daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

[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.

I'm at your beck and call. Anytime you need me in person, I'm there.

[If that sounds like an exaggeration, it isn't. He honestly does mean it.]

So that you can tell me all manner of things that might rest in your heart; for both good and ill. Time means nothing in the face of caring for someone else.

[And speaking for caring -- Ardyn briefly takes his phone out of his pocket, and the screen illuminates as he checks the time. He thinks to himself that she needs her rest; she's not like him, able to stay up into the dreadful hours of the night, and seem unaffected the next day.]

I'll stay as long as you want me to, but I would be remiss not to say this at least once -- you should get some rest, Grell. [He slips his phone back into his pocket.] Unless you think sleep will elude you for the rest of the night.

[He wouldn't blame her if it did.]

I can make the attempt, but no promises. The best case scenario is that I read until I fall asleep in the midst of a paragraph.

[and the worst is that she doesn't sleep at all, but she'll handle it somehow if that occurs. there'll be some way to pretend she'll do okay until she can dodge out at the earliest opportunity.]

And you should be getting rest as well. Even if it's your customary nap.

[selfishly, she wants to keep him with her until daybreak, but practically, it's not really an option. he has a brother, and cats, and she can't be too demanding after she's already asked for so much tonight. another time, maybe it won't feel like an impossibility.

the compromise is stepping forward to embrace him, grounding herself a touch more that way. it'll help her sleep, whenever she chooses to go back down and try for it.]

[Not the most satisfactory answer, her only maybe being able to fall asleep, but there's only so much that he can do about that. He doesn't care enough about the state of his own rest to really do more than just wave away her last statement -- both mentally, and with the gesture of a hand.]

The nap is overrated.

[He opens his mouth to say something along the lines of, "Don't worry about me not getting enough rest", because worrying about such a thing is a moot point. He'll sleep when he sleeps, limited thing that it is.

But instead, Grell embraces him, and whatever he was planning on saying dies on his tongue. He returns the sentiment, arms pulling her close, and can't help but instead comment:]

I mean it. You don't have to send me off on account of my sleep.

[What does he have to do in the morning, anyway? Summer time is upon him, and he has more free time than he often knows what to do with.]

You've got...responsibilities. Surely you must.

[not the most elegant reply, but necessary, even as she's holding on. it's summer, and it's midweek, and she could make a thousand excuses to try and detach herself. for his sake, of course. not her own.]

Don't make this so much harder than it is.

But I will.

[How easily he admits to that. Because if she is asking him to leave for his sake, not for hers, then he will make it exceedingly difficult to justify doing so.]

What responsibilities? I don't have class waiting for me in the morning. The house is tended to while I'm gone. What else should I be pulled towards, if not you?

Don't know. I simply assumed.

[there has to be something. there's always something, some reason or other. and yet he's being stubborn about this, and in all honesty she doesn't need too much convincing to give up that plan of attack.

oh, to hell with it.]

If you're serious, would you stay at least until the dawn breaks?

[Something about his expression softens when she asks him to stay. She might even feel the way his shoulders relax; not because of undue tension, but merely because he's glad that she's asked him.]

Yes, I will.

[A chuckle.]

Do you plan on staying out here the entire time, though? [Surely not.]

Yes, I plan to stay out here and let us slowly become uncomfortable for hours on end.

[he agreed. there's a lightness in her heart for it, for deciding to ask and for hearing that answer.]

No, we can go inside.

[even when she has to let go so they can begin making their way down, she's going to hold onto his hand, refusing to let the connection be lost for now.]

[Oh, he knows she's teasing him for having asked that question, and yet don't underestimate the things he would do for her, if she actually required it of him.

And so he doesn't say anything yet, only smiling, gladly taking her hand as she leads him back down. Despite how calm and pleased he seems, there's something rather exciting about this, and he's once again glad that she can't feel his pulse so readily from entwined fingers alone.

He's an adult, he's just keeping her company in the night, there's no need to feel like a giddy teenaged boy. He wonders to himself how many times he's told himself that while in her presence. Far too many.]

And what shall we do to pass the time?

Whatever we like. I'm sure something will come to mind.

[sometimes it's fine to feel that little thrill, like they aren't adults perfectly capable of making their own decision and instead that they stole this time out to be together. there's something about being at this point that gives it that extra edge. if she wasn't as good at controlling some level of her expression, she'd probably be smiling a little more like a fool as they make their way down the stairs with her hand secure in his.

keys to the door she can manage one handed, the same with the lights in the apartment. motions so practiced as to be automatic. which is helpful, when most of her attention is on her companion and not fine motor skills. just until daybreak, she had asked, but she hopes the time decides to run slow.]

Whatever we like?

[He echoes, entering her apartment, his eyes adjusting to the lights flickering on. Hand still in hers, Ardyn circles around in front of Grell, his free hand gesturing (only a little dramatically) at their surroundings.]

So then the night is ours, and therefore the possibilities are endless. [He does allow himself to grin a little like a fool -- though he'd tell you that it was merely one of mirth.]

Entertain ourselves with a movie? Or a quiet night, filled with idle chatter? Or perhaps you'll soon find sleep wanting to visit you earlier than you intended, and I can join you in your bed -- as we once talked about before.

[And for once, despite his track record, Ardyn doesn't say the last bit to embarrass her. It is, frankly, a legitimate option and he's too enthralled with that spark of a thrill to really try to make her blush.]

I'm not tired, you know. But...that doesn't mean it's a bad call to combine ideas.

[she doesn't elaborate further, but leads him instead further in before he has to wait outside a door - "it's only proper", she says, like that's actually an issue here. but her bedroom is her own, and a lady has the right to change in peace before she says it's fine to enter.

her room is as carefully put together as the rest of the house, but still very much hers. the two bookshelves she keeps in here are stuffed with fiction, the nightstand red because of course it is. she's sitting on her bed crosslegged, glasses set to the side as she's working the pins out of her hair - you need a lot, she's found, to keep everything up during summer.]

I figured if we want to talk, I can say I made the passing attempt at sleep if we were sitting in bed. Two birds, one careful application of effort.

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