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supernaturalinguist · 5 years

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s/i questionnaire: soren edley

Lifted from my friend @gaycopia! :)

1. What do they fear the most?

The thing with Soren is that they’re mildly scared of a lot of things, but don’t have a lot of end-all be-all fears. When they think about death, they do get scared, but mostly because of the sheer unknown nature of it all. They’re scared that everyone actually hates them and are just faking the fact that they’re friends. Of losing everyone who matters to them in their life. Generally common stuff. Death, failure, loss, rejection. The usual.

Especially the fear that they’re lying to themself and everyone around them, and that they don’t realize it.

2. What is their worst habit?

Biting their lips and cuticles. Or self-isolating. Being too hard on themself. Not feeling able to express any negative emotions (besides sadness) openly.

3. What bores your character?

Math and music theory, as specific topics. (They just don’t get it.) Also, if you’re teaching Soren something and you’re not excited about what they’re supposed to be learning, they will be bored with you and not pay attention. Lack of stimulation, also.

4. Are they an optimist or pessimist, introvert or extrovert?

Spren wishes they were an optimist, and everyone thinks they look like they’d be an optimist, since they’re gentle and kind. They’re more cynical than they look, and because of a lot of negative experiences in their life, they’ve fallen squarely into the pessimist side. Soren’s a big introvert, but still likes going out with friends.

5. What is their greatest weakness and greatest strength?

Oof. Greatest weakness? Their inner critic, probably. Also, the fact that they can’t read people very well, and because of that, they’re often manipulated or accidentally put people off of them because they can’t parse their reactions well.

6. Do they have self-doubt, or are they completely gung-ho?

Soren is MADE of self-doubt.

7. What is the most violent thing they’ve ever done, and the most violent thing done to them?

Soren doesn’t really do violence. The most they’ve done is verbally dress someone down that hurt them. What they lack in physical ability they make up in mental acuity. They wouldn’t physically hurt anyone on purpose, unless they were cornered in a very bad situation. (Then, it’s likely all that repressed anger would just explode in a violent, feral cat-like rage.)

As for violence done to them? Let’s just say that they’ve experienced a...significant amount of abuse in their life. Not necessarily physical, but on the emotional, mental and sexual scales, they’ve been abused.

8. Who do they love the most, and who do they hate the most?

They want to say that they love their family--their dad and mom, even though they have a difficult relationship with them both, and generally try to stay away from them for their mental health. And they love their friends, of course. But in the case of what sort of love they feel most strongly, it’s 99% directed at a certain Head Archivist.

They hate their abuser, abuser’s friends, etc

9. What do they do in their spare time?

Soren has a lot of hobbies! Generally they like to study languages and linguistics, or do fiber arts (embroidery, crochet, knitting, you name it!) They also like to read, and to cook. Sometimes even write poetry.

10. How hungry are they for power?

Not very. They think absolute power corrupts absolutely, and don’t really know what they’d do if they had any.

11. How ambitious are they?

They have ambitions, in the case of wanting to expand their knowledge and understand the secrets behind events documented at the Institute. Honestly, they’re happy with where they are in life, but wouldn’t mind more money in their pockets (for going to Japan every once in a while and buying more craft supplies.)

12. Do they have a strong moral compass or are they willing to break the rules if it benefits them?

Soren generally has a pretty strong moral compass that they follow if at all possible. But it’s kind of a weird moral compass. However, they’re okay with committing infractions of the rules if they’re sure it’ll end up with a good outcome for the majority involved. (As in, they’ll be okay with torrenting and doing things to the detriment of large corporations, but draw the line at hurting other people unless it’s really and truly necessary.

13. Who is this character deceiving? (It may be themselves or they may be putting on a facade for someone else)

They think they’re not worth other people’s time. They think they don’t deserve good things, because they’re always swept up in when the next bad thing is going to hit.

14. What makes this character feel the happiest?

Spending time with their partner. Spending time with friends too. Also spending time alone in a peaceful area doing something that interests them (like a library with a pot of tea and pastries.) Learning new things and actually understanding them. When people tell them that they’re “worth it”, or that they care about them. Eating good food with good people, or even alone. They find their happiness where they can take it.

15. What is their biggest secret?

They did some...sketchy things when they were with their abuser and are always worried if they were actually the abuser in the situation. Soren worries that traumatic experiences that are blocked in their memory are blocked because they forced themselves to block out the things they were ashamed of.

