#archiviststatement

( meme // @archiviststatement )

Tim’s delighted when it happens.

It’s rare enough that they’re all together ( has been happening less and less since Jon’s promotion, and less still since. well. ), let alone that the atmosphere is so genial.

He’s said something, something utterly inane, about the government and whales, a load of shit to be perfectly honest, but Jon’s hand is on his arm and there’s a smile on his boss’s face as he joins the rest of them in peals of laughter.

Injury Meme

“I don’t know, you’re staring at it enough already.”

She hadn’t meant to collapse into the chair in his office. Actually she’d made the wrong turn, assuming it was her own—but by the time she recognized Oh, he’s sitting at his own desk, not at mine, she was already planting herself into the chair opposite him.

Admittedly, the wound was nasty and probably not pleasing to be around. Molly doubted he’d appreciate knowing it had been worse only an hour before.

   “Well stop prodding it and maybe I won’t squirm!” 

It wasn’t the first time one of the Vaults many items had tried to do her harm, but it was the first time Lucy had ever been attacked by a painting. She hated to think of what might have happened, had Jon not intervened.

She frowned, staring down at her wounded arm as he hastily applied a bandage made from the hem of his shirt.

“What are you looking for, Archivist?” The rows of houses stretch ever-onward, the evening fog just a little too thick, the suburban monotony a little too flat, like someone had taken a thousand dollhouses and lined them up for display, all the same model, the same beige paint.

Peter stands in the middle of a street that has never known the weight of a car, the smile on his face far too friendly for the situation at hand, he tilts his head slightly, the white fog slowly curling out of his eye sockets, obscuring the pale eyes within.

Malakh gets a happy wing flutter and a shy smile while she chews her bottom lip.

“Oh, no, after you, I insist. You have your hands full.”

Horst smiled, gently grasping the upper edge of the door over Jon’s head. He was large enough to fill the door frame on his own, but he flattened himself back against the wall as much as he could.