Christine confesses what she knows to her knight and Eddie in the forest encampment. A familiar face helps her get ready to learn more about her powers and mages.
I don't even fully remember the context anymore, but I saw a tiktok this morning that was something about captions on engagement posts, and I was struck by divine inspiration.
It’s the beginning of TMA Appreciation Week! @tmaappreciationweek
I won’t have something for every day and they don’t 100% follow the themes but I have a few things in mind to show my appreciation for the show <3
We’re starting with a pre-canon one-shot ft. Gertrude and her worst enemy.... having to be social at a work event
Enjoy!
Also on Ao3!
~
Throughout her many years of service, Gertrude had fostered a habit of never attending the Institute Christmas party.
There were always far better uses of her time, and the idea of socialising with ignorant co-workers didn’t hold any particular appeal for her.
As she stepped into the grand library space where the event was already in full swing, it was gratifying to see she had the right of it.
It was a sad little scene with paltry decorations half-heartedly stuck on the walls and a thin string of blinking lights wrapped around the reference desk.
The tinsel and glitter were dwarfed by the oppressive grandeur of the Edwardian furnishings, their brightness subsumed by the dark wood.
The large tables and chairs that usually took up the reading area had been pushed to the walls and replaced by rickety folding things that held up trays of cheap prosecco and M&S finger food. The rest of the space was left clear for the staff to mingle, although it didn’t seem like anyone had gotten the memo.
Different departments talked amongst themselves, sticking close together like children in a playground. Accounts and Legal merged a bit, familiar with each other, while IT and Admin presented a united front of beleaguered non-academics.
The library team hovered near the stacks, all strained smiles and feigned politeness as their space was invaded and liquids were bandied about near their collection.
Diana gave Gertrude a nod as she passed them but didn’t try to stop her and chat. She appreciated it. Diana had a good head on her shoulders. It was why she had lasted so long in the institute.
The rest of her team weren’t as familiar to Gertrude- newer faces mixed in with the older ones she hadn’t bothered remembering. She gave them a general look-over and the found the usual mix of loneliness and curiosity hovering about them. The profession tended to attract that sort. A handful had more obvious marks of fear etched into their psyches. Gertrude pulled her mind away from peering at them any further.
It was not unusual for employees even outside of the archives to be touched by one terror or another. Diana herself was closely bound to the Beholding, constantly monitoring her workers’ emails, hovering over their shoulders at their desks, spreading rumours and gossip behind their backs. Yes, she fed it well.
The previous head of artefact storage had lost most of his right hand to an incense burner infested with Corruption. He had mostly taken it in stride until a child’s wardrobe had devoured him whole.
To say nothing of the myriad psychic nicks and bruises most people accumulated working for the Magnus Institute.
It wasn’t that Gertrude could physically see these things, but on occasion she would be getting information from a back-of-house admin or a scolding from a legal consultant and a sudden awareness would come upon her, and she would immediately Know how what was haunting the person in front of her.
This same awareness, of course, urged her to ask questions, to Know more and pull people’s statements out of them, word-by-bloody-word.
She had spent years ignoring that urge and was well practised in not indulging it. For the most part.
It was a handy little tool in her arsenal at times, to be able to look at someone and know what they feared the most.
That was part of the reason why she had attended the Christmas party at all. She was looking for one person in particular with an aim to gauge her from afar.
She found her among her fellow researchers, telling a story to a rapt audience.
Sasha James could almost be heard from across the wide room, her tone high as she held court and gesticulated wildly with her plastic glass.
Gertrude leant her elbow against a canapé table and observed her.
She had earmarked James a few months ago after she caught her trying to remotely hack into her laptop. When she had dragged the researcher down to the archive to demand to know what she thought she was doing, James had only shrugged and offered a bare-bones apology. She had needed a case file from the archives and figured that nicking it from archival servers would be quicker than throwing a request for it into the backlogged ticketing system.
It was true that Gertrude rarely ever indulged queries from Research. There were always more important things to do. She had also taken a savage glee in informing James that there were no archival servers, and no digitisation whatsoever.
After chuckling at her distraught expression, Gertrude took five minutes to find the file on the shelves, shove it into her hands, and warned her not to bother her again.
James had not listened to her in the slightest and immediately bombarded her with questions about her filing process and how the archives were catalogued. No amount of glowering or refusal to answer had abated her curiosity and Gertrude had ended up practically shoving her out of her office and locking the door behind her.
The encounter lingered with her for days afterward. Gertrude knew she wouldn’t live forever. Whether her end came at the hands of an enemy or, god forbid, old age, sooner or later, she would need a replacement. She hadn’t considered anyone in the institute, fearing they were all too closely bound to Elias, and had been looking outward for a suitable candidate. However, James caught her eye for a couple of reasons.
The first was, naturally, her curiosity. James had been willing to subvert professional and legal conduct for information and that was a key skill of being Head Archivist that would never be listed on any job description. She also didn’t seem to feel any remorse when caught red-handed. That lack of guilt could be cultivated to encompass the less tasteful aspects of archival work.
