loficharm | Welcome To The Archive // for Eliot, Kat, and John

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Welcome To The Archive // for Eliot, Kat, and John

September 10th, 2019

"That's the last of it," says the man - Connor, his nametag reads - who's been loading boxes from a nondescript truck into The Archive for the past two and a half hours, and Christ there are a lot of them. 'The last of it' brings Martin's count up to either far too many or surely at least three metric tons.

"Thank you," says Martin rather weakly. The little space, on the cusp of being actually open for alleged business, is now overcrowded to the point of being a fire hazard with boxes and boxes of files, delivered to them so generously (and, honestly, a little too eagerly) by Darrow's City Council. Their application to function as de facto record keepers for the City's constantly shifting array of newcomers had been accepted with rather alarming quickness and efficiency, considering what they'd been given to understand about the soul-numbing bureaucracy of it all. It had felt like a relief - no fuss, no appeal, not even a follow-up; just an agreement and a generous offer of payment that should be more than enough to keep themselves afloat, especially with the aid of John's... extracurricular acquisitions. But really, Martin thinks as he takes in the new weight they've just collected, all that apparent convenience should have been a much greater cause for concern.

Connor, for his part, shrugs, busily setting up the invoice. "If you say so," he says, and turns the digital pad over to Martin for a signature. "I'd wish you luck, but, uh..." He looks around the neatly stacked mess he's made and shrugs again. He doesn't need to add the implicit god rest your sorry soul, that's loud and clear. Martin limits himself to a professional grimace as he fills out the invoice and hands it back.

"Is it just you?" Connor asks with that apathetic energy Martin's come to expect from the locals - they ask questions where appropriate, but they don't really seem to listen.

"No," says Martin absently, his attention on the rows of empty shelves, trying to calculate if they actually have room for all this. "My partner's in the back."

Partner slips out easily, and he reddens by reflex, but Connor's already halfway out the door.

"Well, hope they're good at lifting," he says as he departs, the door swinging shut and leaving Martin in thick, cardboardy silence.

"Hah," Martin replies belatedly. John is presently shuttered in his office and, he believes, recording one of the piecemeal Statements they've managed to gather. He's been having to sort of ration them. Surviving, but not exactly thriving. Martin has more of his strength, but he can barely reach the highest shelves. They'll be able to do it, the two of them, but Christ, it could take weeks.

Well, first things first. He blows air through his teeth and goes to fix them some tea.

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Eliot hasn't done enough online shopping reconnaissance to order himself any especially nice clothes yet, but the suit he's got is decent enough to start out with. At least this way he'll be able to get across town without a gaggle of good Samaritans asking if he needs help finding the train station.

He's been looking forward to seeing Martin again; it's not as if Eliot's been avoiding him, but even if they are in the same building he doesn't want to appear too needy, like he doesn't have any other things to do but latch onto the first person he met like a drowning man in a storm. And he's been busy with researching, of course. That makes Martin's invitation all the more enticing, the prospect of maybe getting some more targeted information than just basic history and math.

Thankfully it's cool enough out today that he doesn't feel overheated as he walks; he was not made for physical exertion.

The weather is actually kind of nice for a change, and though Kat would be a goddamn professional if staying cooped up in her apartment could be made a career, she wants to try to enjoy it while it's in this pleasant middle ground. Too much heat gets to be exhausting; cold weather makes her knee stiff and achy. So while Blue is at work, she figures she'll get out and try to find something halfway fun to do, even if those options sometimes feel limited around here. They aren't, not really, but a lot of what people in Darrow seem to consider entertaining, she very much doesn't.

She's still a little traumatized by the time she wandered into an International Pool of Pancakes.

So far having succeeded in little more than taking a walk, albeit a pleasant enough one, she grins when she sees someone she realizes she recognizes. She'd liked Eliot in an instinctive sort of way when they first met, and she can't quite help commenting on the different circumstances now, her expression slightly teasing. "Nice suit," she calls. It is one, but it's also a far cry from what he was wearing when she came across him before, which is all that mentioning it is really meant to point out.

Eliot smirks to himself at the compliment, grinning when he turns and sees that it's Kat.
"Try as I might," he laughs, "I just couldn't keep doing cosplay. Glad to see this meets with your approval, though."

