skeletonkeay

"This is cloth?" Tarantulas accepts the two sheets and studies them carefully. He tears off a tiny corner of each sheet, worries the torn edge with his fingertips, and even smells it, just in case that turns out to be useful data in the future. "Interesting."

He does not have time to become an expert on papermaking, he reminds himself wistfully. At least not right now. He has to budget his time carefully, at least until they've either destroyed or driven off the demons that make life on this island so hazardous.

"But which type is more useful?" he wonders out loud, and refocuses his attention on Gerry. "To be more precise, which type of paper is less liable to smear when written on with pencil or ink? I keep very precise notes, and I don't care to have my research compromised by something so pedestrian as smudging."

At the apology, Gerry lets out a slow breath. "Before any of that," he interrupts. "I want to know why you bought it."

Jon hesitates, for only a moment, before he replies.

"...Something about it was off, when I was checking into a rumor that there were tapes in Calloway's shop," He starts, frowning gently. "I couldn't place it, but even at the bare minimum, Calloway being unwilling to sell it to Cecil didn't sit right with me. Even if it didn't have a strange, uncomfortable energy about it, it still felt like... I don't know. Buying a person, in and of itself."

He scratches his neck, glancing away, his frown turning a bit guilty.

"I considered asking him before I did, but couldn't shake the worry that someone else with worse intentions could buy it, being the low price that it was, so I... went ahead and jumped the gun, with a plan to give it to him and ask about it when I could get a hold on some free time. You know how well that played out, of course."

"Generally the cloth." Gerry sets down his tools, giving the conversation his full attention now because fuck it, why not. "To some extent, that depends on the tooth of the paper and the implement you're writing with, but given that cotton fiber absorbs ink better, you'll have the best luck with the cloth-based paper and a good ink pen. Pencil's hit or miss, it tends to smudge no matter what you put it on unless you seal it."

"You basically did buy a person, Jon. That's why he's so pissed. That's why I didn't wanna tell you what it did."

A hand goes to the bridge of his aquiline nose, and he presses his thumb and index finger firmly to either side.

"I--- In fairness to you, I don't actually know you that well to be able to predict what you might've done with that information. But I know Gertrude Robinson. And I know that if I told her what that thing was, she would want to test it. See how it could be used to further her agenda. And even if her agenda was ultimately to beat the bad guys or whatever, she would've done it at Cecil's expense if she was in your shoes," Gerry explains. "I don't know how much like her you are. I don't know how much of that was Gertrude and how much of it was Archivist, and I don't know what parts of that you got in the change over. I couldn't tell you what that paper could do while it was in your hands. I just had to hope you would take my word for it. A gambit that... didn't pay off."

For a moment, Jon considers his words, brows lightly furrowed.

"I understand your experience with Gertrude bringing you to that conclusion. For better or worse, though, I am not Gertrude Robinson. I haven't got her-- ruthless, no-nonsense, direct approach to all things she assumed responsibility of. I haven't got enough sense not to fall into half of the traps laid for me, and not terribly much more self-preservation or skill to prevent those things from happening, even if I did."

He glances back Gerry's way from where his attention drifted off to the side, though, and his expression softened.

"Unlike Gertrude, though, I could never justify harm to those around me to further my own personal wishes. Even for the greater good. ...I know she hurt you deeply, and that she set a precedent for Archivists to do much the same, but I hope, with time, I can show you I don't intend to follow that legacy she left. And... I'm sorry. For not taking your word for it. I've no reason to distrust you, but... people wanting seemingly mundane things for incredibly impactful purposes is something I've seen a few too many times, and I let my paranoia get the better of me."

"...I shouldn't have gotten rough with you," Gerry admits after a moment of processing Jon's explanation. "It's not that I think you're like her, I just--- didn't know one way or the other, and I--- I was scared. I was scared of what could happen to Cecil. I've never had anything so overwhelmingly, beautifully, unstoppably positive in my life as what I have with Cecil and I would do fucking anything to keep him safe. So when I thought he might get hurt, I panicked. And I scared you. M'sorry."

"'Seal it?'" Tarantulas can't keep the confused look off his face. He hadn't intended to betray the depths of his ignorance when he entered the shop, but...then again, he hadn't realize just how far down that ignorance extended. He sighs and says, "Pretend for a moment I come from an entirely digital culture, and then explain what you mean by that. Please."

