daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

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?

[Even though it doesn't sound like Ardyn's asking him for confirmation, Dante nods when he questions the magic part. It's hard to believe, but at the same time, how else can they explain it? She's able to produce enough electricity from her fingertips to power small electronics for a minute or two. Static electricity just can't do that...]

Not all at once.

After I made that post, I tried sparring with a few different people. At first it took a while to come back, like I was trying to remember something I learned a long time ago and just stopped using. But the more I've practiced since then, the faster it's come back. I don't think I've been able to remember everything yet, though. Sometimes it feels like my body wants to do something, but I don't have the memory of whatever it is I normally would've done. So there's still stuff missing.

But... [Another nod.] Yeah. Years of training, all within a couple weeks.

It's not unlike muscle memory.

[Except muscle memory is usually restricted to this lifetime, not one long past. So in a way it's not muscle memory at all, but Ardyn still thinks the comparison is apt.]

With enough practice, do you think all of it might return to you?

[A pause of consideration.] Do you even wish for it to, if you had the choice?

Maybe. [Dante frowns, considering the practices he's run through so far.] I'm not sure, though. I don't know what I can't remember.

[For instance, what if he'd been able to use magic like Arlene had? Even though there's a part of him still hesitant to accept her magic, there's another, even tinier part of him that wonders if maybe he'd once been able to do the same. And if he can, is that what he's not remembering in those gaps of memory? Would he be able to remember how to use it just by practicing...?

There's just too much he doesn't know yet. There's no way to answer that question, much like there's no real way to answer Ardyn's other question. Silence reigns as Dante considers both the question and his answer.]

I don't really know. Maybe. [He studies his hands again, closing his right as though around the hilt of a sword.] The past few days, I... still practiced fighting. Even though I didn't want to think about any of the other memories, I still wanted to practice that.

[But why should he want to learn how to fight with a sword? It's not exactly a skill that'll serve him well in this day and age.]

I don't mind remembering that so much. It's kind of relaxing, in a way.

It's the memories I've got a problem with.

I feel as if these new skills of yours are memories in their own right. The memories of abilities long lost.

[That seems to be the biggest implication. He wonders if something would happen if Ardyn did the same, but it's an idle thought at best. He's not going to be one to pick up a sword, swing it around, and see if sword fighting talents rush back to him in a daze. To the professor, the thought is (ironically) laughable at best.]

Slowly but surely, the truth continues to unfold. And in its wake, bringing more questions. [He exhales, and it almost might be taken as a sigh.] Remember what I said about commiseration? It'll make the burden easier to bear, and I still stand by that. [He's still offering an ear to listen to any future memories Dante might experience, if he still wishes to share them to Ardyn.] Who knows? It may not always be doom and gloom. Maybe you'll be visited by images more encouraging next time.

[Dante gives a voiceless snort at Ardyn's refutation, shaking his head. You know what he meant!

Still, he has a point. Dante may not be able to say that he feels entirely back to normal, but the weight on his shoulders feels a bit less heavy for having been able to talk about it. He still doesn't have the answers--he still can't help but worry that he's going to repeat his own history--but there's a small part of him that's daring to hope that maybe, maybe by talking about it here, it's less likely to happen. Maybe by being honest, Ardyn understands a little more.]

Knowing my luck, I doubt it. [But the corner of his lips turn up, a wry, self-mocking smile. But hey, it's something of a smile, right?] But the thought's appreciated.

[A brief pause, and then Dante takes a deep breath.]

Hey, prof...? Thanks. You didn't have to do this.

[Wrenching a smile out of Dante is really all he wanted to see, in the end. It makes Ardyn reflect the expression in return. He wears it sincerely.]

I know I didn't have to. But I wanted to. You really did have me worried; it's unlike you to not show up to class so many days in a row.

[But then that smile of his transforms back into its usual smug state, as he says the following:] You'll have me losing my reputation as the patronizing, theatrical professor at this rate.

[This time it's voiceless huff of air that Dante gives, a sound of disbelief as he slouches back into the bench in a way that suggests he's much more at ease with the conversation's turn.]

Yeah, well, if you do, it won't be because anyone heard it from me. As far as I'm concerned you're still the same old nosy, patronizing smartass prof as ever.

[And if Ardyn believes for a damn second he means those words, he's learned nothing about Dante since all this began.

A moment later, though, he's glancing back again.]

Sorry. I didn't mean to make anyone worry.

[He'd expected that Ari would, but he'd also texted her to let her know he'd be gone, too.]

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