He slows his pace to walk beside her. "So, what brings you out on this platonic ideal of an autumn day, just enjoying the...offensive brand naming conventions the city has to offer?" There's not much to the scenery otherwise. Maybe the fall colors are nice, out in the country, but Kat wasn't heading that way.

"I'm going to go harass my friend Martin at his place of business," he says, in a mock-conspiratorial whisper.

"Pretty much," Kat says with a nod and a lopsided grin. "Enjoying the weather. Which probably sounds dumb, but I'm useless when it's a million degrees out, and once it gets cold, I'll be grouchy and miserable, so." Fall has always been her favorite time of year anyway, but now it's a nice happy medium, too. She'll enjoy it while it lasts, even if, at least in this part of town, it doesn't come with a whole lot to look at.

Eliot's plans seem far more interesting, though, and she arches a brow, intrigued. "A little friendly harassment sounds fun," she adds. "Want some company?"

"Mmm," Eliot nods in agreement. "I suppose this place gets all coastal and...wet in the winter, you're right to make the best of it while the weather's nice." Layering Eliot enjoys, the slipping hazards not so much.

"Oh please do come along if you want," he adds. He isn't quite sure what to expect from Martin's description but it should be entertaining enough for an afternoon. "He's a very...helpful sort, and this project has something to do with cataloging records for the City? And granted I haven't had much interaction with local government but that sounds like a colossal boondoggle. Poor thing probably needs the moral support."

There's also the matter of Martin's friend (accomplice? partner?) from his world who also arrived around the same time, who Eliot hasn't met. He got the sense from Martin that there's something going on there, but who's to say what. "He and this other fellow are doing paranormal research of some kind, perhaps it's a ghost-hunting business."

"Coastal and wet and really cold," Kat agrees with an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. The last, she's far from a stranger to, but things are different now than they were when she was back home. At least she figures it's probably a good sign that she can be self-deprecating about it instead of just miserable, prone as she is to wallowing in her own unhappiness. This option has to be somewhat healthier. "The screws and wires holding my kneecap together really don't like that. So, you know."

She shrugs, easily distracted by the description of this apparent project or business or whatever it is. Cataloging city records sounds like a slog, to say the least, but she's intrigued by the paranormal these days, mostly because of her own experiences with it. Once, she would have dismissed any such prospect without a moment's thought. Now, she knows far better than that.

"If it's paranormal research, they'll have their hands full here," she says. "And in that case, I am definitely tagging along, I wanna see what this is all about."

"I can only imagine," Eliot answers with a sympathetic wince. He doesn't know Kat well enough to feel like he can ask about her injury, but it doesn't seem like something she's been dealing with for a hugely long time. That and her flippant tone makes him even less likely to broach the subject. "Do let me know if you need any errands run, though," he adds. "I'm trying not to go stir crazy here and I might as well attempt to be helpful."

The walk at least is pleasant enough, and eventually they come to the address Martin gave him. It looks exactly like any midcentury storefront in any small down, though to Eliot's eye the dusty wire display easels in the window appear to indicate it might have been some kind of a bookstore.
"Oh," he says, starting to laugh as he looks inside and sees the mountainous piles of boxes. "Oh shit, this is-" it's fucking ridiculous. The top of Martin’s head is barely visible behind a stack, like he’s some kind of paperwork meerkat. Eliot’s practically giggling as he opens the door.

"John, I could use a hand when you've a moment," Martin's calling toward the back when the front door opens. He turns around, a bit startled, but he relaxes immediately when he sees Eliot - he did invite him here, didn't he? Eliot's already laughing, apparently at the state of things, which... is only fair, he supposes. It is all a bit ridiculous.

"I know," he sighs. "It's... well." He shrugs openly at it all, then looks back at Eliot, and only then does he spy the much smaller person coming in behind him, a young woman he doesn't recognize.

"Oh," he says. "Er, hullo."

John knows they're expecting the records today, but in the meantime, he's been mucking around with the arrangement of his office. It's far larger than his old one was, but then again, it's not just going to be his office. They need to keep Statements somewhere away from the bulk of the city's mess, where the public won't just stumble across them. And as much as John would like to imagine something akin to the Institute's archives, with rows upon rows of boxes and files, the Institute has had centuries in which to amass its collection. The walls of shelving already installed here will suffice for John's purposes. If he manages to even fill one of them, it'll be a miracle.

