daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

[That answer is utterly unsatisfactory, if only because Ardyn isn't buying it. If he were a lesser man, he'd feel insulted that Dante thinks lying so blatantly to his face would fool him -- as it stands, it's just another thing to wave away.

He focuses on what little information Dante does give, whether he realizes it or not. The mention of the network, of hallucinations.]

So you ran off. [Ran away, more like. The implication is clear.] Did it scare you? Whatever it was you remembered.

[An assumption, but Ardyn is willing to bet that may be what happened.]

[His hands curl into fists when Ardyn implies that he ran away, but he doesn't argue the point. He can't. Ardyn's right, after all.]

Of course not. I'm not afraid of these hallucinations. They aren't real.

[But it might be telling that he's gone back to referring to them as hallucinations, and in the way his expression hardens even more, as though he's trying not to let anything through.

He's not scared by these memories. It was never fear that sent him running.]

I'm just sick of people like you always getting up in my face and not taking the hint when I say to forget it. What's a guy gotta do to get everyone to leave him alone?

[Just leave him be, prof. He doesn't want to end up punching out two people in a week...]

Edited 2017-03-31 18:03 (UTC)

[If Dante thinks Ardyn is going to back down that easily, then he's quite wrong. He's equal parts too unexcitable and concerned to even consider doing so. Instead, he barely even pauses before he responds, his tone unwavering.]

Maybe these people refuse to do so because they actually care about your well-being. Is that so difficult for you to comprehend, Dante?

[He does allow himself an exhale, though it doesn't quite sound exasperated just yet.]

Whether or not they're real is another argument for a different time, despite having this conversation once before. What matters is if they bother you, I want you to be able to speak about it with someone.

I can deal with it on my own.

[It is hard for him to comprehend that other people might care. There's only one person--maybe two people--who've ever cared about him, and he's already promised the one of them still alive that he'd talk to her once he was back in town.]

Everybody says they care, right up until it's inconvenient for them. I don't need people who're gonna lie to my face and then leave once they realize what they've signed up for.

[Why does he feel like he's shaking a bit? His entire body feels like it's vibrating, like any moment he's going to buzz right out of his skin. Dante clenches his fists tighter, enough that he can feel his nails digging through his new gloves into his palms.]

I took care of it. I don't need to talk about it with someone.

And who's lying to you? You think I am? That I don't really care about my students, much less one who is going through the same sort of trials and tribulations as I?

[Commiseration, Dante. He meant it when he uttered the word before -- this can be difficult and confusing for the both of them, and Ardyn wants to offer comfort in understanding. In knowing what it's like, experiencing the life of another "you". In reconciling the idea of it with the life one currently leads.]

You don't give me enough credit. Not everyone is the same.

[Ardyn reaches out, placing an arm on Dante's shoulder. He can practically feel the tension radiating from the boy, but the professor is steady. Calm.]

Try having a bit of faith.

[Dante can't look at him any more. It's too hard, arguing the facts he knows against what he so desperately would like to believe. It's hard, convincing himself of this truth when Ardyn is impressing every word with meaning and something that isn't quite a plea, but more like an invitation: an invitation to let go of his fears, to accept that someone might actually care. His gaze drops to the ground, hiding his eyes behind his hair.

Faith, huh...?

What a joke.]

I don't know if I can.

[His heart is empty, after all.]

[His hand remains where it is, but Ardyn angles his gaze, as if to better gauge Dante's reaction. He can't quite (his student won't look at him), and so he can only guess based on words and tone alone.

There's something... exceedingly sad about that admission.]

I know you've the strength to, even if you doubt it in yourself.

How can you be so sure?

[It's not a sarcastic question, or an attempt to refute what Ardyn's saying; there's a little part of him that wants to seize upon that sentence, to hold it tight. His voice almost catches on the words, and Dante glances back up at Ardyn, and finally the conflict is visible in his eyes, torn.

It's probably not a surprise, but Ardyn's had the right of it all along. He's scared, and he's hurting.]

Why should I trust in anyone when they won't be there in the end?

[Sympathy does well up within him upon hearing that, and it's evident in the way Ardyn frowns. In the way he sets his jaw and presses his lips into a thin line, considering.

