jigokulogs | [open] August in Enma

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magnus archives: johnathan sims

[open] August in Enma

Who ⬤ Jon and whoever wants to deal with this
What ⬤ Enma office problems, around the apartment block, yukata shopping
When ⬤ The end of July and first week of August before tanabata event
Where ⬤ Enma offices, Enma apartment block, others
Content Warnings ⬤ No real life office products were harmed in the making of this log. I'll amend this should anything else come up in threads.

Week One

[After several weeks of arriving here, it's been made clear to him that his superiors have no intention of letting Jonathan transfer out of the law enforcement department. He has no wish to stay surrounded by police, particularly not after some of the rumors he has caught wind of. Deals under tables, handshakes behind closed doors. No, he would much rather be elsewhere. But he isn't.

He's trapped. Again. It isn't until the third week he gets the bright idea. Who else had he known that hated their job, their ineffectual boss, and couldn't leave?

So the third week, Jon walks in, coffee cup in hand, and looks up at the doors. And it's with the clearest of thought process he asks himself: What would Tim do?

Nothing so far as real property damage, and nothing to really be reprimanded for. But enough to be annoying. Enough to make it known he hates it here. Yes. Yes, that is the mindset he enters with each day now.

Throughout the first week, Jon is doing any number of things. From letting his phone ring for minutes on end while he stares intently at a paper on his desk. To slowly tearing another paper into strips, so, so slowly it would almost seem intentional. There are countless times the coffee pot is found empty. Or, if it has been restarted for a fresh pot, it's only decaf.

Jon himself can be found at his desk diligently working it seems. None the wiser about any of these things.]

Week Two

[His transfer request out of this office has still not been acknowledged. Which really only means one thing: escalation. Not by much; he doesn't want to actually cause injury but perhaps larger, more inconvenient annoyances.

He hands in reports with the papers stapled on both top corners. Occasionally setting the copier to 30 pages and forgetting to reset when he's finished, only for the next unsuspecting victim to end up with 30 copies themselves. Files he receives, Jon will send back if he finds the most minute of grammatical or spelling error to be rewritten. While others are out to lunch, they may come back to find things moved just slightly a few inches on their desk. Any desks next to each other may have some trouble, their computer mouse not working only for their desk mate to find their cursor moving erratically without input (it's a simple thing, to track the cords to the opposite user's desk).

What might be the most infuriating part is that Jon... does do his job. While he seems nearly lackadaisical about it, he gets it all done with minimal errors. And well. If he sees someone around having issues with their phone, or figuring out how to use the basic functions of a computer, Jon does stop to assist. He was put in charge of tech support, wasn't he? Who would he be if he simply ignored that. There's an earnestness to it when Jon assists anyone who needs the help.

It doesn't stop him from printing 20 copies of his transfer request form by the last day of the fourth week he's there though.]

Enma Apartment Block

[One of the few nonessential things he's spent his tiny stipend on is decent cookware. So nearly any evening of the week, Jon's windows are open and there is the smell of delicious homecooked food coming from it.

There are some days he's realized he's cooked too much. And it won't keep well. So. Knock knock, on your door, it's the smell of food and a slightly nervous nerd waiting on the other side.]

Um. Yes, I- I live a few doors down and made too much. Was wondering if you could take the rest.

[Otherwise, he might be out by the railing having a smoke. Staring down at it.] Doesn't taste the same.

Yukata Shopping

Christ... Of all the bloody things...

[Jon's starting a little too late in the shopping for a yukata for the event. Enma wants them all to go, and while he still doesn't agree the actual police shouldn't be quite so ready to partake in things that may cause problems later, Jon also doesn't consider himself to be part of the police. It's a weird line to walk, one he can't help but feel is a repeat of a song he'd turned off before already. Consciously knowing he's part of a system he hates and can do nothing about it seems and wanting no part of it, while unconsciously not wanting to cause problems or be reprimanded.

He's out at the last minute trying to find something to wear. Because if he's going to be stuck going to this thing, he's going to at least not stick out. The problem is starting to look so close to the event itself, the only yukata left to fit his wiry frame without being children's sizes are... questionable.

Jon stares at it, somehow simply knowing it's the only choice there is here. Not without going to a multitude of other shops.]

It really would be this one, wouldn't it. I can't see anything else. [He'll turn to the nearest person with it in hand, almost dead inside:] What do you think?

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[ In response, she makes a little exhaling noise. Almost a scoff, but lacking the effort. ]

I might be.

