six impossible things before breakfast
“Martin, tell her it’s me will you?”
Martin's eyes shot up at the sound of his name, only his eyes, they didn’t look right.
Martin had deep brown eyes, eyes that could engulf you if you let them, wrap you up and chase away the things that went bump in the night. This Martin, the one that was looking at him as if he shouldn’t exist, had bright blue eyes. They looked like the colour of the sky at the break of dawn, or forgotten pools abandoned to time and tide.
This wasn’t his Martin.
And if this wasn’t his Martin, this wasn’t real, None of it was real.
Never mind the fact that his captives were barely the size of a rat. Or that he was bound to the floor by reams of unfurled tape.
The strangest thing in his immediate present was the fact that Martin had the wrong color eyes. And didn’t that just sum up how absolutely ridiculous his day job was that that was the thing that had felt off about it all.
“You aren't Martin.” Jon muttered.
“Yes I am.” the figure pressed the end of the pencil ever harder into his hand. “Who else am I going to be?”
“Not Martin.”Jon jerked his head back and stared at the ceiling, of course he couldn’t get any rest bite from the horror show his life had become.
“Oh very well done Archivist.” came a voice from all around him, he tried not to wince at the loudness of it all. Straining against his temporary bonds to see who had spoken. “ I thought it would take you a little longer than that to realise I was playing with you.”
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@pezilla : I know three things in this world. Cats are gods. They know this. The admiral deserved to go full kaiju in the apocalypse and I'm sad it never happened.