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The Art of Preservation
Martin really doesn't want to be at The Archive right now. Right now, he would like to be safe at home, Daisy hunkered down with them in their flat while they all steadfastly pretend none of this is happening. Even being on the first floor of the Bramford feels safer than being out here; safe enough that they'd decided to leave the Bishop. John's impression was that the resident ghosts had no intention of letting unwanted anything in; even the rather malicious basement entity has a certain territorial protective instinct, it seems. Their cat is in a safely locked room guarded by friend and foe alike; they, however, are on a busy street on perhaps the worst night of their entire Darrow residency.
But they need to be at The Archive; John needs it, and Martin and Daisy need to be where John is, so here they all are. Protecting their amassed information is too important, not just for the sanctity of the information itself, but for what might happen to John if the place were bloody torched or something. That's more important than Martin's own comfort; he just wishes his nerves would get the bloody memo.
"I can't fucking believe they have a Purge," he mutters to John, pushing the swear through gritted teeth as they slide the last box of Statements inside the rare book cage. "You know, when you had Riggs talk about that, it was so absurd I almost forgot how bad that whole situation was for a few seconds. It was like a, a helpful distraction. I never thought I'd have to put up with it myself. You know this whole concept is from some ridiculous movie series? You probably didn't know. Well, it was. They can have people from Star Wars here, I can put up with that just fine, but this? Unbelievable."
He doubts his babbling is very helpful, much less the unusual reference to the architect of the two previous worst nights of their lives. Why is it always Halloween?
Once he and John have the office more or less in order, he wanders out front to check on Daisy. The windows have all been boarded by now, blockaded by the desks that used to belong to Eliot and Kat; the lights are out and the door is locked, for all the good that'll likely do. Daisy is stationed there, waiting, her eyes glinting eerily in the little light that manages to spill from the office. She looks tense and somehow more angular than usual; it seems the Hunt's already on in her head. They're all hoping none of this will end up amounting to anything — or at least, he and John are. Daisy might need it, after a fashion. And much as Martin might prefer she not fall back into those habits, even just for one night, he can't deny that he's grateful she's here, ready to defend them, far more capable than he or John could ever hope to be.
"All right?" he asks gingerly, unable to mask the way he sort of treads around her in this state, like she might be a bit rabid. It's more for her sake than his own, but that doesn't make it better.
But they need to be at The Archive; John needs it, and Martin and Daisy need to be where John is, so here they all are. Protecting their amassed information is too important, not just for the sanctity of the information itself, but for what might happen to John if the place were bloody torched or something. That's more important than Martin's own comfort; he just wishes his nerves would get the bloody memo.
"I can't fucking believe they have a Purge," he mutters to John, pushing the swear through gritted teeth as they slide the last box of Statements inside the rare book cage. "You know, when you had Riggs talk about that, it was so absurd I almost forgot how bad that whole situation was for a few seconds. It was like a, a helpful distraction. I never thought I'd have to put up with it myself. You know this whole concept is from some ridiculous movie series? You probably didn't know. Well, it was. They can have people from Star Wars here, I can put up with that just fine, but this? Unbelievable."
He doubts his babbling is very helpful, much less the unusual reference to the architect of the two previous worst nights of their lives. Why is it always Halloween?
Once he and John have the office more or less in order, he wanders out front to check on Daisy. The windows have all been boarded by now, blockaded by the desks that used to belong to Eliot and Kat; the lights are out and the door is locked, for all the good that'll likely do. Daisy is stationed there, waiting, her eyes glinting eerily in the little light that manages to spill from the office. She looks tense and somehow more angular than usual; it seems the Hunt's already on in her head. They're all hoping none of this will end up amounting to anything — or at least, he and John are. Daisy might need it, after a fashion. And much as Martin might prefer she not fall back into those habits, even just for one night, he can't deny that he's grateful she's here, ready to defend them, far more capable than he or John could ever hope to be.
"All right?" he asks gingerly, unable to mask the way he sort of treads around her in this state, like she might be a bit rabid. It's more for her sake than his own, but that doesn't make it better.
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And they won't.
By the time the siren sounds, she's keyed up, feeling the Hunt in her, hearing the Blood loud and clear. If it were a real noise, it might have drowned out Martin's footsteps as he approaches now, but instead, it makes his steps seem booming in the quiet of the place. She tries to keep her body relaxed, like by pretending it'll make it true. And maybe it will do, so long as nobody tries to break in for the sake of it.
Her body is ready for this, ready to fight and protect her friends; later, she'll check on Nikita and maybe even Detective bloody Sousa. Right now, she's staying put until it feels like the storm has passed. She needs to be here.
"I'm fine," she says at Martin's question, voice a little rougher than usual, a little more feral.
She isn't fine, not really. For all that this is feeding her — scraps right now, but something — she wants out there, using the opportunity to find the monsters and glut herself like she has on Halloweens past... but there are so many monsters out there right now, and most of them are human. She isn't afraid of them, though. It's the opposite: she's afraid of herself.
"I'm fine," she repeats, like she can convince herself it's true.