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( as he passes her, there's a humming in her throat, a sound that's neither committed or unfriendly. she looks after him, impressive figure that he cuts, and scoffs as she close the door. )

I may be a mere mortal, but my attention span is a bit better than that.

( this is a comfortable way for her to answer him. sass and such come easily, and they provide some protection, something for her to rally behind, he has an odd way of trying to keep her ever-so-slightly off-balance. she doesn't like it. it's unnerving to say the least and it's not good to just let someone have the upperhand. even if her resistance is just more amusement for him.

she walks past him now, bare-footed and clad in black leggings and a matching camisole. obviously, she's made no special efforts for him, besides a steaming pot of tea, two mugs, and her notebook which has been set upon the coffee table. she gestures to two armchairs and the couch. )

Would you like something to drink? Or would you like to skip that bit altogether?

[He makes no return remark at her sass, even though it's patently obvious that it neither stings nor sparks any change in his demeanor. A flickering of amusement, maybe, but nothing stronger than that. Despite his being here for the very same reason, there is only so much he will laugh at concerning his own immortality.

She's dressed casually, he notes, but thinks little of it past that. Ardyn is clad in his usual black tones, with far too many layers, much like how she had seen him when they first met. His aesthetic has always been an odd one, as many people were prone to pointing out. Thankfully he cares little for the opinions of others.

He'll take a seat on one end of the couch.]

You've already made the tea. Who am I to decline?

( either way, the sass, much like salt, will keep coming. she's doing it more for herself than anything. )

You are a gracious guest, apparently. ( in truth she's made the pot for herself--what was a little bit of extra water? before sitting down herself she pours him a mug of a white herbal blend. it steams, and smells faintly of anise. the taste, if drunk, will blossom into something more honied and smooth than might be expected.

she offers him the mug, then. no cream or sugar for this drink. once he takes it from her, she'll sit on the armchair nearest to him, mug held close to her chest so she can smell the steam as it rises. )

So. You have been well, then, since I last saw you? ( small talk? about him, if he'll even give her anything. ) No illnesses or the like.

[He takes the mug, feeling the distant warmth blooming at his fingertips. The smell catches in his nostrils, though he does not drink from the mug just yet. Ardyn tilts his head at her at the question.]

Just the one. [Whether or not he means his immortality or whatever else it might ail him as a result remains to be seen. It's said with frustrating weightlessness, so it's difficult to know.]

I told you, I can't get sick otherwise. [This time he does lift the tea to his lips, taking a small sip. It's pleasant enough.] Beyond that, I've been well enough. Adjusting to this world is something of a challenge, but I've adapted to change before, and I can do so now.

And yourself? [Because it's only polite to return such questions.]

( whether through allusion or not, she figures he means whatever it is he intends to show her. he's here, isn't he? and he doesn't seem to be a man who does anything he doesn't care at least a smidge to do.

she hums with friendly interest at his recounting, but doesn't comment much on it beyond some general, though actually felt, commiseration. )

We must all adapt, mustn't we? Whether we want to survive or not.

( a short sip of her tea intersperses her responses. ) I am doing better. I haven't had to be carried recently, so I would say that's an improvement in performance. ( she ended up being picked up by four different individuals in three days. certainly a record for her. ) And now, I get to observe real magic and true immortality? What more could a woman want?

[Again, that flare of amusement. He offers a bit of levity:]

Then admittedly, you are a woman of very strange wants and priorities. But I'll humor you, because is that not why I'm here?

[He grins, setting his drink down before him on the coffee table. Its scent continues to fill the air.]

We can start with the magic if you like. And then the immortality, in a somewhat more limited capacity.

( she just shrugs her shoulders. she's a practical woman at heart--but she does have a whimsy for fantasy. and now that it's a part of her life, it's actually important that she understands it and all its implications. )

All right. Though I have to let you know, I'd rather not have some morbid display. I believe that you are immortal. No need to harm yourself for my curiosity.

( after setting down her mug, she sits forward on her chair, back straight, hands in her lap.) What kind of magic will you do?

I won't hurt myself very much. I promise you that -- only enough so that you can sate your curiosity, but certainly nothing painful.

[Stated plainly, as if there was nothing to be done about it. How else does one show their everlasting life, if not by displaying how it clings to them like a plague?

But first, magic.]

A very specialized sort of magic, compared to what many may be able to do here. More convenience than flash.

[Ardyn extends his arm and there's a shimmer of red fractured light. He coalesces around his hand, then outward, forming the shape of a sword, as if being built by something reminiscent of crystals.

The sword becomes very much solid, weighted in his grasp as his fingers wrap around its hilt mid-air. He holds it still, and the light of his magic disappears completely. It all happens in a flash -- less than a second at most.]

Solid objects, stored away in nothingness. Merely one example of what I can do.

[His free hand comes out to hold the flat part of the blade against it, so that he can offer it to her if she wishes to examine said sword. It is an ancient looking thing, but well kept. Definitely solid. Definitely sharp.]

( her gaze lingers on him for an uncomfortable second. doing no harm means, frankly, doing no harm. that includes letting him harm himself in front of her regardless of the reason.

but that moment passes, and in a few seconds there is suddenly a sword materialised complete and solid in the span of just one. it's ineffable, really, and her instinct is to reach out and accept what he's offered her. to see that, indeed, he's pulled a sword out of thin air. )

Very convenient, yes. ( looking up from the sword in her hands, she meets his gaze with a cocked head. her mind has been working, is still working, quite rapidly. ) When it is stored, is it broken down? Or have you pulled it, whole, from somewhere?