He wants to tell the boy that he's sure, that no one will ever leave him in the end, so he should give out his trust readily. But Ardyn, while a secret bleeding heart, is also not so purposefully misleading. The professor knows that life does not work in such a way -- that there will always be someone inclined to use others for the sake of convenience. He cannot promise that Dante will never meet another individual like that ever again.

And so Ardyn offers all he can. He promises what he knows will not change or vacillate:]

You can trust me, if no one else. I'm not so thoughtless or fickle to abandon you when you need it. Of that, I'm sure.

[His words, unfortunately, aren't quite enough to convince Dante yet. What could be? People can say anything, but there's no way to know if they're being honest or not until that resolve is tested. He wants to trust Izunia, to spill everything and let him help him make sense of it all... but it seems that in spite of how precarious the walls he's shoved up against everything seemed to be earlier, tearing them down is a bit more difficult.

He's had lots of practice at repressing the wrong sorts of emotions, after all.

For a long moment, Dante's silent, letting Ardyn's words fill the air. And then, finally, he reaches up to rub at his face with one hand, sighing.]

You can only say that because you don't know what you're getting yourself into.

["I know you've the strength to, even if you doubt it in yourself."]

But I... I'll try.

[Ardyn drops his hand to the side, seeming satisfied with the notion of... trying. How could he possibly ask for more than that? It wouldn't be fair, and it wouldn't be reasonable. All he wishes for is effort, for now it's partly on him to live up to the expectations set. To the promise he just made.

He's confident in his ability to do so, of that he has no doubt.]

Let me worry about getting in over my head, hm? [-he offers, allowing the smallest hint of airiness to slip back into his tone.]

All I ask is that you try, Dante. There are some burdens that no one should ever have to shoulder alone.

[He lets a moment of silence pass again.] Do you want to sit? [And maybe, just maybe actually talk about what's bothering him?]

[Yeah, like Dante's not going to worry about what happens when Ardyn finds out how deep the rabbit hole really goes... after all, once he realizes that, it's only a matter of time before he gives up on him, right? But for now, Ardyn's stubbornness wins out, and Dante isn't going to argue the point. They don't need to go through the whole cycle again, especially since it seems like the other man isn't going to give up any time soon.]

Yeah, I guess.

Can we go somewhere a little less in the middle of campus?

[There's a reason he ran away, after all. If he wanted any random passerby to hear his struggling, he would've shouted it all out from Tribunal Terrace in the first place.]

[He nods, understanding the request. He had planned on finding a place with less foot traffic, anyway. This hardly seems like the location to have this sort of conversation.]

Of course.

[And so Ardyn will lead Dante along, away from the busier parts of campus. (Staff meeting be damned for now. Most of the faculty doesn't pay attention during them, anyway.) Eventually, they manage to find an open, grassy area near the architecture building. There's a nice little wooden bench, under the expanse of a tree. Peaceful enough, quiet enough.

Ardyn's the first to sit, but he won't be the first to speak. He'll let Dante start on his own time.]

[It takes Dante a little while longer to find his footing once they get there. As Ardyn sits, he tries to arrange his his thoughts into some semblance of coherency, wondering where he should even start. How long has it been since he told Ardyn about the things he's been remembering? What was the last they'd discussed? How much of it is relevant to their conversation here today...?

But finally, he'll retreat to the bench as well, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at his hands.

This putting yourself out there thing is tough. Really tough.

So eventually, Dante goes with the easiest place to start, even though it's one of the things he'd wanted least to admit to Ardyn.]

I... don't know if he's said anything about it to anybody. I wouldn't blame him if he did; hell, I'd deserve it if he got someone to come after me as payback. But... I punched Prompto on Sunday.

I got this memory Saturday night, at the pageant, and it... [He swallows hard, clenching his hands together and imagining the knuckles going white.] ...it got to me pretty badly. Bad enough I said some pretty asshole things to him to try and get him to back off. Then when that didn't work...

[A shake of the head.] The other me had a life that was a hell of a lot easier. He grew up in one place and had these friends he'd made plans with to leave their island. But he fucked it up, too. He fucked it up even when everything was going right for him--so how am I supposed to believe I'm not going to wind up the same way in the end? I already knew I'd wind up by myself before this stuff started happening. But it's worse when it's getting thrown in your face.