Moreover, Gertrude had watched her eyes light up when she had dropped the doddering old lady act to chastise her. She had practically been buzzing with excitement as she was kicked out. Gertrude hadn’t meant to show that side of herself but if it kept James’ interest on her and made it easier to recruit her, she wouldn’t complain.
The other reason she thought James would be a suitable replacement was also why she was staring at her from a distance at a work party.
She was untouched by Fear. It seemed statistically unlikely working at the institute, and impossible when Gertrude went through her employment record and discovered she had transferred into Research from Artefact Storage. Yet there she was, with only the hint of the Eye that all institute employees had.
Most of Research had had some form of encounter or another. They rarely did field work but on the occasions they did, they would usually brush up against danger. She knew the head of the department had a burn from a Desolation avatar branded into her side from her earlier days. Even more of them had joined the institute in the first place due to some previous haunting.
The man standing next to James, for example, laughing uproariously at her tale, had a brush with the Stranger some years ago. Gertrude could almost see it dripping off him; stage lights, calliope music and deeply buried anger twinned with a choking grief.
(In the back of her mind, Gertrude made a note to monitor him. The Circus of the Other would be making an attempt at the Unknowing within the next year or two. Anyone Stanger-marked could be a threat. Better make sure he didn’t get too close to James.)
In contrast, James seemed utterly untouched. Based on the official observations she had made in her Research work, Gertrude was fairly certain she didn’t even believe in most of the things she studied.
Being able to start from scratch and fill the gaps in her knowledge without any fixed notions of Fear was a boon Gertrude hadn’t dared to dream of. If she played her cards right, she could mould James to seamlessly carry on the duty she had worked so hard to maintain.
If there was one problem with James, it could be seen in the circle of people she was currently surrounded by. James was friendly, popular. She clearly enjoyed having attention of others and her presence was obviously welcome. Those ties would have to be snipped if she was to fully step into Gertrude’s shoes.
That would all come in time. She would have to get the woman actually hired as Head Archivist first and, apart from courting James for the role, there was a far bigger blockade when it came to that.
“My, my, this is a surprise.”
Speak of the devil.
Gertrude turned to see Elias Bouchard slink over to her, a plastic grin plastered on his face and a glass of red dangling in his hand.
“Gertrude!” He nodded in greeting, “What brings you out of the dungeons?”
She smiled back and pitched her voice upward into that wee-old-woman tone she had gotten so good at.
“Oh, the cold down there goes right through you! No good for these bones,” She faked a laugh, “Besides, it’s the holidays. I’ll just have a tipple or two before leaving the young people to their merry-making.”
“Oh no, please don’t rush off, it’s always a delight to see you.”
Gertrude bit back a grimace. Elias seeing her was never welcome.
“And we’ve gone on a bit of a hiring spree recently, you know. You must let me introduce to some of our new acquisitions,” His eyes glimmered with a spark of real humour, “I can tell one or two have already piqued your interest…”
His gaze flickered toward the huddle of researchers then back to her.
She couldn’t contain her frown.
Another advantage James had was that, if the plans that Elias had for Gertrude’s successor were what she suspected they were, she hoped he would find it that bit more difficult to carry them out with a blank slate.
She would have to find a way to make James appealing to him to prompt him to hire her. Perhaps she could play up her invasive tendencies. He would enjoy her little anecdote about the failed hacking.
“That would be lovely,” She said, struggling to maintain a cheery tone, “It’s always nice to meet new faces.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” His stolen cheeks stretched with mirth, “As a matter of fact…”
He sudden spotted someone behind her and she could have sworn she saw his pupils expand.
“Jon!” He called, waving a hand, “Over here, Jon! Have you met our Archivist?”
She turned around to see a young man frozen in place and clearly unhappy at being spotted. He hovered for a moment, before sighing and turning on his heel to walk over to them.
He was probably in his mid-twenties, although the bags under his eyes added a couple of unflattering years. He was dressed in an out-of-place suit, much too formal, and his gait was stiff. His dark hair was neatly combed, and he was rail-thin. As he reached them, he stood rigidly as if afraid of making any sudden movements. He clutched a small glass like a lifeline.
Gertrude didn’t notice any of this. The instant she locked eyes with the young man, all she could see, all she Knew, was the overwhelming specter of the Web oozing from every inch of him.
It was practically draped over him, a fine cloak of gossamer silk, clinging to every inch of him and binding him so tightly, she was surprised he could breathe.
It was a childhood trauma, she could tell. The fear was embedded deeply in him, both formative and buried. It had definitively shaped his life.
If it was any other fear, a different kind of horror, she would have dismissed it; half of the people working in the institute had been scarred as children, this man was not special.
But the Mother of Puppets didn’t not terrorise without due cause, and She had a penchant for marking children, just in case any of them should grow up to be of use to Her.
This man was an unaware marionette, just waiting for his strings to be pulled. He was a ticking time bomb planted directly in the heart of the institute. If the Web saw a use for him here, he was a danger to himself and everyone around him.