The space also has a rare books cage, to his slight surprise. The used bookstore must have boasted some valuable antiques (though not valuable enough to keep the place in business). It isn't particularly large, but it may come in handy if they should ever find themselves in need of an Artifact Storage equivalent. He doesn't relish the idea of keeping dangerous objects on-site, but better to have a secure option than not.

He's currently trying to work out where a cot might unobtrusively fit, having already accepted that he's going to need one. He knows himself well enough to know that there will be plenty of nights where he'd sooner stumble six feet to a cot than three blocks to his flat. Plus, paranoid as it may be, he can't fully squash the idea that they ought to at least be somewhat prepared for the possibility of a siege of some kind. Between the perils of their line of work and the rumors he's heard about the city, the odds of them finding themselves unable to leave the Archive for any stretch of time are too high to ignore. A cot and some emergency supplies to stuff beneath it wouldn't be a bad investment.

And then Martin calls for him. They must be done unloading. Time to face that bloody music. John rubs his hand over his face, distantly aware of the front door opening and a new voice, which Martin responds to with evident familiarity. It's enough to prompt a brief stab of annoyance -- he hasn't even had a chance to take stock of the situation, and already there's a distraction to be dealt with -- but he at least manages to keep his expression neutral as he steps out of his office.

The place is so stuffed with boxes as to be unrecognizable, but it's not the sheer volume that has his face going slack with surprise. It's Kat. She's just standing in the doorway next to a tall, amused-looking man John's never seen before. John pulls up short, lips pressed together in an apprehensive line. Everything had gone smoothly, or so he thought, and if Kat was going to cause trouble, he would have expected it before now. But he can't imagine why else she'd be here.

Whatever this paranormal research, records-cataloging place is, it's both quaint and ridiculous. When she'd thought it sounded like a slog, Kat hadn't realized just how much of an understatement that might be. It's actually a little surprising, if only because she's been here long enough to know that there doesn't tend to be a whole lot of information readily available in Darrow. She's both curious and skeptical as a result. There's absolutely no way these boxes contain the answers that so many people go searching for; it's hard not to wonder what might be in there instead, or if it's just bullshit names and dates or something more to that effect. Already, though, she's definitely glad she came. It's one of the more interesting outings she's had in a while, and she only just got here.

No sooner has she thought that, though, then she sees someone she knows step out of the back, visible past the stacks of boxes. She hadn't actually expected to see John again after he sent her off to buy a winning lottery ticket, particularly after the actual exchange of funds went smoothly and no attention seemed to be drawn to them. When he'd said he was starting a business, this definitely would not have been what she had in mind. It's a pleasant sort of surprise in that regard, though, one that makes her think that she wasn't duped for some seedy purposes or anything like that. This sort of place could probably use the money, and she's still intrigued by whatever the paranormal aspect of all of it is.

Absurd and surprising as the situation she's found herself in is, having tagged along with an acquaintance only to find herself facing someone she technically committed fraud with, Kat can't help but break into a grin. "Oh, shit," she says in delighted amusement, before she can think of anything else, "fraud guy!"

She turns towards Eliot then, realizing just how strange this must be, and explains, "John and I committed a crime together."

Eliot gives Martin a little wave, the laughter diminishing to a series of amused huffs. He's about to introduce Kat when a man steps out from an office in the back. This must be Martin's partner or whatever from his world (John?), and he looks like quite possibly the surliest person Eliot's ever met, aside from perhaps Mayakovsky, or Admiral Lacker. There's stiffness in his bearing that goes beyond just being English, Eliot thinks, and he's wondering why this man looks so apprehensive when Kat bursts out with...that.

He turns to her, confusion and delight on his features. "Uh, what?" Eliot asks, and there goes the laughter starting up again. "So you, hold on--'fraud guy'? My goodness Kat what have I stumbled into?" He tries and fails to stop snickering. "Martin, is this some kind of really nerdy front for the mob?"

The woman doesn't reply to Martin's greeting, instead looking past him - toward John, he realizes belatedly. There's a second or two of confusion as Martin wonders what on earth that reaction is for - it's awful, but he genuinely can't remember ever seeing anyone respond to the sight of John with what appears to be delight - and he glances back to where John's stepped out of his office. John, by contrast, looks a bit alarmed. Which is when she greets him as 'fraud guy'.

Martin's eyes widen in outright shock before narrowing again, and he turns his stare back on the young woman, only distantly aware of Eliot finding the whole thing very amusing. He frowns at this - Kat, apparently - for a solid few seconds before swiveling again, very slowly, to John.