16. What is their sense of humor like?

Soren likes deadpan humor, memes, improv comedy. They make a lot of sarcastic jokes when they can, as well as the occasional nonsequitur in conversation. Soren wants to make people laugh and smile when they can.

17. What would this character do which would be out-of-character for them?

Hurt someone intentionally that didn’t hurt them. Be open about their dating and sex life. Basically anything openly sexual.

18. What are they superstitious about?

If they spill salt, they toss a little over their shoulder. Also they don’t say the word “Macbeth” in theatres, and will get very angry at anyone who does.

#s/i questionnaire #soren edley

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supernaturalinguist · 5 years

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rainy recuperation

It had been about two or three weeks since the Prentiss incident, and though Jon had gone back to the tunnels in the Magnus Institute a few times since he was placed on medical leave, he hadn't had much contact with his workplace otherwise. Martin had sent him a multiple voicemails wishing him well, but they stopped after the first week. This wasn't to say that he didn't appreciate the messages, because he honestly did. If Prentiss was really and truly gone, and had finally left Martin's flat alone, maybe he was catching up on some much needed familiarity, being in his (own worm-free) home. (More likely, it was that Martin thought he was being a bother, no matter how much truth there was to the statement.)

Tim had sent him a text or two, the same old "get better from the worm attack" sentiments, but he had heard nothing from Sasha. That wasn't abnormal, though, and Jon didn't give it any more thought. They both were likely laid up in their own homes when not at work.

To be fair, the majority of Jon's brain power was dedicated to ignoring the steady pain that radiated from the newly made holes in his body. They were healing well enough, but it still hurt when he changed his bandages or put ointment on the wounds. Not to mention the memory of the worms themselves, crawling and burrowing in his skin made him shiver and feel sick to his stomach. He'd feel an itch on his arm or neck, one of the places where the holes clustered close together, and his hand would fly up in an instinct to slap away the phantom worms. There was never anything there, though, and more often than not, touching the wounds would further irritate them.

Today was one of those days where the pain was consistent, a dull sort underlaid with the itch of healing skin. This morning, Jon had made himself a large mug of strong tea and a small breakfast with which to take his medicine. Just a few slices of toast and some eggs, nothing special. He figured that in order to distract himself from the unpleasantness, he'd read some of the books in his flat that he hadn't quite gotten to yet. Maybe watch a documentary on Netflix, or something- - wasn't there that new one about a celebrity cult released just recently? He wasn't sure. It was worth a try.

Jon had just gone to sit down on his settee and turn on the television when he heard something shuffling at his door. Immediately, his blood turned to ice. Could it be another one of those horrid creatures? Did Jane Prentiss, somehow not dead, skip from Martin's home straight to his? He breathed shakily, heart jumping in his chest. The noises at the door stopped, and then they started again. Not a shuffling, but a rustling of fabric like a canvas bag. Maybe if he just sat here, quietly with his shades drawn, the person at his door would just leave him be.

The doorbell rang, a cheery noise that did nothing to dissuage the growing fear in Jon's heart. Tentatively, Jon walked over to the door, and peeked out of the peephole.

A familiar face met his own; a face with a mop of dark wavy hair, and brown eyes covered by large round glasses. Soren Edley, from upstairs, who worked at the Institute library. The two had talked on several occasions, and he found them to be pleasant enough company. They never failed to have interesting stories about their time in Japan, and the two of them had plenty of things in common. One of the first conversations they had that was longer than a few minutes happened to be about recent documentaries they had seen; Soren preferred true crime to nature documentaries, but wasn't averse to watching them, he remembered them having said.

The figure shuffled at his doorstep, stepping from foot to foot, and in their hands, they carried....hm, so it had been a canvas bag after all. His anxiety gave way to confusion. But why was someone from his work here? Had Elias sent someone to check on him? No, that was highly unlikely. If Elias had needed anything, he would have given him a call and not sent one of his lackeys. Whatever the reason, there was someone at his door, and it would have been impolite to just leave them there. (If they started spitting worms, though, he'd be ushering them out within a second.)

Jon opened the door, albeit slowly, and the person at his threshold visibly brightened. He felt immediately underdressed in his sweatpants and t-shirt.