[He's not making as much sense as he'd hoped he would. Dante can feel the stress building within him again, a sense of worry mixed with the resignation of knowing it would go this way all along, made worse in this moment by knowing that he's making an idiot out of himself in front of Ardyn. He just... he's a mess, and he knows it. He doesn't know how to explain the jumble of thoughts and emotions that are rolling around inside of him, set loose by the professor's calm and his willingness to listen.]

Sorry, I know I'm not making any sense.

[Brows furrowed, jaw setting, Ardyn looks nothing short of concerned when Dante admits to being the one who broke Prompto's nose. There's disapproval (because how can there not be?), but it isn't enough to overwhelm the delicacy of the conversation at hand. Nothing is so black and white -- Ardyn knows that while violence was probably the worst option to take, emotions often muddle the mind, and the effect of these memories can obscure judgment just as easily.]

He told me that someone had hit him. He didn't want to reveal who it was. He was afraid I'd think less of the person, and he didn't wish that on you. That's the sort of young man he is, I suppose. You should consider apologizing to him, if you regret your actions.

[But that's all he'll say on the matter. A hand comes up, rubbing briefly at the stubble on his chin, considering the rest of what Dante had just told him.] Don't apologize, Dante. How is one person supposed to make sense of these memories on their own? How is it fair that they're thrown into our laps and we're merely expected to accept them as they are? No one can blame you for feeling the way that you did. Even I have doubts about myself, if I take time to really think about the... experience on the train.

[But this isn't about him, and he continues.]

You can't affect what's already happened, what's already transpired in this memory of yours. But why assume that the same will happen to you now? That's jumping to conclusions, especially when you don't have the full context of what may have happened. And what makes you so certain that you'll wind up alone? There are obviously people that care about you, and are stubborn enough to try to get you to open up.

[Himself, and Prompto too, apparently.]

[Dante isn't looking up to see the expression on Ardyn's face when he mentions Prompto. He expects the disapproval; attacking someone like Prompto, who sees the best in everybody and obviously wouldn't know how to fight well enough to protect himself from someone like him... it wasn't a fair fight, not by a long shot. Ardyn's got every right to be disapproving of what he's done.]

Yeah, I know. He didn't deserve it.

[His voice is quiet, thinking back to what Prompto had said. He'd refused to believe that Dante wanted to be left alone, no matter how harsh he'd been. Prompto had stood by him, and how had he repaid it? By leaving him behind an alleyway with a broken nose.]

I'll talk to him.

[He listens as Ardyn continues and, though he doesn't want to wish his struggles on anyone else, it does help a little bit to hear that the professor is struggling too with his own memories, trying to reconcile the hatred and anger against the altruistic healer. It's not quite the same situation, but... it helps.

At Ardyn's last comments, he can't help the voiceless snort that escapes him, shaking his head.]

I'm not really... used to that.

[He still hasn't actually looked at Ardyn, and he's not starting here. Dante glances to the side, looking out over the grassy area nearby.]

There's only one other person who would've done that for me, and she's been gone for a while now.

[Ardyn leans back against the bench, though his gaze doesn't leave Dante's profile. While satisfied with the willingness to patch things up with Prompto, the rest of how that plays out depends on the two of them. There's little else ot be said on the matter, at least from Ardyn.

And so a quiet moment, then:]

Is it something you wish to talk about?

[An open invitation to, and yet, he'll still not push him to share. And yet, here on campus, quiet and peaceful enough under the shade of the tree, what better time would there be, if not now?]

[Does he want to talk about it?]

Not really.

[But after a moment, he shrugs his shoulders.]

My folks have been on tour most of my life. Dad's a pianist. Mom's a publicist. They didn't have time for a kid, so I grew up with my amma until they decided they wanted me around again. Then once they realized you can't raise a kid by giving them tutors and sending them off to tourist traps, they sent me back.

[Another shrug. These are immutable facts, things he knows so well they might as well be engraved on his heart. He'd realized their truth long ago, and his voice doesn't waver a bit as he lays it out for Ardyn to see.]

