluttering back to James Wright. "What do you say?" James asks. “Would you like to be our new Head Archivist?” "Yes," Jon responds almost automatically, before his nerves can trip him up. "Thank you. [[I won't let you down."|to arcs]]

==><== Jonah hopes it [[scars. |entitled.]]

Jonah saunters to the back of the Archives, where the bookcases reach the ceiling. He vaults the shelves two at a time, settling down at the top where Gertrude laid (link-reveal:"a bed of wool cushions. ")[(link:"Jonah prefers heights and Gertrude preferred solitude. ")[He'll miss how well they understood each other.]] Jonathan Sims is a bit of a draft thing, Jonah thinks. //Cuddly snuggles?// Cat people are simply astounding. At least this one has some good sense about him. Jon casts a mournful glance around the archives, as though looking for Jonah and hoping for a second chance, before heading into (link-reveal:"Gertrude’s office.")[ (link-reveal:" Jon's office. ")[ After fifty years, Jonah thinks it will be tedious getting used to a new resident here. Habit breeds contentment, he supposes.]] Jonah listens to the sound of papers shuffling, his sensitive ears picking up grumbled complaints and sighs of irritation. Jon isn't the proper Beholder Jonah was hoping for but he senses a keenness about the man that promises to bode well. Perhaps he will read his first statement tonight and Jonah will be able to get a better measure of him. ==><== #(transition-depart: "dissolve")+(t8n-time:2.0s)[[...|The End]]

==><== #The End. Comments, kudos, suggestions? (link: "Return to AO3")[(goto-url: 'https://archiveofourown.org/works/38684262')]

Through half lidded eyes, Jonah watches as the new Archivist sets about picking through the mess Gertrude left behind. At length, Jon gives up the idea he'll be able to glance at the loose sheets of paper and know what they are and begins stacking them in piles to be sorted through later. Jon grumbles softly, vexed, and exasperated, cursing Gertrude's name. (link-reveal: "Jonah thinks she'd be very pleased with the reaction.")[ (link:"It is strange to think he will not see her again. He doesn't know how he feels about that. His thoughts are small and Jonah has always had to reach for empathy. Perhaps he needn't feel anything at all. It will take care of itself without his intervention, after all. Time will fade her memory and she will become just another Archivist. Disappointing in some ways, competent in others.")[Jonah would have preferred Gertrude's replacement be hired in-house. Xiaoling had spoken of reliably devout Beholders well suited for the position. But, then, he supposes Beholding had little to do with the hiring process. Like Gertrude, this new Archivist is Web touched. The Mother takes far too active an interest in his institute. (link-reveal: "It's unseemly.")[ Jon glances over every so often, as though the presence of a cat is giving him the strength to deal with the unending frustration that was once Gertrude Robinson. Jonah flicks his tail in irritation. At least Jon is prioritizing work over... what was it? Cuddles and snuggles? Jonah snorts. Quite wise of Jon to keep those thoughts to himself. Jonah tucks his paws beneath his body and settles in. With any luck Jon will choose to read his first statement tonight, and Jonah will get to be the first to hear. ==><== #(transition-depart: "dissolve")+(t8n-time:2.0s)[[...|The End]]]]]

==><== Of all the [[entitled...|hates cat people]]

==><== He hates //[[cat people.|HATES]]//

==><== ###''//[[HATES CAT PEOPLE!|simpering]]//''

==><== [[Their simpering, high pitched voices begging for attention; to touch and pick up and—|cuddles]]

==><== ##//[[CUDDLY SNUGGLES?!|hiss]]//

Jonah turns around to hiss again, just to be sure Jon remembers to keep his (link-reveal:"Web infested hands ")[—as though the stench of the Mother wasn't the first thing Jonah noticed!—] to himself. Jon flinches at the noise and has the good sense to look as pained as Jonah hopes he feels. "Yes, yes, I know," Jon says on a sigh. "I'll be in the-- //my// office, okay? If you want... [[if you reconsider company."|sanity]]

==><== In the name of sanity! //[[Cat people!|despairs]]//

Jonah despairs for the state of Beholding if Gertrude's (link-reveal:"//replacement //")[—the title of Archivist is //earned//— ] can't manage the wherewithal to protect himself from something as small as a cat (link-reveal:"because it's...")[ (ugh. Jon thinks he's cute. Fluffy. Adorable!) ] well, Jonah has bad news for the replacement if he thinks all his enemies will be moustache twirling, crooked nose, sweaty, vile creatures. Jonah takes the stairs out of the archives while Jon whines about the job he was //hired// to do. With any luck Gertrude will have left //surprises// behind for snoops going through her office and James will be forced to consult Xiaoling on employing an //appropriate// Archivist. ==><== #(transition-depart: "dissolve")+(t8n-time:2.0s)[[...|The End]]