"Hello," he said, hoarsely. Maybe he should have said something along with that, but he honestly couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Oh, thank goodness, you do live here. I thought the employee listing gave me the wrong address." Soren breathed in relief.

"You...found my address in the employee listing...?" Jon's brow furrowed.

Immediately his visitor's face colored in embarrassment. "Not for anything creepy, I swear. I...didn't even think about how this would look. God, I feel like an idiot. I'm really sorry if I've bothered you."

Jon ran a hand through his hair, realizing he probably looked more rough than he felt, if that was possible.

"No, you haven't bothered me. I wasn't.... " He trailed off. "Why are you here?"

Soren gestured with their free hand at the canvas bag they were carrying. "I heard you were recuperating from all of the stuff that happened downstairs in the archives, and were taking some time off. I thought I'd bring you a get well gift, as it were."

Oh. Well, that was unexpected. "You can come in, if you'd like to put the bag down and such."

"Is that alright with you? I don't want to be a bother, really. I know you probably need your rest."

"It'd be rude of me if I didn't invite you in, after you went all this way to give me a gift. I... don't get many visitors, so you'll have to excuse the state of my flat." Jon stepped away from his doorway, and waved a hand inside.

"Again, I'm sorry for the intrusion." Hesitantly, Soren crossed the threshold, and walked into Jon's flat.

It wasn't the biggest of places, but for a single-person flat in the middle of metropolitan London, it was definitely better than what a lot of people nearby had. From the looks of it, the flat had all the basic amenities; kitchen, living space, assumedly bathroom and bedroom, but those weren't visible from the entry. To Soren's surprise, it was a lot less messy than they expected.

"I'll put on a pot of tea, then."

"Are you sure that's okay? Really, if you just want me to drop this off so you can rest up, it's not a problem." Soren perched on the settee in the living space like a bird getting used to a new cage.

"No, really, it's fine. You don't have to keep apologizing." Jon wandered over to the kitchen. The intrusion was a pleasant enough distraction from the pain in the worm-holes and his leg. Plus, he figured the company was nice, once in a while.

"Sorry," Soren muttered under their breath. The canvas bag was placed on the coffee table, and within a few minutes, Jon came out with a mug of tea for each of them.

"This is all I have. It's just standard black, nothing fancy."

"Thanks," they said gratefully. "It was getting a bit chilly outside, so anything to warm the bones, right?"

The two of them sat in relative silence for a few moments, drinking their tea, and Soren looked over the man sitting next to them. He looked haggard, with shadowy bags under his eyes and a whole host of bandages scattered over his face and neck. They guessed that he had even more bandages for wounds that they couldn't see.

"So, if I may ask, what's this get well gift?"

"Oh! Yes, the gift." They put down their mug and picked up the rather large canvas shopping bag. Inside, they retrieved a large tupperware container of what looked like-

"Is that soup?" Jon asked.

"Yeah, miso. The good stuff." They smiled slightly. "I made it myself. Not the miso, the soup. There's vegetables in there too. Daikon, carrot, some shungiku, which is really hard to find here, for some reason. I started growing it myself a few months ago and these are some of the first ones to come out." An expression of pride shone on their features.

"...Shungiku?" he repeated.

"I think they're called chrysanthemum greens, in English? Edible chrysanthemum greens. They have a really nice taste, and the texture's a lot like spinach. I used to make this soup whenever I was sick overseas, and it usually made me feel a lot better. I know you're not sick, you're injured, and that's different, but I mean, maybe it'll help?"

"Oh." Jon said, and took the container in both hands. "Thank you. Shall I.... go ahead and put this in the refrigerator?"

"Yeah, it keeps just fine in that."

He went into the kitchen, and placed the soup in the main shelf of his refrigerator, which was currently occupied by a quart of milk, some leftover takeaway, and some assorted sandwich making materials. Somehow he felt like the shelf looked a little less lonely like that.

In due time, he returned to sit next to his guest on the couch, who had carefully upended the canvas bag on his coffee table, revealing a few paper boxes of tea.

"I also brought some tea. This one's green, but there's this kind with chamomile, lavender and spearmint, and I think lemongrass. It's supposed to be relaxing and aid in sleep and recuperation. I thought you could use it. Oh, and this one's got ginger."

