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[He frowns.] Bringing up his grandmother seems just as cruel as what you were planning before.

[But at least that way, they know it's a route that works.]

The alter ego he described to me in his memories... He seems sociopathic, narcissistic, and masochistic. The type of person he certainly does not wish to "revert" to. If you use your rhetoric, perhaps, to imply that once the line is crossed, there's no going back-- Maybe that'll make him more malleable to slip back into what he might've once been?

Tease him. Patronize him. Mixing irritation and discouragement might be more effective than we realize.

[It's almost surprising how easily this comes to him.]

If that doesn't work... then maybe we can try the other alternatives.

[She leans forward, frowning as she considers that. It's not a frown of dislike, but rather simple thought. Her point of concern had been that they still don't quite know what sets this other persona off; that it would be useful to establish just how far Jack can be pushed before he snaps. She hadn't considered the possibility (distinct, though) that pushing him over that edge might make it easier for next time.

Hm. Well. Put it like that, and no, it's not a very good idea at all, is it . . .]

What do you mean, masochistic?

[Not particularly. And perhaps one of the insecurities that Jack had shared with him, though not in so many words -- one of the reasons why Ardyn had been against the idea in the first place.

But if Jack had agreed to it, there's only so far Ardyn will go to stop him.]

Forgive me, sadistic. Did he not tell you of this memory?

[You know, the one where he murdered people (admittedly in self-defense) and loved it.]

Ah. Well. Yes. I could have done without being informed about the state of the contents of his trousers during that memory, but . . . yes.

Do you truly think there's a chance he'll start reverting back to his old self the more he remembers him?

[He gives her a look, because of course Jack would be so... descriptive.]

I think the possibility is there.

[And then, a very clear hesitation.]

Don't tell him that I said this to you, but... The evidence isn't very encouraging, is it? He only had this outburst after he regained several memories of the type of person his past self was. Is there proof that this won't be a continuing trend?

But I hope I'm wrong.

Mm.

[No, it's not. Jack had said he'd strangled people before, but . . . this had come across as something very nearly involuntary.]

. . . I'm worried about him. Everyone else I've spoken to, their memories aren't so bad. Even your memory on the train . . . it's odd, and unsettling, but ultimately not that awful. But Jack . . . heroics and murders and a planet full of madmen . . . I'm dreading the next memory.

[Concern blossoms in him again at the thought. That twinge of useless, the inability to do much for his friend as he's pelted with these awful memories. How he hates that feeling, more than anything.]

...I understand. I am, too. And yet what can we do? If these experiments tell us nothing, all we can do is support him as he tries to sort out his sense of self before it becomes too twisted with the past. Whatever consolation that might bring.

Yes.

[And as they're already discussing feelings, she might as well go all in.]

I suppose I'm still clinging to the hope that he knows for a fact he was a hero. I finally understand what you two meant when you said there was a certainty about these things.

Bear with me as I state something terribly cliche. The idea of a "hero" is very relative. His past self could still believe it and ruthlessly murder people.

[The villain is always the hero of their own story, etc etc.

But he feels a bit bad talking about Jack like this. It shows in the way he exhales and brings up a hand to move a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes.]

Still, I'd cling to that hope for now. Maybe he had been truly heroic once.

[She hums softly, agreeing with that point. It's perfectly possible, but god, she hopes it's not true. That would imply a whole host of disturbing things about their friend, ones she's not yet willing to contemplate.]

There's no way to know until he regains more of his memories.

[She sighs briskly and finally sips her tea.]

On another note . . . I don't suppose you've regained anymore of those, have you?

[A shake of his head.]

No. I haven't. A fact that's equally frustrating as it is a relief.

And you?

Another with my gentleman.

[She still doesn't know if she's happy about that or not.]

We were together again. And speaking in-sync-- we kept finishing each other's sentences. And he was . . . I was sulky, because I'd lost a bet. And he was telling me he wasn't going to bet with me if I was going to act like this.

[Another? This gentleman of hers was starting to become quite the mystery.]

Finishing each other's sentences? That reveals a closeness of sorts -- family, I wonder? [But it's mostly a hypothetical question, because Ardyn knows she doesn't have the answer to that.]

