daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

[striking. it was distinctive, if nothing else, and if she was in a better mood she'd not hesitate to deliberately misinterpret the words. as it is, she'll take them as they were presented, nothing more.]

if you're sincere about that, then thank you. it is a slight comfort to think that they could be a far worse color.

[it feels so annoyingly Pollyanna to think of things like at least I'm not blind, but they're something. and true, the color could be disgusting, or boring, or only affecting one eye.]

Now, don't doubt my sincerity. I’m eager to joke about many things, but when it comes to this ever-growing mystery of foreign memories and physical changes, I’m not quite so heartless to act flippant about them.

[He can try to offer comfort, but this is one of the rare cases where he’ll treat it as seriously disconcerting as it is.]

What do you think this change is meant to imply? That you (the “you” in your memories) sported those vibrant green eyes? Or that we’re just as susceptible to change via the whim of some unknown entity, just like those poor animals once known as horses?

[It’s odd, suddenly comparing themselves to the disappearing horses. But the… sense of manipulation feels rather similar.]

i don't know. and it certainly doesn't help that i had another one of those memories soon after i discovered this change. which on consideration lends credibility to the first of those ideas, but who knows - even that could be tampered with.

Did you? What was the memory?

[Tampering or otherwise, of course he wants to hear it. Or in this case, read about it.]

there was a man with a scarred face standing at the top of a staircase. i looked up at him, and he had the same eyes that i do now.

[with blood and broken glass, and others, but in that moment, she had only been aware of that one. him, and the blood running into her eye.]

i have never met this man in my life, and yet i felt like he had tricked me somehow. that he did something, and yet he stood there smiling.

[The way she describes it, it almost sounds ominous. A man at the top of a staircase with a scarred face? Smiling down at her, having done Grell wrong?]

Did you feel as if you were yourself? Or, to clarify, did you feel anger at being wronged? Bitter?

[Perhaps Ardyn is reaching for the potential of mutual commiseration. If that was the case, it would have been a similar situation to his own memory, the one on the train.]

not bitterness. more frustration. as though i should have known. but there was anger too.

[greater than the sting of being deceived was the anger at being injured. how dare he, she had thought, wanting to drag her nails down his face and make a new scar in payment.]

i knew him, somehow. but hell if i understand it.

Then I'll tell you what you told me not all that long ago: If you were angry, I doubt it would have been without /legitimate/ reason. The man likely deserved it, and while I don't know if this wayward frustration bothers you [likely so, otherwise she wouldn't have described herself as "fretting" prior] try not to linger on it just yet. The story is still incomplete. Frustratingly so.

Did the two of you speak to each other? Do you remember?

[a pause there. she remembers words said, but did they come from his lips? no. his voice remained something unattainable.]

he was silent. someone else was saying something, but i didn't get a good impression of them considering where my focus was.

[someone English, that had been clear enough.]

why do you ask? did someone speak to you in your remembrance?

[There's a pause before the next message comes through. It's not that Ardyn has trouble remembering, it's just that this is the particularly worrying part of his own memory, the one he had told her about not all that long ago.]

I told you about the man stumbling towards me on the train? He was saying something, but I don't remember what it was. I do, however, remember my clear response to him.

"Oh, there you are. I'm worried about your friends. They've fallen and they can't get up. Why not lend them a hand?"

It was all facetiousness.

fair enough, if you felt the way you did towards him. none could begrudge you some facetious comments. his friends could have made you feel the same way he did.

i wonder what he could have been saying to you.

I wish I could remember. He was yelling it, through the blizzard. Whatever it was, I don't think he was particularly happy.

so, not a touching reunion on either side.

[she pauses, before she adds another text.]

in anything you've remembered, have you been injured?
i was, in that one. it feels disorienting to recall and yet to know it's never occurred.

[No, not anywhere near a touching reunion. There was so much hate there, it felt overwhelming from both sides. But he's mentioned his own feelings on the matter to her before, and he sees no reason to linger on it now.]

I don't recall physical pain, or any injuries (old or new) that I was aware of at the time. How were you hurt?

above my eye. it wasn't awful, but head wounds bleed terribly. i wouldn't have remembered if it hadn't been so irritating.

Something to be blamed on the mysterious man atop the staircase? Certainly unforgivable, either way.

if it was him, he had no right to look so serene while he stood there, while we spoke about him.

Either way, I can't say I'm terribly fond of this individual in your memories, for you own sake. If only more of the narrative would unravel.

i want to know more, but i'm already questioning this tale. is it safer to not know, or would knowledge arm me more against the changing world?

Shall I be so bold to say that I know you, Grell, and /not/ knowing would bother you to no end? Enough, perhaps, to foolishly override any notion of safety.

[He feels he can make that assumption, because it's certainly how he feels about the matter.]

[on her side, she lets out a quiet laugh.]

it would wear away at my mind like the sea does a cliff, until it finally gives way and crumbles. pandora's vice.

still. what if the knowledge changes us further? in greater ways? we aren't armed with infinite adaptability.

[and then, as if to cover it up:]

i hardly want to wake up and find my hair gone black and my right hand missing.

[Well, he'll humor her last comment, even if it is an attempt to cover up the disconcerting one she'd just mentioned.]

What a terrible tragedy that would be. It's such a lovely right hand.

[But if she thinks he'd not come right back to disconcerting, she'd be wrong.]

In any case, we've a choice to make. To indulge ourselves in further knowledge, or to live in delightful ignorance for the rest of our days.

Do you fear losing yourself completely and utterly in these so-called memories? Maybe you don't give yourself enough credit where your own strength of personality is concerned.

i know my own strength well enough to give it what credit it is due.

[she knows her own shortcomings better than anyone else, given that she has to live with them. she can maneuver around her own strength, or lack of it, and compensate. if it's absent, that's her business.]

in any case, my choice is to see this through, at least until the story's something i can understand. some might be able to walk away without regrets, but not i. why us? why right now? where are we headed?

usually i don't ask so many questions when i know someone doesn't have the answers, but i pray you'll forgive me for it.

[To give credit where it's due. Now there's something of a statement that could be taken two ways -- a fair amount of strength, or a dearth of it. Ardyn briefly wonders which it is, and the side of him that likes to pick apart sentences and words and analyze their proper meanings rushes to the surface.

He pushes it down and away. For now, at least.]

You're right, I don't have the answers to any of those questions. If I did, though, I promise I wouldn't keep them to myself.

The only comfort I can offer is that I'm the same as you. I'm ready to open Pandora's box, because living in ignorance will forever leave me feeling unsatisfied. At least then we can see it through together.

[A beat, then another text:]

That sounded awfully trite, didn't it?

[not at all. it's comforting in a way that makes her take a second before replying. wasn't that why she had reached out in the first place tonight?]

if that's trite, it's no less true. more reassuring, to know that whatever the box may contain, what the cost might be for looking, i won't be alone in facing it.

[to not be alone with these questions and worries. that had been the agreement, after all.]

and in the meantime, we can complain to each other if we get more questions than answers and have to keep searching on, waiting for the next remembrance to hopefully give a little light.

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daemonized - 2017-03-25 04:14 (UTC) - Expand