daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

[the smile on her face falls, and she looks back out, waiting a second before she speaks.]

There's another scene in my mind. Something that startled me badly enough that I needed to move and get information on it as fast as I could, before I told anyone anything. This wasn't the sort of thing to need experimentation, I just...needed a name to call it. So I searched through so many books, because I wanted to know before I would bring this up, and then I remembered something that gave me a name, and then several things decided to happen at once, and then it was the fourth, and...

[it's excuses and babbling, she knows. but she has to make them to fend off the way he'll look at her and ask why not tell him before.]

Even knowing, I don't feel more settled than I did before. If anything, I'm more confused. Disbelieving, even as I know it's the truth. It...I'm going to sound like I've lost my grip on reality, and I know, and you can say whatever you want when I'm done.

[there are two options here, and much as she wants to come out and say it, at the same time...it's frightening in a way she doesn't want to admit.]

I remembered going to see someone. Someone who lay in bed dying, and when I got there, I was unseen. Unnoticed by any family, by the person themselves. Only...only I had to cut into them, to see something. Not like a cut that bleeds, but a cut all the same. I don't remember what I saw when I did so, but apparently it was enough to make a decision, that this person's death could not be delayed. And when I left their presence, they had passed.

[and she had felt nothing. tired, maybe, but nothing of great value. as though this was so simple.]

...In that past life, the one all the memories come from, I wasn't human.

[stepping forward to the railing, Grell leans forward on it, resting her folded arms there and trying to not look at him, trying to show nothing and failing. she wants to curl inwards and close up on this fact, bury it where she buries her family and everything else that's difficult to sift through. this is the part that unsettles her more than her eyes changing color, more than Retrospec taking creepy pictures. this revelation and all it might mean.

this is the part where it probably gets too weird for him, in her view, where Ardyn can step back and step out, no harm done. it's too much for someone else to handle, she gets it, especially when they have their own difficulties. she's so mixed up about this, she can hardly expect someone else to sort it out with her, with all the rest attached.]

Edited 2017-07-05 09:49 (UTC)

[She’s right, of course. The urge rises to say something along those lines, to ask and reiterate, Why didn’t you tell me? All of this that had been bothering her, enough to where she had to search for information in what sounded like a frenzy. He turns his gaze from the lights in the distance to her profile, garnering what he can from this angle of her expression.

The words sit at the tip of his tongue, dangling, but they never leave. Grell’s telling him now, and it’s obvious to him that it’s taking an effort on her part — a gathering of courage, for whatever reason that might be. And the words, I’m going to sound like I've lost my grip on reality, and I know, and you can say whatever you want when I'm done, is enough to cement his silence. She doesn’t need him reprimanding her; she needs him to listen.

And so he does.

And it’s true what he hears is… confounding, in a way. That she had been unseen, that she had cut into someone that had lay dying. That Grell had passed on, what? A judgment of sorts? The revelation that follows doesn’t clarify exactly what this meant, but it does add context to the scene — that she was not human.]

I see.

[Two words that reveal nothing in their simplicity. Her admission probably deserves more of a reply, but Ardyn is trying to parse this. It’s not a hesitation, not a recoiling at this new epiphany; feeling this way didn’t even cross his mind. How he feels about Grell — infatuated and fond of all the pieces that make up her — isn’t so easily shaken. It’s so strong, so unmovable, that it doesn’t even feel touched upon, and the fact that she fears he might suddenly want nothing to do with her is… ridiculous. He doesn’t even take it into consideration, and thus, ironically, Ardyn remains oblivious to it.

There’s the sound of rustling clothing as Ardyn turns to face her properly, leaning against the railing, arm pressed against cool metal. Even if she won’t look at him, he speaks, seeming to have finally settled on words. The normal flow of conversation would dictate that he ask what she was, if not human; but there’s something else there that’s bothering her, beyond the obvious, and Ardyn finds himself searching for it with his words.]

What a tale this past life of yours is becoming, something fantastical with each reveal. And whatever the full narrative happens to be, to say that you were remarkable would be nothing short of an understatement.