[ She isn't. As far she knows. She probably should know — but again, office work isn't exactly her forte. For all her battle prowess, it may or may not have taken her several attempts to even figure out how to make copies. Didn't have that shit back in her day.

Walking over, she helps herself to one of the copies, glancing it over briefly before going on dryly: ]

You really think turning in a hundred fucking copies will get you any farther around here than turning in just one?

[He watches her without making any attempt to stop her. The last copy spits out and the machine gives a loud beeeeeep indicating it finished its chore. It will have the repeat session next week.

But at the question, his lips turn up in a little wry smile.]

Perhaps not, but it will be hard to ignore, don't you think?

[Squeaky wheel gets the grease, so to speak. If he's trapped and can't leave, then what's the worst that could happen? Be killed? Ha. Too late on that one.]

[ Andy gives him a wry little sidelong look. It's not that she disapproves. Quite the contrary. If she's perfectly honest, she doesn't really belong here herself. She doesn't even really like it. She's effective here, sometimes. But she doesn't have much in common with the others, and she hasn't tried very hard to get along with them.

It might be a bit of an olive branch when she holds out that last copy for him to take back from her. A gesture of solidarity, maybe. Or something like that. ]

You really hate it that much?

[There's a moment of understanding: neither of them truly enjoy being here. It's one he can accept as he takes the paper and adds it to his stack. He carefully arranges them so they are perfectly neat and orderly.]

I'm not fond of cops. Or being trapped.

[ Both are reasonable preferences to have. She won't argue with either. Instead, dryly: ]

And yet, here you fucking are. It's almost like the powers-that-be around this shithole don't give a damn what you are or aren't fond of. [ It's almost amicable, the way she claps him on the shoulder. ] But don't let that stop you. [ With a twinge of wry amusement: ] We should be allowed our small acts of rebellion.

[He jerks under the hand clasp, quickly jerking away- more an instinctive reaction than of anything conscious, if the way his breath catches and comes out a juttery, shaky mess is any indication.

He swallows thickly as the words start to filter back in, muffled and far through the loud thudding of his pulse in his hears before evening out again. God, when has anything in his life ever given a damn about what he wants?]

...R-right. yes. I- Honestly, I'm going to keep attempting. At least to get out of this office.

[ Her eyebrows raise ever so slightly at him when she notices the way he flinches from her touch. Doesn't take a genius to see it — that almost visceral reaction, as if there were some past trauma that's settled deep down into his bones. She won't ask because it's none of her business — she's rarely the type for personal questions — but she'll mind his space.

After a pause that makes it obvious she's choosing not to comment on that little moment: ]

You might get tired of wasting your time, eventually.

[He appreciates it, all the same, her not bringing attention to his own issues. He thinks sometimes he'll manage to work past it, start being all right with casual touch from those he doesn't know, but the few instances it's happened here has proven it will be some time before he can.

That response, though, gets a tired smile down at the papers.]

And I've been told I'm nothing if not one of the most stubborn assholes some people have met. Still.

[He glances back to her and assesses that no, he really has not seen her around. He gives a slight nod.]

Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. [Two years of ingrained habit and he just cannot stop introducing himself that way.]

[ He's not the only stubborn asshole in present company. The other one lets the corner of her mouth quirk up ever so slightly when he self-identifies as such. ]

Andy.

[ Just Andy. No surname. No rank. No title. But as for his: ]

The Archivist? [ Her wryness isn't unfriendly when she goes on: ] Sounds important. I guess it makes sense now — you using paperwork as your weapon of choice.

[Two years of habit, he has got to stop doing that. He isn't the Archivist anymore than he's connected to the Eye at this point. He lays the papers out flat with a little sigh.]

I was an academic researcher before I started working in Archives. Then promoted to Head Archivist for a few years... And now I'm here. Stuck surrounded by cops.

[ She knows a thing or two about old habits. He can be forgiven for clinging to a few of them. She's a creature of habit herself — and maybe she's had an easier time of adjusting to all this, but then again, she's also been alive for almost seven thousand years. That'll teach you a thing or two about adapting. ]

I'd say you'll get used to it, but you might not. [ She shrugs lightly. ] Place is full of fucking secrets though. If you get bored with overworking the copier, maybe that'll keep you busy for a while.

That I do believe.

[As if to make a point of how irritated he is and determined to make management's life more hell than this place is, he begins to methodically rip the top copy into small strips.]

