(no subject)

[contractuallybinding]

For AU shenanigans

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[end_recording]

And then there's this one: ascetically thin, a tangle of grey-streaked hair half-hiding his scarred face. The sudden command from the man catches him off guard: he jerks his head, like a horse flinching from the bit feeling that yank on his thoughts. Not knowing anything about himself at all he knows he doesn't like that; he sets his jaw and draws himself up to his full height (not very high).

"Explain what?" He snarls in return, his voice sharp enough to draw blood - or truth, in this case.

1/2

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It's ruthlessly powerful, slicing through inhibitions and pushing along a truth-

(A confession of ignorance, of fishing, of trying to find roots to dig in and understand)

-that he swallows just before it bursts from his throat.

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In a way, everything he had experienced since his eyelids had opened had been new, unfamiliar, even as his mind supplied words for the names of things, processes and order for his thought.

But this... Why did this man's voice feel so different than the other?

"Do that again." His own tone laden with silk and steel.

[end_recording]

His eyes narrow,; his head tips lightly, as if shifting to better regard this man with one of his senses. Which one isn't clear. Irritation yields to interest, so Jon's tone is only imperious, dipped in acid.

"Why." And it feels like a lighter touch, this time - but it pulls as naturally as a needle pulls a thread.

Editted because IDEA

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"Because your voice is..." How would he describe it? This freeing tug, this urge to pour out himself in a violation of any hope or want of privacy.

And to say... no. "Pleasant." Yes, that's the word.

The feral blank's sight remains as it always has, happily interpreting visible spectrum radiation in overlaps of colors. Painting pictures of data. But something in the way he turns his head gives a depth that it hadn't had before.

The smug man seems to ... blur about the edges, as if there was something a bit.. plural about him. A bit distant. But before he can make out anything, an Eye opens on his skin. The skin surrounding the man's adam apple widens like a smile and then splits, revealing a terrible green iris and pupil bulging out, turned to regard him.

Then the cheekbone, the knuckle, the forehead.. every patch of exposed skin seems to watch him back in that other, deeper sight.

[end_recording]

He makes a face as if this other man has said something moderately vulgar. He's about to go for another question, cutting himself off to better focus on... on....?

At that first unfurling of lids, Jon freezes in a flinch - and then, takes a step forward, not even seeming to know he's doing it. Eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

"What..."

What does this other, watching eye see? Hunger.

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One at a time, the eyes slowly slide closed, like a contented cat, until only the image of perfectly normal human giving him a rather professionally paternal look of concern is left.

"Are you all right? Maybe you should have a sit."

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"Y-you, you - d-don't pretend you didn't notice that!"

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The confusion on his face seems... honest enough, actually. Either he's unaware or doesn't find it remarkable at all.

"You'll have to be a bit more clear."

[end_recording]

His expression is transparently bewildered, wary. Searching. Obviously it was remarkable, so maybe this man really hadn't noticed?

"I... thought I saw someone watching us." The scarred man's a very poor liar; it stumbles out with the hesitancy of someone picking their words very carefully.

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An extremely poor liar. But, well, the wall did say he could trust those here, why give a little ... faith. See how this spooled out.

"Well, I suppose anything is possible. We hardly know anything at all."

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He makes a disgusted face. "Quite. No point in stating the obvious."

His eyes slide off the man restlessly, looking for a next target. He spots the open door of the other man's room and and brushes past to him to take a look.

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And (Elias) takes the opportunity to seek out (Martin's) room.

(Elias') room is... immaculate. The bed has been made without any signs he'd woken up in it. The extra uniforms are folded, the small set of rations arranged neatly, all square to the corners. There's a spyglass like... well... like the one (Jon) didn't examine in his own room, laying exactly in the center of the pillow on the bed.

Otherwise, it's a perfect match to (Jon's) room.

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He snatches for the telescope, giving it a cursory examination for sharp edge before he looks into it.

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When (Jon) looks into the telescope, for a moment, he not only can see (Elias) in a suit, tie and immaculately composed, but he can hear the other man, as if he was in the same room.

There's no hesitation, just those intense, electric green eyes staring unblinkingly towards whatever is recording this message. "Oh, just do what feels ...... right. You'll Know what to do." He smiles, sharp and gleeful. "I do this willingly."

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How irritatingly smug. He puts the telescope aside and decides to check under the bed.

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There's a disappointing lack of bodies, weapons or other incriminating evidence. Or honestly, anything at all. If the other man had existed before the moment (Jon) woke up... it's hard to tell. There's not even dust down there.

[end_recording]

There goes all the patience he has for investigation.

... He yanks the bedclothes wrinkled before he leaves.

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Petty, petty. Hardly becoming of you.

When the feral Blank leaves, he practically runs into Bastard and Wisp out there, as Bastard starts verbally trapping Wisp into going out.

"Ah, our third. What should we call this one. Ideas?"

[curriculum_fictae]

Wisp continues to be painfully unhappy with this entire scenario, top to bottom. But as soon as Bastard even hints at the thought of naming this other man, he flares with instinctive protectiveness.

"You - you're not naming him," he says.

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He scowls. "And what are you two called?"

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"I'm not?" Bastard smirks. Then... no. No he's going to make Wisp introduce himself. "Careful, he named me Bastard. I suppose it will be a black mark upon me from the very onset."

He doesn't seem that put out.

[curriculum_fictae]

Predictably, Wisp reddens terribly at that. Social pressure is as pure a compulsion as anything else for him, after all. "Because you named me something terrible," he spits back. "You - you named me Wisp."

It probably doesn't seem terrible. In fact, it might just feel entirely and perfectly fitting, like Bastard couldn't possibly have named him anything else. It's all this man is now.

[end_recording]

Yeah, he looks between the two of them and snorts. "Well, accurate so far."

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"Now, now, no need for name calling." Bastard says, striking up an absolutely reasonable tone. He glances at Wisp, then slides a glance back at this unknown, unshaped person. There's something to that, isn't it? A blank slate waiting to be written on. "Unless there is. But if you can't think of anything, I'm here for you. Happy to pick up the slack."