[So there’s that. But…]

But despite all the mystery, you can at least fall back in to comfort, knowing one thing — you’re human now. Let this knowledge ease any anxieties you might have had about who are or what you were. Let the present take priority over the past, because it pains me to see you fret in this way, Grell.

[he says remarkable, she thinks that it renders the person she recalls an utter stranger. how can she remember and understand someone who isn't even human? who shares her looks but thinks in a way that's so distant?]

Am I? Am I still entirely human?

[the eyes, the way her body knows how to heal. and will she stay this way? is there some way that just as easily as body parts are replaced, humanity too can be plucked out of a person?]

Science and medicine and physical evidence...that's supposed to be where the answers and insight are. And here we are, and none of that applies, and things like magic are real, and I keep thinking that I should be more skeptical or harder to budge. I keep thinking.

[that's the problem, really. thinking too much unless she can force herself to keep it together or there's something in her mind to hold it all off.]

[Ardyn considers this for a moment before saying anything. He knows what if can be like, to be lost to realm of thought, to stray so far in it that it's sometimes hard to find the way back. He imagines all that's happened to them recently -- the changes, the memories, everything -- only makes this increasingly easier to do.]

Science doesn't hold all the answers, not all of the time. I know such a statement might sound blasphemous to your ears, but maybe this is a time in which we should place faith in philosophy instead.

[Briefly, he gazes out towards the lights again.]

You asked if you're entirely human still. Maybe, to answer that question, you should ask if it's only your physical self that defines you as you are; if your humanity is dependent upon strictly these traits alone.

[for a handful of moments, she's quiet, thinking about what he's said.

the physical self, she could argue, is what leaves impressions. it keeps you anchored here, it allows you to interact with the world. but flying into the arms of philosophy, it does not simply render one human. like the divide between pure survival and living, what made one human was a wildly contested debate. what, innately, made it so?

there's a point where she relaxes, shoulders dropping like someone's cut strings, and she exhales forcefully before she turns to Ardyn.]

Philosophy can be trusted, as long as you remember not to trust it with your whole self.

[always question and form your own ideas. wasn't that one of the basic principles?]

But perhaps...part of this confusion can be sorted if we divide into three. The body's been altered. The mind has had memories injected into it, or reawoken. But the spirit...that at least is intact. What's at the center...that's as human as it has ever been. So I'm choosing to believe at the moment.

[casting out for anything to hold onto, more or less. and at the least she could trust him to listen and respond, to hear her say this and apparently give advice instead of reaction like she anticipated.]

This feels...like being given something you never asked for, but you have to carry with you all the same.

[and that scares me. she doesn't say the words, yet they hover in the air between them.]

A burden. [He says, plainly. What better way to describe something which you didn't ask for, but weighed heavily on one's shoulders? He realizes to say it in such a way casts a negative light on the idea, but he's pretty certain that Grell will agree with them that things unwanted are very rarely positive.

But-- he did say that her previous life had been remarkable, hadn't he? He wasn't lying about that. There was a silver lining to be found in everything, even if he had to wrest out of the storm clouds himself with his bare hands, and present it to her as if it were the last ray of hope in this great, existential crisis of theirs.]

It may feel that way. You may be taking on the physicalities of someone you used to be, you may even start to harbor their memories and emotions, but it's as you said. That spirit of yours, Grell. I told you once before, didn't I?

[He looks at her again, not to grab her attention, but to reaffirm what he already knows to be true in his mind.]

It's luminous. It won't bow to down to a few changes, a few new memories. The core of who you are is sturdier than you might believe. And if something does shift, even if barely, well... [He's not sure how much consolation this will bring, but he can only hope it's at least a small amount.] I'll still be at your side, to help you sort through it. For what good it'll do.

[He chuckles lightly to himself, though he supposes there's only a tinge of humor in it.] Not that you could get rid of me even if you wanted to. I'm... [Ah, he pauses.] Rather attached.

