Chapter Text
John had grown quite accustomed to being in time out.
It was something that Arthur tentatively brought up not long after they arrived in their new Arkham. Between running for their lives, dying, and waking up in at least three fresh new bodies, John and Arthur hadn't had much time to discuss the intricacies of sharing their lives. So when the thrill having saved the world and joined their body wore off, the question of bathing came up for the first time. Arthur had subtly mused on a trick he'd used on Lilith, and John had less subtly given his consent.
If anything, it was nice to be able to skip the nights now.
At first it had been a numb void, which was just as exciting as it sounds. But over time and frequent visits, John realized that he was able to change the conditions of his quiet room.
It wasn't quite like dreaming, because the time-outs were nothing like sleep. But the more John settled into his quiet room the more it indulged his imagination. Soon there was a lounge for him to lay on. Then walls for jeweled ivy to climb.
The space didn't need to be quiet, nor bland, and truthfully interior decorating was something John had a newfound interest in. It wasn't as though he'd designed Carcosa, it had manifested as completely as the King had at the dawn of time. But it was still very pretty and John had grown terribly fond of it when he and Yellow worked together to rebuild.
Now he had an even more malleable space. He didn't even need to worry about making insectoid minions to regurgitate concrete.
Golden columns grew from the ground like trees, thick red carpet crept over the floor like moss. Black marble statues of monsters and dancers held up intricate masonry depicting scenes from a forgotten life. The ceiling was painted like a brilliant night sky, with two hanging chandeliers to represent the twin suns of Carcosa.
The Dreamlands weren't his only inspiration, though. A week into their new lives, Arthur had finally taken them to the movies. The very next night John returned to his sanctum to find rows of velvet chairs facing a magnificent golden curtain. The aesthetic of timeless Carcosa blended with the decor of the picture houses in Arkham, even creating fellow audience members to sit with him in the seats.
As the theatre came into definition, John's body within it remained vague. He'd sometimes look down and catch sight of a ribbon, but just as often he'd reach out with Arthur's clawed left hand. He could also still feel the foot. It was of little matter, though, as one did not go to a movie theatre to think about their body. John came here to watch the pictures, scenes taken from his adventures with Arthur.
It was a unique advantage, the memory of a god. To be able to recall all that happened with complete accuracy. Then, to be able to shift the perspective into camera angles and add his own music for flair. And maybe he sometimes would add pouring rain over an argument or a thematically relevant rainbow, but it wasn't like John was making newsreels.
What mattered was that within his theatre, John could sit back, relax, and watch what happened. Exactly as it happened. With no exaggerations.