I'll likely start looking into things. Once I know for sure I can be somewhere else. At least away from all of them. [He nods his chin to the room full of his worst human-shaped nightmares.]

[ Dryly, as she watches him have his way with those copies: ]

If you wanted a place to hide, you could have just said so. [ Andy nods over her shoulder in the general direction of the adjacent hallway - and, presumably, something that lays beyond. After a moment, she deigns to clarify: ] I have an office. I’m not there very much.

[He hesitates, not really understanding her meaning. But then she clarifies. His eyes blink twice behind his glasses as he looks to where she nods. God. A quiet office he can usually be alone.

But nothing is ever really free, is it?]

What's the catch?

[ She arches an eyebrow at him. ]

…I might have to be there, now and then?

[ Though truly, despite being the highest ranked officer in this gods-forsaken faction, she has very little interest in the day-to-day operations around the office. Put a sword in her hand and she’ll fight, but the rest? Not her strong point. Not by far. So, someone else might as well get good use out of that desk if she’s not going to. ]

[There has to be something more to it. No higher ranked person in any office just... offers their personal office to a grunt for no reason. Maybe it's something he'll find out later, when he's gotten comfortable there. It would be the pits really, but nothing for it.]

...All right.

Thank you.

[ Oh, he’s polite. Maybe a little suspicious of her intentions, but polite. ]

Don’t worry. [ Wryly: ] If I wanted something from you, I wouldn’t be subtle about it.

[ Then with a bit of amicable mockery: ]

Maybe when you’re at least a sergeant.

Hmph. Let's hope that never happens.

[Jon feels like he'd rather die a third time than be more entangled with this police department.

So it's likely not a total surprise a few weeks later, after the Tanabata festival has been cleaned up, that Jon has made his way to Andy's office (used several times already, alone and quiet) to sit behind the desk. And then ceremoniously drop his head in his hands.

Promoted to sergeant and more responsibilities. At least he's working directly with records now, but he had hoped to be out of all this.]

[ For all her other faults, Andy is usually true to her word — which means that Jon really does get the office to himself most of the time, rarely ever having to brush elbows with her. It goes on like this for a few weeks without incident — and if she's perfectly honest, she wouldn't have known anything changed if his body language wasn't so obvious when she walks in the door. The faction gets new recruits regularly enough. Sometimes those recruits earn their stars. Andy doesn't trouble herself to know all their names and ranks.

But something happened. The man looks like his dog just died.

He gets her usual wryness and a slightly arched eyebrow. ]

Bad day?

[He doesn't fully lift his head, but he does remember Andy's voice from the couple of conversations in passing.]

I was promoted.

[It sounds like it's the worst thing in the world that could have happened. Which is bold coming from the man who literally looks like he's been through hell.]

[ She nudges the door shut behind her, then leans up against it casually. It's probably better that he doesn't look up at her — that way he can't see the slight upward curve at the corner of her mouth. She's got a mean sense of humor, this woman. Hers is an amicable antagonism. ]

Oh. [ Wryly: ] It's Sergeant Sims now, is it?

[ He'll hate that. She knows he will. ]

Do not.

[It's said with a firm desperation of a man not wanting to acknowledge his own achievements. He wasn't trying to get a promotion when he went after those kidnappers. He was worried about the girl, as a bit of a being-kidnapped-expert himself.]

I wanted to get out, now I'm even more tangled up in all this. I'm never getting out now.

[ Her smile, like her humor, is a little mean. ]

That's the nature of hell, isn't it.

[ She comes to sit in one of the chairs opposite the desk, propping one arm up and resting her face in her hand. ]

Soon you won't need my office anymore. [ Dryly: ] You'll have one of your own.

I won't bring you cigarettes anymore if you keep that up.

[That's a lie, he'll keep doing it. But as she sits, he lifts his head up and leans it back against his chair to stare at the ceiling.]

But I suppose that is the nature of hell, yes. Naturally, I can't be assigned to do work that matches my own skill sets.

[ There's a glint of amusement in her eyes at his empty threat, faint crow's feet betraying her even though she doesn't quite laugh. Wryly, but not unsympathetically: ]

It's all very Sisyphean. [ She'd probably be less accepting of it all if she were a couple thousand years younger. But at her age, there are less things that she has the energy to get worked up over. Besides, the office is more tolerable with Jon around. More entertaining too, with his little acts of rebellion. ] But you managed to get promoted anyway. If you were doing work you actually like, you'd probably be my fucking boss by now.

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