[something like this, she has to try and trust in. no matter how she wants to deny it and fight back out of no reason other than it doesn't align with what she tells herself. trust is the hardest thing, being as simple as letting go for a few minutes and whispering okay to yourself and maybe possibly admitting that things don't need to be prepared for the worst case scenario.

hearing it said in his voice is better than hearing it in her own. the initial crushing surge of panic and the rush of confession that had flooded her have both died down, enough that she'll listen now.]

Then it must please you to know that I don't want to get rid of you at all. I'd miss you too much to consider letting go.

[attached...that's a good word for it. that describes a lot under one word. like how she wouldn't know quite what to do with herself if he hadn't come.]

I can try to believe all of that, though. That the center will hold, despite the changes. A more fixed point than the rest, the north star still holding on.

[something to come back to, at least.]

...I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.

[I'd miss you too much to consider letting go.]

Admittedly, it does delight me to hear you say that.

[More than just pleases him, more than just delights him. Ardyn knows that the conversation is a serious one that requires careful consideration of the advice given, but even then, he can't stop the blossoming warmth in his chest upon hearing her say that. It's nice to know that, despite the changes and the uncertainties, she doesn't intend to stray from his side. Just as he doesn't wish to leave hers.

If he were to speak his thoughts plainly and without pretense, he would have to admit that it simply makes him happy.]

...The north star, guiding that which might be lost otherwise. I think it's a proper sort of analogy.

[At her apology, he lets silence settle for a moment. The rooftop breeze plays at stray locks of his hair, and he pushes one back into place with a practiced motion.]

You're telling me now. That's all that matters, in the end. Next time, though, I want you to feel comfortable sharing these sort of... revelations with me sooner. Even if you haven't any information or reason to tell me just yet, I can at least try to soothe any anxieties you might feel. Don't concern yourself about worrying me.

You say that, and I can't help but to worry over you. The same way you do for me, even if I was to tell you that you shouldn't. Suppose it comes with the territory.

[they're both stubborn like that.]

[It's true, he supposes. They both really are stubborn like that.]

The territory of caring far too much for each other?

[Though he'd never say he cared for her "too much". He tries again.]

Or rather, caring so much that you can't imagine what it would feel like to not worry for their sake. Caring so much that it almost pains you, but in a baffling good way.

[to that, she nods.]

Caring so much that it simply feels natural to worry about them. Unexpected at first, but now, there it is, present and something you couldn't dismiss if you wanted to.

Then I suppose you think I should concede the point and simply allow you to worry for me, if this isn't something that can be escaped.

[A soft grin, almost wry if he allowed it to be.] I'll consider it.

For now, let me be the one to indulge myself in concern, in the form of asking more about what you remembered, if you're willing to speak on it. Was there anything else?

[slowly, she nods, and the tension begins to creep back into her expression.]

A name, and an explanation. And it's so far from anything I expected that I find it difficult to believe...the same way you no doubt felt when you realized the magic you possessed.

Have you ever had a recollection that seemed to directly follow another one?

[He thinks back to that moment which she describes -- the doubt that crept within him, that refused to leave, even as he watched the magic at his fingertips heal before his very eyes. It had been too jarring at the time for him to quietly slot it into the category of "real". That singular moment lasted mere seconds, but the imagery would never fade from his mind.

At her question, though, he shakes his head.]

No, I haven't had the pleasure. Is this what happened to you?

[He's curious about the actual circumstances surrounding the triggering of these memories.]

Yes, in the midst of my research. It came back to me, when I called that man demon and knew it as truth. And he spoke, and this time he spoke for longer. A handful of words, yet I felt every one of them. That I was...

[she'd only said them out loud to herself, and still they seemed surreal. when she says them again, she's even, trying to not lose her nerve. saying it, only repeating the demon, but making it real in this world along with every implication behind them.]

"One who is supposed to stand neutral between God and humans, a grim reaper."

A grim reaper? [The echo of her words come unbidden, and he looks surprised -- it's helpful, he supposes, to have a label for what she believed herself to be. What she once was. But a grim reaper invokes imagery of a tall, intimidating figure cloaked in black. Wielding a scythe as big as itself, edges sharp enough to tear souls away. A herald of death, inescapable. Dark, treacherous, something to be fearful of. Death incarnate.