Oh, there's no pretending involved. Gerry doesn't need true sight gifted by the Ceaseless Watcher to pick up on context clues.

"As in with a coat of something protective. Like, uh---" Fuck. This guy won't know what Mod Podge is. Poor, deprived sod. Hair spray? Hard maybe. Paint??? "Like a clear varnish."

"Ah!" The connection to varnish works -- Tarantulas is still a Cybertronian at spark, after all, and paint and varnish are an important part of the culture. "So the 'varnish' locks the pencil markings into place and stops them from smearing?" He frowns again at the paper. "Won't the varnish eventually cause the organic compounds making up the paper to deteriorate, though? What's the average lifespan for this medium?"

"There's varnishes specifically for paper, and I honestly am not sure about an average lifespan. It can be destroyed in literally two seconds from tearing or flame, or it can last for centuries if stored safely. So your guess is as good as mine."

Jon's quiet for a moment, but gives a nod, frowning gently.

"I understand. ...Getting scared was no excuse for doing what I did, either. I'm sorry. You've had good intentions, as long as I've known you, and I won't let paranoia and panic leave me breaching your free will the way I did. You have my word."

"Hm." A little disappointing, but it's fine. "I'll have to remember to look into that, if I end up staying in this world that long," he says casually -- because he most likely will be. It takes time to invent devices that can pierce the boundaries between parallel universes, all right?

"I'll take both, then. And do you have any of that paper varnish?"

At that, Gerry lets out a sigh. "I can't really... say how much I believe that. Not because I think you want to do that, but because this was a knee-jerk reaction. But I think you mean well. I just--- gotta explain this all to Cecil."

"I'll just have to work to prove it to you, then. And I'll do so."

At the remark about Cecil, Jon frowns, letting out a light breath.

"I'm not anticipating much success in mending, if our recent interactions are anything to go off of. ...Do tell me how it goes when you get a chance, though, if you wouldn't mind. If nothing else, then to put some finality on the situation."

Ryja shows up promptly in the morning, at just the right moment for Gerry to be available. She's leaning on her talent, because she needs this made badly, if things are going to go the way they've been going.

"Hello! I am Ryja, and I am very much in need of your services." Bright and confident thanks to her mask, which is still not her best work but more refined and smoothed than it was before.

Gerry blinks in surprise, impressed by how early this woman is. She's also got rabbit ears and a mark of the Flesh cut deep into her. Looks fresh. Oof.

"G'morning," he says casually. "What can I do ya for?"

"I need a book, made in a particular manner. It is required for my magic, and without it I have struggled." To say the least of it.

Gerry scratches his neck thoughtfully and nods. "Alright. I don't know much about magic, exactly, but if you point me in the right direction I'll do my best. What're we lookin' at here?"

"I shall need a very strong binding, and an especially thick cover with metal plating in it. The inside, if you bring me some paper I can sketch out some examples of the kinds of diagrams I will need, and we can work out how many pages it will actually be. The cover and pages have to fall within certain ranges for the whole tome to work." Technically the art of crafting a Scholar's tome isn't really magic itself, but this world has different rules and perhaps it would qualify.

"I know it is a lot, but I hope the promise of another healer for the community explains why it is so important." This has a hopeful smile in her voice, because oh, she misses healing so badly. Not of course, that she wants anyone to need it, but oh. It is a passion, not just a job.

A corpse walks into a print shop one afternoon. As you do, right? As you do.

As you do, indeed. Gerry hasn't seen Angel in a hot minute. He nods in greeting.

"Afternoon," Gerry says. "What can I do for you?"

Gerry nods thoughtfully, then grabs her some scrap paper that's too damaged to use for sale. He could've recycled it, but eh. Then he grabs a pen. "There ya go. You can use my desk there."

“Hey. Do you make business cards?” Like, it’s the sort of thing a normal printshop would do at home, but he’s not sure how this one works compared to them.

"Yeah, of course."

Angel is the first person here to ask him, and it's going to be impossible not to think of that stupid movie scene the whole time he's working on it, but he knows how?

"Any specifics on what you want?"

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