What was the bet?

Edited 2017-05-25 16:59 (UTC)

That a girl would choose our wares. We were each offering her a pendant-- I had one of a cage, and he had one of a bird. She chose the bird, and I mentioned I would have thought she would have gone for the cage. And he said . . . ah, if you're going to be a sore loser, then I shan't do this again.

[Which, Rosalind has to admit, sounds a bit like her. She hates losing. Although really, she wasn't being a sore loser in that memory, it was just a remark.]

We weren't selling them, though. And they weren't for everyone. Just for her. I think we must have been waiting for her.

Why was this girl so important?

[For something as simple as choosing imagery: a bird vs. the cage.]

You say that you weren't salesmen, but you must admit that waiting for her to choose a pendant is an oddly specific task.

I'm not sure.

[Everyone's favorite answer.]

But she was important. She was vital, for some reason. But-- hold on.

[She hops down and heads into her bedroom. A moment of rummaging, and she returns with a drawing pad, flipped to a certain page. It's a fairly decent drawing, actually, so well done Rosalind.]

At least I can remember her face.

[Upon seeing the drawing, Ardyn furrows his brow. Yes, it's actually a decent drawing, but that's not what seems to surprise him.

The features are a little softer, younger, and the hair is different, but it'd be impossible for him to not recognize that face in some capacity. He looks at Rosalind, quizzically.]

It looks rather like someone I know.

Yes.

[Yes, she'd noticed that as well. Rosalind offers a shrug.]

I don't know why. Certainly it's possible I simply instinctively associated the girl in my memories with someone who looks similar, and now the image is stuck, but . . . if not, it raises a fair few questions, doesn't it?

Very much so. [He gestures at the drawing.]

I find it hard to believe that your curiosity isn't eating away at you so poignantly that you haven't taken this up with her. Questions that must be answered and all that.

[She raises her eyebrows in silent confirmation.]

I've an entire notebook of them, in fact. I've tried to answer a few on my own, but I'm waiting to see the professor in person. It's a bit . . . awkward, to say the least, to call a woman you barely know and tell her that you dreamed of a younger version of her in your other life.

[And if it's too awkward, Elizabeth might not answer her properly, which would spoil things. Better to wait, despite her impatience, and get more answers in the long run.]

. . . I still find the fact we spoke so in-sync strange. We weren't just teasing, we were finishing one another's sentences. I couldn't do that with you-- or anyone, for that matter-- if I tried.

Awkward, yes. But something that she'll wish to know about? I'm more than certain of that. Elizabeth's a friend of mine, you know. You needn't feel strange bringing this up to her -- you can say that Ardyn Izunia suggested it.

[But he'll not force her hand either way; it's a suggestion at best.

But back to the matter of finishing each other's sentences...] Was it more like you knew each other's thoughts?

. . . yes. A bit. Either that or we extensively rehearsed it, but it didn't feel like a performance. Just a natural flow.

[Her mouth purses.]

And I still can't determine the nature of our relationship.

Nor can I think of the sort of person with whom you would feel literally in-sync with. A very close twin brother, maybe?

[But even then, it's a bit odd. Yet what else could it be?]

Still not privy to his name, I assume?

Not yet.

[She sets her tea cup down a bit hard, then, because she isn't a woman who takes mysteries well.]

All I have is his voice. And there's nothing I can do to learn more about him save sit and wait. I can't work on it, I can't even begin to try and solve this mystery, not yet, not without further information-- I have to wait, and I despise waiting.

[He eyes the cup briefly, because... chill Ros, it'll be okay. Ardyn hates not knowing just as much as her, but at least he has the tendency to be flippant about it, outwardly.]

I do too. But if waiting is your only option, promise me you'll not spend every waking hour churning over these memories. [BECAUSE HE THINKS SHE MIGHT??] What good will that do you, spending 24/7 wrapped up in these anxieties?

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originallutece - 2017-05-31 00:48 (UTC) - Expand

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daemonized - 2017-05-31 15:08 (UTC) - Expand

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i meant sadistic lmfao

STILL WEIRD EITHER WAY, DON'T GET OFF ON THAT KIDS

#villainproblems

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