When he looks at Grell, that's not at all what he sees. The two images, starkly different in his perceptions of them, can't seem to reconcile in his head.]

You... did mention being at someone's deathbed. With their family unable to see you.

[It adds up if he thinks about it that way.]

You mentioned cutting into them. With what?

[it's why she can't accept it in her head as well. in her memories, she was very much alive, if possessed of strange abilities. not robed in black with the face of a skull.]

I would assume it was with my scythe. That is the tool that such beings use, so everything says.

[she can't recall that part. so often the memories that come to her in dreams aren't the most crystal clear things, blurred in the haze of sleep and real dreams.]

Hm. That would be the obvious answer.

[And then Ardyn leans back a little; it's only a few inches at best, but it's as if he's trying to assess the whole of her appearance.]

I can't imagine you wielding a scythe though.

[But he hesitates, seeming to change his mind.]

No, I take it back. A scythe has a sort of elegance about it, in its length and the curve of its blade. Maybe it would suit you.

[the question then comes to her that if she had a scythe, where did the chainsaw in that memory come from? did she pick it up somewhere?]

I don't think I'd know, unless I got a chance to hold one again.

[maybe the next time the fighting training goes on, she'll look for a decent polearm to hold and see if that starts anything.]

...Though, I mean, why not a scythe. This entire idea is strange enough. Being someone that fulfills the function of death. Why not make it more fantastical in the bargain. Not as though I'm not accustomed to a job in that line of business, as it were.

[it's a weak attempt to deflect from how she's still far from acceptance, but something's got to work. if not ignoring it, maybe trying to downplay it.]

Some might call it cliche. But there's nothing wrong with adhering to traditional expectations.

[Besides, there's no way to make a scythe-wielding grim reaper sound mundane. It'd be surreal even if she had a black cloak and hood, too.]

Don't you find it... ironic, though? Drawn to death in one life, and it also being what your profession centers around to this very day. And you chose that path long before we even knew what Retrospec was.

Cosmically so. Almost like what people call fate. That I seemingly drift towards death, no matter where I am. Without any reminders needed to push me along.

[but fate is an idea that feels like a prison, and if she had been fated for anything, she'd shattered the idea years ago. the only times she brings it up is lightly, never in any serious context.]

Maybe I knew, somewhere in me, that I'd be good at it. That it would be something I could take to without complaint and without shying away. Wouldn't that be something?

It would be. [Something, he means. Though that could translate into anything -- from an amusing novelty, to the realization of being more bound to these past lives of theirs than they realized.

Enough for him to wonder about himself, maybe, some other time. But not now. In this moment, here on the rooftop, his focus would not be on himself.]

Does this bother you?

Which part? The understanding that my remembrances come from a being out of myth, the knowing my life has had a very common theme, the idea that I'll have to hold onto my spirit being the truly human part of me if this all progresses like it has been, or the memory where I essentially watched someone die and determined there was nothing I was going to do? Because all of those parts bother me.

[that's the truth of it. if it wasn't scaring her, it was at least bothering her. not like any of it could be changed, but it still felt all...wrong.]

[Well, there's his answer, then. All of it. It's a bit harder to offer consolation to that, though he can at least offer commiseration instead.]

And all of it rightfully should bother you. I'll not try to convince you otherwise. But...

[He tilts his head at her.]

Know that I'm here to help you sort through these troubles, if you ever need me. There are too many uncertainties between the two of us -- we'd be fools to not utilize each to other to find some mode of comfort.

No matter how many calls at three in the morning it may take.

...Thank you. There's a great comfort even in you saying that.

[some things can't be consoled away. some things she's going to need to learn to live with, but being able to tell someone and say the words not just to the wall is a start. it makes her feel like she made the right choice to message him instead of waiting even longer, and the smile she gives is tired but soft.]

And that you came so I could say it to your face. Don't think it could have happened over the phone - some things I have to say to someone in person, otherwise it's not the same.

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