"Your accomplice," he says quite stiffly, "just came in and instantly told the first person she could about your crime." Never mind that he's fairly certain Eliot is to be trusted; it's the bloody principle of the thing, especially after John so staunchly refused to give up her name or indeed, anything about her. "What was that you said about plausible deniability, John?"

John's apprehension drags on through the moment before Kat recognizes him, but then she lights up in evident surprise. That puts him immediately at ease: she can't be here to cause trouble if she didn't expect to see him at all. More to the point -- and pathetic as it may be -- it's a nice sort of surprise to just... have someone be happy to see him. He smiles more or less reflexively, his shoulders relaxing out of their nervous hunch. Even being greeted as 'fraud guy' doesn't throw him as much as it otherwise might have, given the context.

"Victimless crime," he emphasizes, before Martin has a chance to puff up like an angry hen. To him, he can't resist adding, "Are you referring to yourself -- my business partner, who was already aware of the situation -- or the man you invited over?"

The whole situation really ought to be more embarrassing, but he can't bring himself to take it all that seriously. They're plainly in no danger from Kat, and Martin's mysterious cohort seems to just find it all hilarious. There's no need for a fuss. He ambles forward, edging around a stack of boxes (Christ, this probably qualifies as a fire hazard), and extends a hand to the man. "Jonathan Sims," he says. Then, his gaze sliding back over to his former accomplice, he adds, "It's good to see you again, Kat. I take it your cut has treated you well?"

It's all a lot funnier than it probably should be. Kat can't even bring herself to be particularly put off by the other man's — Martin's, apparently — reaction to who she is and what she's just said, if only because of John's response. At least she's not the only one who seems to be amused. John is right, anyway; she's justified it to herself like that from the beginning. Someone would have won that money. There's no reason it shouldn't have been them. She feels all the more convinced of that now that she's here and has some idea what the money might be going to. He did say it was to open a business. She just hadn't known it would be the sort of business that Eliot mentioned it being earlier.

"I would like to point out that Eliot here is far from the first person I could have told," she points out, brow arching. Though she sees no need to be particularly defensive about it, that much bears mentioning. She's had plenty of time in which she could have told other people, if she wanted to, and she hasn't. In this case — well, it might have come out a little bit too easily, but the circumstances seemed to call for it, between John's unexpected presence here and the fact that Martin is the one who invited Eliot.

To John, with a grin, she adds, "And yeah, it has. So this is what your cut went to, huh?" She glances around, taking in the room and its many, many boxes. "That is a no to it being a nerdy mob front, right? I feel like there might've been other ways of getting that money if it were a mob thing."

Eliot grins. This day is turning out to be far more entertaining than he initially thought. He looks the man over--John, Martin had called him--as he shakes his hand. "Eliot Waugh. Don't worry about me, I love a good bit of fraud." He smiles, briefly eyeing the odd scars on his face and wondering what could have made them. But he ought not stare. "Martin was the first person I met when I arrived," he explains, "and I've got some experience with, well, the supernatural I suppose you'd say, so when he said you two were setting up some kind of project..." He looks around at the mess, and laughs at Kat's assessment.

"Yeah honestly I was thinking something more X-Files than...city planning? Estate law records?" What has Martin gotten himself into.

He sighs. He's going to regret this. "Ill-gotten gains or no, it looks like you need all the help you can get."

Martin knows, deep down, that John is right - the crime was victimless. Apart from the vaguest of ethical concerns, his primary issue was about John having some mysterious accomplice, and that's been more or less put to rest since she's no longer, well, mysterious. Kat also brings up a good point in that she hasn't blown their cover before this unexpected reunion - it really does seem like Eliot just brought her here by sheer coincidence. So, there's nothing exactly for him to get het up about.

He still thinks he's well within his rights to be a bit annoyed - and he certainly doesn't see how his having invited Eliot in any way counters the issue of Kat having blurted out ostensibly sensitive information to him - but it's difficult to maintain that sense of righteousness when everyone else in the room is, well, laughing about it. It's also difficult not to feel that they're all laughing at him, or like they're all in on the joke together and he's just here, being no fun at all. He knows that's just him being childish; but it does sting a bit. Especially with the way John just lights up to see Kat, though he's trying to ignore that part of it.

He clears his throat, endeavoring to appear a little more relaxed. "Not a front for any kind of mob, no," he says mildly. "Questionable origins aside."