Jon was a little taken aback at the gifts, but accepted them with a nod all the same. The logo on the tea boxes looked relatively familiar, and Soren noticed him looking.

"Oh, um, I got these from a place nearby the Institute. I go there after work sometimes, to decompress. They have a good selection."

"I...thank you, Soren. I appreciate it." Jon responded.

From the way their eyes widened, they didn't look like they expected him to thank them. "It wasn't any trouble. I just figured that I'd help where I could. I ran some tea over to Martin and Tim, but when I went over to Sasha's flat she wasn't home. So I just dropped it in her mailbox."

"I see." Something in his chest felt a little heavy, suddenly. Aftereffect of stress or his medications, probably. Maybe. "So you gave the soup to them too. That was kind."

"N- -no, actually. Not the soup." Soren mumbled.

The heavy feeling went away, suddenly.

"You...didn't give them the soup."

"No." Soren's face was a bright pink.

"The soup was for me?"

"Yeah. I.. made that for you. I thought you'd like it."

"Thank you. For the soup. And the tea." He cleared his throat, which had dried up even as he had been drinking his tea. "For caring enough to give me a get well gift."

"Oh, um, yeah! Of course. You're a friend of mine, and I like talking to you. Hearing about statements, and what's going on in the archives. And other things too. Movies. Books and stuff. Anything and everything really. Is that weird? Sorry if that's weird."

"Y-you... you too." Jon replied, a bit taken aback, but not unpleasantly so. "I enjoy talking to you, too."

At that, they looked just as taken aback as he did. "Oh. Thank you."

Again, for a few moments, there was silence, only broken by the soft pattering of rain on the window panes. It had started raining not long after Soren had come in, Jon assumed. Absently, Jon scratched at a bandage on his neck, and his gaze drifted over to the television.

"If you're free, I was...going to watch a documentary on Netflix or something. Don't feel pressured to stay if you don't want to, but if you do want to-"

"Sure, I'll watch with you, if you want. What documentary?"

He hadn't gotten that far. "I hadn't gotten that far." he admitted. "You dropped in right as I was about to start looking, actually."

"Sorry?" Soren looked a bit ashamed, but Jon waved a hand, casually.

"It's fine. We can look together, if you want." He paused. "I'm going to grab a blanket. Do you want a blanket?"

"Oh, uh. Sure."

"Hang on." There was a creak- a linen closet opening, and then came the thump of fabric from next to Soren. Two afghan blankets now lay haphazardly on the couch, more brightly colored than anything Soren would have expected to come out of Jon's wardrobe.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Charity shop. A few winters ago it got quite cold, and my heating unit wasn't working right, so I...stocked up."

Soren picked one of them up and wrapped it around their shoulders. It smelled clean, like soap, with just the tiniest bit of dust. The sort of home-y smell old blankets tend to have. "I didn't take you for the loud pattern type," Soren joked.

"I'm not." Jon responded, affronted. "Those were the warmest blankets they had, and I distinctly recall not caring about anything but the warmth and the pricetag."

"Still, though," Soren said, stifling a giggle. "These resemble beach towels more than they resemble blankets."

Jon made a huffing noise and gave them a sidelong glance, but still sat down with his own blanket wrapped around his bony shoulders. He looked a lot more comfortable like that, all cozied up, Soren thought. They scooted a bit closer to the man next to them, and hoped he wouldn't notice. He didn't, since he was now engrossed in the ever expanding catalog of Netflix documentaries.

"We've got....let's see. Holy Hell, that's a cult one?"

"Yeah, I've seen it. Freaky stuff, that." Soren shivered.

"I'll pass, then. I've endured plenty of 'freaky' recently, thank you." A snort of laughter came from Jon's side, and his mouth unconsciously curved into a small smile.

"I bet you have. I'm really sorry about that, and for laughing." That was only partly truthful, Jon thought. "But....hm, what else is there? Have you heard of anything good lately?"

"Yeah, there's that Werner Herzog one. Lo and Behold something?"

"Oh yeah! I remember seeing that one on a few to-watch lists. Do you want to watch that?"

"I'm up for it if you are," Jon responded.

"I'll give it a try, sure."

They put on the Werner Herzog documentary, and for a brief moment, Jon worried about the implications of looking really and truly pretentious. But he was watching a Werner Herzog documentary with someone else who actually wanted to watch it, a...friend. So he wouldn't be the only pretentious person there, and that was alright with him.

