Chapter Text
The being known as Michael watches as the Archivist walks towards its door. As it watches, something stirs within it. Pity, perhaps. Sympathy. Although Michael has no idea where those feelings came from. As it thinks, though, it realizes. Michael Shelley. Shelley had been ignorant, the way the current Archivist so obviously was. And Michael felt…concerned with how easily the Archivist had accepted his fate. The Archivist knew that to go into Michael's hallways was a fate worse than death, and yet. And yet he walked forwards, looking, so, so tired. And Michael was reminded that the Archivist was still mostly human. And that the statement it had just given him was likely the first he’d had in a while. The Archivist had reached the door.
“...wait.” Michael said, still unsure of what it was even doing. The Archivist turned to look at it.
“Wh-” The Archivist cut himself off, and something churned inside Michael. Because as much as most avatars hated being asked things by Eye avatars, it was still…not a great feeling to see the Archivist, budding avatar that he was, cut himself off from his primary method of feeding. Because as much as Michael did not want to be fed upon, it was still concerning. Especially considering how starved the Archivist must be, depending on how far along into Becoming he was.
“...I can take you home.” there was a pause where the Archivist seemed to struggle not to ask what was written all over his face. “I suppose I have taken pity on you. Besides, having you in my hallways would likely be rather uncomfortable.” It lied, trying to keep up appearances.
“You’d…” By now, Michael was starting to consider that not only was the Archivist stopping himself from asking questions, but that he’d likely been unable to speak for long enough that it was possible that it hurt to speak. And-oh, the Archivist had been gagged when it’d found him.
“Would you like to stick around trying not to ask questions until the circus comes back, or would you like to leave?”
“...go.”
“Well then,” Michael offered it’s wrist. “Hold on, you wouldn’t want to get lost, yes?” Despite the clear trepidation, the Archivist took hold.