Gertrude immediately and viscerally hated him.
“Hello Jon,” Elias greeted him effusively, “This is our Head Archivist, Gertrude Robinson. Have you met?”
Elias had to know. There was no way he didn’t. He had willingly brought a spider into their midst and was keen for her to meet him.
The question was why?
The man nodded to her deferentially.
“No, I- I haven’t- Jonathan Sims,” He thrust out his hand, “Jon. Nice to meet you, Ms. Robinson.”
She stared at it like a beartrap. Wondering if she could get away with not touching him, she quickly dismissed the idea. As far as Sims knew, she was just an elderly woman playing with paper downstairs. Best to keep it that way.
“Lovely to meet you, Jonathan,” She shook his hand once, keeping her grip weak, “Just Gertrude is fine.”
He nodded again and a polite smile flickered across his face.
“Gertrude has been with us for nearly fifty years, did you know that?” Elias piped up, “She is as much of an institution as, well, as the institution!”
He chuckled at his own joke and while Gertrude maintained a polite expression, she noticed Sims wince in her periphery.
“That’s… an incredible career,” He said, mildly.
“You’re too kind.”
“Ah, your own career is nothing to sniff at, Jon,” Elias spoke again, “Jon is one of our most dedicated researchers,” He murmured to Gertrude, “I’d say he has contributed more then a fair share of completed cases to your archives.”
“A-Ah,” Jon shook his head, “No, I-”
“In fact,” Elias spoke over him, “Jon is very interested in archival practices, aren’t you Jon?”
“Uh-” He froze like a deer in headlights. It was painfully clear Sims had never thought about archiving before in his life, “Um.”
Ah, Gertrude realised, That was Elias’ game.
A mark from the Web would have been difficult for Elias to manufacture. Hard to out-maneuver a master manipulator. Better to just groom someone already scarred.
How he thought he could keep control of a pawn of the Mother was beyond her but if he really believed she would just roll over and let him push this man into her service, he had another thing coming.
“Is that so?” She asked mildly.
“I-I, uh-” Sims’ face is getting paler, “I-I’m i-interested in all the uh, the academic output the institute produces, o-of course…”
Nice save, although his delivery left a bit to be desired.
She hummed noncommittally.
“Perhaps the pair of you could have a chat about that?” Elias interjected, “Your… mutual interests?”
Gertrude could practically hear Sims sweating.
“Oh, I don’t think Jonathan is interested in work talk right now, Elias,” She said, “It’s Christmas for goodness’ sake! I’m sure he has better things to do then keep an old woman company.”
“Actually, I, uh-”
“Ah. You’re quite right, apologies,” Elias smiled and it was all teeth, “Don’t let us keep you, Jon.”
Sims’ mouth flapped open and shut searching for words before he took the dismissal for the saving grace it was.
“Uh, y-yes, yes, I should- Um, again, uh, l-lovely to meet you,” He shuffled in place, “Merry Christmas.”
With a quick, nervous smile, he darted away from them and disappeared into the crowd. Gertrude stared at the spot he had stood long after he was gone.
Elias sighed happily.
“That was fun.”
“You have some nerve,” She hissed.
He only chuckled again.
“I could say the same for you. You’re being awfully blatant about your favourites. I expected a bit more subtlety,” He took a sip of his wine.
She bit her tongue and reigned in her temper. Whatever else Elias had planned for Sims, he had also introduced them to anger her, and she had taken the bait. She could have kicked herself for sinking to his level.
Wrenching her voice under control again, she drank from her own glass.
“Perhaps I’m getting reckless in my old age.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or perhaps you’re just over-confident.”
“Oh, I think I’m just the right amount of confident.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Elias laughed once more.
“So it does,” He tinked the rim of his glass against her’s, “Let’s enjoy the show while it lasts.”
He turned on his heel and walked away.
“Have a good night, Gertrude.”
“Elias.”
It was only when his footsteps faded from her hearing that she turned back to people-watching, gulping at her drink as she did.
When her gaze found James again, she saw the little circle surrounding her had shrunk to just two other people. The Stranger-touched man was on her right. He had a hand on her shoulder and was leaning forward excitedly.
To her left stood Sims.
She couldn’t hear their conversation from where she lurked but the clear exasperation on his face told her he was moaning to the other two about their encounter.
James looked delightedly horrified as the other man began to crack up laughing. Sims frowned at the pair of them without any real heat.
This was a problem.
If the Web got its pedipalps on James before she could, that would be her plan down the drain.
She drained the glass and tossed it onto the table. It would be fine, she told herself, Elias had just been trying to rattle her. She had a plan and as long as she made her move first, she might still have a chance of success.
Gertrude had tried her hand at caution, now was the time for action.
She turned and strode out of the library at a determined clip.
With the taste of bad wine lingering in her mouth, Gertrude made a vow to herself.
As long as she drew breath, Jonathan Sims would never step foot in her archives.