Or it was alright for about thirty minutes, at least. That was approximately how far Jon got into the anthology of stories about the internet and technology before his eyes closed and he dropped off to sleep.

Soren almost jumped when they felt the distinct weight of a head fall onto their shoulder, and even though there was no one around to see it, they still turned red. Bright red. So much so that they feared the absolute heat of their face would wake up their companion if nothing else did.

They were stuck. Honestly and properly stuck. Jon's breathing had evened into a smooth in-and-out, and they could feel the tickle of it on their neck. This was weird. This was really weird. But not bad weird? Good weird? Where was the line between good weird and bad weird anyway? They couldn't just tap him on the shoulder and tell him to wake up, and risk embarrassing him. Could they? Even if they could, did they want to?

There wasn't any use thinking. Instead, they turned their head from the documentary, which is much more difficult when something's weighing on your shoulder, and looked over at their sleeping friend.

Jon looked....peaceful. Strangely so. Usually they saw him poring over statements or paperwork with this everpresent crease in his forehead, jaw tensed in concentration. Or they saw him reading out loud, with an intense focus in his eyes that seemed to drink up every drop of information. His eyelashes cast shadows over his angular face, and Soren realized they had basically never seen him with his eyes closed at all. Not even to blink, really. Jon's lips were parted slightly, allowing for his breathing, and now that Soren was close to him- admittedly closer than they'd ever been- they could see the beginnings of the scar tissue forming around Jon's most recent cuts, peeking out from under his bandages. It looked painful. Their heart twinged in sympathy.

Before they could stop themself, they had reached out a hand to stroke his face. So as not to wake him, they ran a few fingers ever so slowly down the side of his face, taking care to avoid the wounded areas. His breathing didn't change. So they did it again, careful and slow, tucking a few stray hairs from his forehead behind his ear. Grazing a hand over his graying temples, a testament to all the stress he was under. Then, down to his neck, where his pulse ran steady and even. Soren's hand stayed there for a while. Just knowing that he was getting some semblance of rest. That even as he survived such awful things, he had a bit of peace and quiet, even if it was just a moment. They matched the pace of his breath. In. Out. In, out, all as Werner Herzog's voice droned on in the background.

Then, he moved. Soren's stomach flipped, immediately nervous. Oh god. He was going to wake up and hate them. They'd broken a boundary. No amount of soup could fix that.

They were going to apologize, immediately, as the words started stuttering from their lips. They started extricating their hand from the awkward position. But Jon...

Somehow he didn't seem to care. Or mind. His eyes fluttered open a little, and Soren found themself caught in the dark rich color there. His brows furrowed a little in half-asleep confusion, and his mouth parted as if to speak.

Instead of speaking, though, he took Soren's hand in his - long fingers curling around theirs- and gently placed it back on his face, where he pressed into it. Seeking the touch, the pressure and warmth. He mumbled something Soren couldn't understand or even hear over the blood pumping in their ears.

"...'s fine," his voice came, rough with drowsiness, and low in a way that made Soren's heart flutter in a way that had nothing to do with fear. "...don't have to stop."

"O-kay." Soren said haltingly, and so they didn't.

They ran their hand, emboldened, down his jaw and neck with more pressure, and watched him press into it like a cat. If it hadn't been happening right now, they wouldn't have believed it to be true. They stroked his hair again, and he moved towards their touch then too. The two of them sat like that until the documentary stopped, Jon's head heavy on Soren's shoulder, while they pet his hair and face. His head moved further inward until it was tucked into their neck, breath on their collar, tickling slightly, but they didn't care. As long as he was comfortable.

Before long, though, the position got a little bit uncomfortable, so Soren started to adjust. Instead of moving away, as Soren expected, Jon lifted one sleep-heavy arm and then another, wrapping them around their waist to bring them closer. Surprised and flustered by the sudden change, they lost balance, and ended up lying back on the couch, their friend splayed next to them, head still curled into their neck. Did he really not know what he was doing? Was he just that tired? Or did he know what he was doing and just...didn't mind? Maybe even...enjoyed it?

It didn't matter. This was fine.

With the rain pattering on the windows, the sound of even breath, the warm weight of a gentle touch. Soren felt themself drifting off to sleep too.

#🗃

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