Eliot's offer, such as it is, is a surprise he's not sure how to take. God knows they could indeed use the help, but he hadn't invited Eliot here for that purpose.

"We're, erm..." He looks around at all the boxes. "These are our records. People like us, I mean. The city agreed to let us sort of... take over organization? I suppose that's a bit of a front. For the X-Files thing, I mean." He's not decided if he's going to say anymore about that in front of Kat. He'd explained a bit to Eliot already, but she's still an unknown element to him. He's sure she'll ask, but John can field that if he likes.

Not willing to take Eliot up on his offer right away but neither willing to shoo him off after inviting him, Martin turns away a bit stiffly and says, "Can I get anyone some tea?"

John tips his head in sheepish acknowledgment when Kat correctly surmises the purpose of their little scheme. It's not exactly an impressive showing, having gone from 'largely empty' to 'packed with boxes' over the course of the past hour. At least it isn't in shambles or anything; there's obviously a lot of work to be done, but nothing to suggest they've made a botch of things.

"The, er... X-Files thing," John starts, not exactly loving the comparison, but passingly familiar enough with the reference to understand it, "is... well, I was going to say it was more pressing, but that was before this," he says, indicating the absurd number of boxes with a wave of one hand. They really do need to at least rearrange the boxes. Presuming they aren't already in some sort of order, which he hardly dares to hope.

He looks over at Martin at the offer of tea, eyebrows raised. Martin's tone and general manner are both a bit fussy, but maybe making tea would help calm him down. "Presuming we haven't been cut off from the tea station by all this lot, then yes, please," he says mildly, before turning to the nearest box and tearing off the tape. Might as well see what they're working with.

The good news is that the box is neatly packed with a stack of files, and the files are clearly labeled. The bad news is that they aren't alphabetized, and if there's any other organizational system at work, it isn't immediately discernible -- no numbering or anything. John sighs out a soft, "Christ," then pulls out a file. It's simply labeled 'MELANIE,' no surname, and he opens it to find a few pages of... well, they're so heavily redacted it's hard to say what they were meant to be originally. Forms of some kind, as far as he can tell. But there's something else behind the paper, thicker and uneven and oddly weighty against the hand supporting the file, and John flips the papers aside to find...

John frowns, his eyebrows drawing together, and sets the open file down on top of its fellows so he can lift out what appears to be a small, brown rabbit pelt. It isn't quite symmetrical; one side looks rather ragged, but aside from that, it looks like something you might find in a children's museum exhibit, one of the areas where patrons are encouraged to touch things. "... Huh," he says, at a loss.

"...Is that a rabbit pelt? Just in a file?" Kat asks, nose wrinkling a little, any other questions about the nature of this whole operation momentarily put on hold. Even with the truly comical number of boxes in here, she expected only paperwork, not animal fur. It makes her wonder about what's in the rest of them, if John just happened to pick out an anomalous one as an example or if the others have weird shit in them, too. Of course, when she thinks about it like that, knowing Darrow, it's all weird shit. Either way, she's not surprised someone pawned these files off on someone unsuspecting. "Gross."

It could be worse, she thinks. It could just be a dead rabbit, or the pelt could be all gnarly, or something like that. Still, it's a little disconcerting, enough to distract her for just a moment from what she's really interested in. Had she known their little scam was going to fund something apparently supernatural in origin, she might have been that much quicker to agree, though that doesn't really make a difference now that she's actually done it. It's a far cry from a few years ago, when she would have written off the mere possibility of anything of the sort, but things have changed since then. She gave up being a skeptic pretty damn fast when she realized her baby sister was actually possessed.

"So what sort of X-FIles stuff are we talking about here?" she asks, because it's a pretty vague description and so far no one has offered much more than that. "You're not really gonna drop that and not follow up, right?"

"Yeah, tea would actually be...." Great, Eliot thinks, or it would be if John hadn't just pulled some taxidermy out of a file folder. "Uh," he says intelligently. "What the fuck. Are you sure they're not trying to get one over on you? Because this seems like the exact type of prank I would pull if I were some middle management city official with too much time on his hands."

Eliot looks over the sea of boxes and regrets anew that he hasn't been able to get his magic working yet. He could have this sorted in five minutes if he could just levitate them like civilized people do. He huffs a sigh, shrugs off his coat, and tosses it on one of the stacks.