She's the only one that ever wanted to know anything. But she died, senior year of high school.

[Ardyn listens, eventually casting his gaze out towards the grassy area, but remaining attentive nonetheless. He shifts in his seat slightly, wood bench creaking lightly as he situates his elbow on the arm rest.

(Parents that cared only enough on the surface, enough to mold their child in a way that they saw fit. And when they couldn’t find success it that, they refused to put effort into understanding why. This rings painfully close to what Ardyn had experienced growing up, and it’s hard for him not to immediately draw parallels to it.)]

I know that it’s little consolation, and probably not what you wish to hear, but… I’m sorry. I won’t speak ill of anyone, but it’s difficult to justify being treated that way — tossed back and forth. I know what it’s like, having parents that cared in all the wrong ways.

[But this isn’t about him, and he’s not going to focus on that. He continues.]

And it’s not my place to ask for you to change your expectations of people overnight. I can only offer my own perspective, and take from that what you will. [He looks over at Dante properly this time.] There are others in this world who will want to see you succeed, who will want to see you be happy and not alone, but only if you’re brave enough to let them.

[There's another shrug from the boy, as though by doing so he can let the words roll off his shoulders and down his back.]

I'm used to it. My dad wasn't ready to have kids yet--me and my brother were an accident. They tried, they just... didn't know how.

[There's a part of him that would much rather ask Ardyn to elaborate on what he means, how he knows what it's like. He doesn't want to talk about himself; he already feels raw, vulnerable, just by admitting to this much. But he doesn't "deserve" to pry into Ardyn's past, just because he's talked a little bit about himself. It feels intrusive to ask, to pry. So he keeps silent, listening to the follow-up.

And finally he sits upright, still not looking directly at Ardyn but glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes.]

I think... I think that might be why the memory I got Saturday night got to me so badly.

[Aaaaaand looking away again. It's much easier to force himself to say what's on his mind when he's not having to think about what's going through Ardyn's mind while he's listening!]

I've known for a while I'd end up by myself in the end. I don't belong anywhere. I'm okay with that.

But that kid, that other me. He had friends--people he cared about, people that were willing to do stupid shit with him and people who cared about him too. And then he died.

And-- [He pauses, swallowing hard.] --Saturday night I remembered something else. It had to have been after he'd died, but I don't know how. It's not all lining up yet. But he was in this room in a castle with someone else. She looked like some kind of a witch: long robes, green skin, some kind of horns or something and a staff. And I knew her. I heard her voice earlier too; I remembered her saying that she thought of me like a son and she only wanted me to be happy. Sometime before he died, I guess.

But I didn't seem like I was surprised to run into her then. I said that of course I'd run into her out of everyone I could've met. And she said...

[His eyes close, shoulders hunching slightly as he repeats the woman's words. They've been seared into him from the moment he first remembered him, a reality he doesn't want to admit to but can't yet refute.]

She said, "Of course. After all, your heart is steeped in darkness. You can only see those who exist in that same darkness. Be grateful you have someone to keep you company. Your heart is empty. Were it not for the darkness it contains, you would be completely alone."

[His shoulders sag again, as if all the fight's been drained out of him by this admission. And then he looks at Ardyn again, and there's a hint of desperation there, a fear that the words she speaks are the truth.]

It's one thing if I ended up on my own here. But if he ended up that way too, and he had friends and people who cared about him around him, then how am I supposed to believe it's not just something that's wrong with me?

[He's the consistent factor here. He's the one that fucks it up and makes mistakes and drives people away from him. How is he supposed to believe that he can do what this other him obviously couldn't, even with so much more to fight for...?]

Edited 2017-04-04 20:36 (UTC)

[I don't belong anywhere. I'm okay with that. Ardyn thinks to himself how sad it is to discard oneself in such a way; to think so little of your presence in others' lives that you would assume you'd only end up alone.

Forever the bleeding heart, though many may not realize it, the law professor frowns. But he doesn't interrupt. Only when Dante is finished does he speak.]

But you're drawing assumptions based on such a small scope of what you've seen. [A few months ago, Ardyn would have considered everything that Dante just told him absolutely ridiculous. Now? Now it's to be taken seriously, along with every memory that decides to grace them with their presence.] It's as I said before... the narrative is far from complete. A glimpse through a keyhole, nothing more.