"This is a shambles," he announces as he starts to roll up his sleeves. "But yeah," he adds with a glance at Kat, "I am curious as to what kind of activity this would be a front for."

Martin has his back to them and is setting up the tea station when John remarks on the file he's just opened, sounding a bit baffled. It isn't until Eliot and Kat chime in that Martin stiffens and turns around, staring at the, yes, rabbit pelt John's holding.

"Are you kidding me!" he says a bit shrilly, immediately hustling back over to John. "Oh my god, don't touch it!"

If he were less alarmed about the thing itself, he might find space to be embarrassed about how maternal he's being, but all he can think is they don't know how malicious a prank this is, and who knows where that's been. He is quite certain Eliot's assessment is the fact of it; that someone is fucking with them, as if they weren't doing the City a massive favor with all this.

"Christ, who does that," he exclaims, completely unprepared for Kat and Eliot's mutual curiosity on what their business actually is. "Is this some sort of threat, or..."

He blinks, momentarily stalling out as Eliot rolls up his shirt-sleeves, apparently planning to dig in and help them. "I—wait." He can't handle all of this at once. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to bully away the building tension. "Just give me a second." He looks at the box John's pulled from, then selects another, taking the lid off. He peers inside, wincing as though something inside it might bite him, and gingerly extracts a file at random.

It's wet. He can still read the name on it—'ELEANOR LAMB'—but it's wet.

"What," he just says, dropping it quickly on top of the others.

John arches an eyebrow as Martin hurries over with a rather matronly (and belated) admonishment. "It's just a rabbit skin," he says. "I don't think they've poisoned it or anything." Christ knows what it's doing in a file, but it strikes him as more generally unsettling than outright dangerous. Still, for the sake of Martin's blood pressure, he carefully sets the pelt back where it came from, straightens the joke of a file as much as he can, and tucks it back into the box.

He's about to take a stab at answering Kat and Eliot's collective question when Martin cuts him off, apparently in need of a minute. John shuts his mouth, biting back the rather inappropriate urge to smile. There's nothing to smile about, really. There's a decent chance that the City has gifted them files that are at least partially comprised of complete nonsense, making an already daunting task feel like little more than a prank. Christ knows how much this might put off what he considers to be their real work. But there's something sort of endearing about Martin's expressions of frustration -- the poor man didn't know he'd have to manage this -- and it takes more effort than it should to remain composed as Martin lifts the lid off a different box and pulls out another file at random.

He drops it almost at once, and it lands with an unpleasant splat on top of its fellows. John reaches over automatically, half-curious and half with a mind to save whatever's beneath it from a soaking. Christ, if they're all like this, then for all he knows, a soaking might start some of them germinating.

Or perhaps not. John gives the wet file a cautious sniff. "Salt water, for whatever that's worth," he muses. "Maybe this is the X-Files thing, after all." He sets the file down on a desk, where it at least won't harm any of the others, then pulls out one of the dampened files that was tucked in beside it. This one is simply labeled 'BALLADEER, THE,' and when he cracks open the cover, he finds it full of sheet music: the melody discernible, but the lyrics redacted. Sandwiched between the songs -- and so thin and yellowed that the water would have probably disintegrated it without that protective buffer of sheet music -- is a newspaper clipping regarding the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

"Christ, are they all like this?" he wonders, wavering between indignation and interest.

Kat feels like she's approximately a dozen things at once: confused, kind of freaked out, amused, and curious, to start with, and only going on from there. It makes it hard to know what to do next, when she sort of wants to see just how much more ridiculous these files get and what's in them, when it isn't really her place to do so, and when she can't help but wonder how gross it's going to get. The rabbit pelt didn't seem as bad as it could have been, and soggy paper is sort of nasty but not too objectionable, but there's no telling where all of it will lead. She still doesn't really even know what this place is or what sort of X-Files-y goings on there might be. The files are weird, but they don't seem supernatural. At least, not any more than every part of Darrow already does.

"Only one way to find out," she says with a teasing grin. There are far too many files for two people to go through them all, or if they tried, she has a feeling they'd never get around to whatever else it is they mean to do here. Peering over at the most recently opened file, she squints as she reads the unexpected newspaper clipping, then frowns, brow furrowing. "JFK? I wouldn't think people from here would know or care who he was. How'd that get here?"

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Welcome To The Archive // for Eliot, Kat, and John

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