How do you know this woman was not trying to mislead you? How do you know the other Dante did not reject the notion of... darkness? [Death notwithstanding. It was out of context, all of it. Conjecture. Ardyn knows that what if-ing is the fastest path to self-doubt.]

[Dante shakes his head, and his hand comes up to hover above his chest, fingertips brushing his shirt just above his heart.]

I can't... really explain it, but I just know. When she was talking to me... I could feel it, something inside my heart that wasn't really mine. I don't know for sure, but I think it was the darkness she was talking about.

[It had been there for sure, a feeling inside of him that Dante hadn't known to put a name to until now. If he thinks back, can he find that feeling in his other memories too?]

That's not all, either. When Prompto and I met face-to-face, I had another memory. The other me was arguing with one of his friends about picking sides, and the friend told me that sooner or later, they'd swallow my heart. I don't know if he meant the darkness or the monsters, but that might've been what happened.

[And he'd been too arrogant to acknowledge it. "Not a chance. My heart's too strong." Obviously it hadn't been...

Dante groans, leaning back until his head tips over the back of the bench, rubbing at his face again.]

Man, the past me really screwed it up, huh...

I wouldn't go so far as to say that. Not when we still don't really know.

[He reiterates, but only because he finds this an important notion to highlight. Ardyn mirrors Dante in leaning back against the bench, exhaling.]

Though I don't mean to sound hypocritical. I felt something similar, you know, a lingering sort of... weight in the pit of my chest. Something churning, a bitterness and hate that I didn't know was possible. [Ardyn sets his jaw, casting his gaze out towards nothing in particular.]

Even if both of our "past lives" were less than... ideal, is it fair for us to let it affect our lives now? Circumstances are different. The people with whom you surround yourself are different, as well. Therefore it's unreasonable to expect the same result.

[It's at least what he's been telling himself, when he has his own doubts.]

[He nods, eyes turned toward the sky. His isn't exactly the same as Ardyn's, not really, but the idea of that weight in his chest? That resonates with Dante. He can't say he'd been filled with that sort of bitterness and hate, as the emotions he'd been feeling when he'd said those words to his friend were familiar enough to him, but... it's similar. And he can't decide whether it's okay with him or not that Ardyn seems to share this idea of darkness, because while on the one hand it gives him hope, hope that maybe he's not resigned to the sort of life he's always expected, because Ardyn's in a way someone he could maybe aspire to be like... he also doesn't like knowing that other people have had to face this same darkness. The idea of it seems cloying, overwhelming.

For a long minute he's silent, taking what Ardyn's said and turning it over in his head. It's true that he has different people around him now, that he's in a different situation. But the big question is whether his life now makes him more or less likely to make the same mistakes the other him had. He wants to think he could learn from his past mistakes, but at the same time... he doubts the other him had intentionally gone down the wrong path, either. Something had happened to make that look like the right choice.]

I wish we knew what their end game was. [He lifts his hand, flexing it, looking at the gloves that just fall short of covering his full palm.] What all these memories were for. If they're trying to warn us about something, fine, but it almost feels like they're trying to make us into our past selves.

[And if that happens, then how are they supposed to avoid the mistakes of their pasts?]

Some people are waking up with their hair color or eye color changed, or with sudden strength they didn't have before... Arlene thinks she can use magic now. And me...

[He'll sit back up, glancing at Ardyn yet again.]

That experiment with the swords worked. I can fight with them, even though I'd never touched one before then.

[Making them into their past selves. That's enough to give Ardyn pause, though the doesn't outwardly show it on his expression. He's not thought of it that way, of Retrospec forcibly trying to make them into what they aren't. It brings up the question of why? Of what they could possibly hope to gain from it?

And yet that was a theme lately, wasn't it? Of perpetually wondering, with no answers given to them. To only work with what they know, more questions than actual revelations piling upon them with each passing day.]

Magic...? Not unlike what I had believed, when I remembered my healing abilities.

[It's said more to himself than to Dante, and only when he's told of the experiment with sword fighting does Ardyn respond properly.]

How did that work? You merely... remembered years of training?

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