I cannot say with certainty, because even I am not privy to the space to where it goes. But it is... [A wave of his hand, searching for the right words.] Felt. In its wholeness, whenever it is sent into nothingness with my magic. I know all that I keep there.

[And a flick of his wrist, as it dissipates in her hands for her to see up close. Flickering red crystals, light and shining. It appears back in his own hands a moment later.]

Not that there's much now, these days. Merely my one sword, kept with me throughout the years.

Handy for preventing theft.

( she glances as the sword reappeared into his hand, then at his face, then into the middle distance as she thinks. clever mind that she has, she's already thinking how this resembles theoretical technology from back home. )

I think one day we could have done this too. Without magic, of course. ( raising her gaze again back up to meet him, she smiles, and gestures towards both the man and his sword. ) Is it as old as you?

Nearly.

[The weapon he's had the longest in his possession; a steadfast friend, he might even call it. Through the best and the worst of times it's been with him, and it's been both blessed by the gods and tainted by darkness, much like himself.]

I have no doubt that science has the potential to catch up to magic, with enough ingenuity and a bit of stubbornness. Others may borrow my magic [if he lets them, and that's a gigantic if] in a limited capacity, though that's hardly the same as it being available for all to use, at any time.

Edited 2017-08-20 00:08 (UTC)

Add curiosity, and you have yourself a scientist with those qualities. ( and a genetically altered gorilla, and you might as well be describing Winston. but she's not going to get into that right now.

there's something he says that has her tilting her head, and leaning forward where she once reached out to accept his sword. ) So you're saying, if you trusted someone enough, they could have access to your magical storage space?

Could they also store things, or are you the only one who can make deposits?

[He nods at her theorizing.]

That's correct. I could, if I chose to.

[He finds it novel, talking about the logistics of this. It's odd, how much he can openly speak about it here with others, something in which he had kept tight-lipped about, back home.]

They can store what I allow them to. Often times, when it's with traveling companions, they choose to store their weapons -- the sort to fend off monsters and the like -- for the sake of convenience.

[Spoken as if he's had any traveling companions recently.]

( as far as she knows, he's talking about when they made their trek from the crashing landing sight to Olympia. beyond that, she really does know nothing about his past.

another few branching thoughts occur to her. she waits a few seconds before choosing which one she actually wants to broach though. he's surprisingly forth coming about his abilities and powers with her--so much so a part of her wonders why. is it because she's thought to ask him about it? )

And what if you decided those travelling companions didn't need their weapons back? Could you just--keep them?

[He huffs out a small laugh at that.]

If you think I'd be so cruel, then yes. I technically could. I hate to apply such a simple metaphor to it, but it's a bit like flipping a switch. "On" or "off", I can choose to disable or enable it as I please.

[His past is neatly locked away for now, and it'll be a while yet before he chooses to divulge anything in a straightforward manner. But talk of his magic, and the conveniences it affords him? Those from a different world would not know the implications behind it, unable to put two and two together. He does not mind doing this.]

( she falls quiet for a bit, shifting so that her legs are tucked under her and her elbow is propped up on the chair arm, supporting her head. regarding him, it's obvious she's sizing him up as chews on this information he's given her, almost like a ruminant chewing the cud. the main difference being--at least hopefully to an observer--that her eyes shine with a deliberate and capable intelligence.

finally, she sighs, and unfolds herself to reach for her notebook and start writing. )

You don't have to be cruel, just annoyed. It is a very useful ability, however. I would do a lot to be able to have access to it myself.

( that's where she leaves it. she's unwilling to ask him for access, to invite what that entails into her life just right now. ) Is there anything else?

[Ardyn doesn't even shift in his seat. He remains comfortable, or seemingly so, just leaning back, head tilted ever so slightly as his eyes watch her reactions to everything that he says. He's observing, that much is obvious.

He isn't particularly surprised by the onslaught of questions, given that he's worked with scientifically minded types before, and they're always wanting to know more.]

Concerning my magic? Yes. There's a bit of phasing and warping, and... a few elemental things, but--

[A dismissive wave of his hand.]

Aren't you more interested in the immortality bit?

( a man comfortable in his own skin, or at least so he appears to her. though there is something there, lurking, like a silent slithering, seen out of the corner of your eye, a rippling on the surface of dark, otherwise dead water. something just enough to unsettle you.

or, perhaps, she just a bit more keen than other people.

still, she relents, and she dips her head and sighs. then her gaze returns back to his eyes. ) That is what I asked you to come here for, yes. Though I was serious about the not hurting yourself bit.

[Being keen would definitely reveal that there's something just under the surface, currently being smothered by propriety general well-manners. Even those who are not necessarily the most observant would probably find something rather off about Ardyn, though they would not quite understand why.

But at any rate, his words take on something apologetic. It's all false, of course.]

I know you were.

[Regardless, up comes his sword, hilt it one hand, the palm of his other gripped semi-tightly around the blade. The slides the sword across, cutting into the skin of his hand, swift and immediate, before she has a chance to say otherwise.]

But as I told you, it's only a small amount of harm.

[The sword is dismissed, put back into his magical hammerspace without a second thought. Meanwhile, Ardyn opens his palm, outwardly facing her so she can see the result.

It bleeds, but it doesn't bleed red. Only something black and viscous, with wispy, swirling dark essences emanating from the wound, not unlike smoke. It's an unnatural sight, really, if one were to really consider something like this writhing within him -- and yet his expression hardly changes.

Already, the wound is healing. A few seconds more and it'll be gone completely.]

In the grand scheme of things, it's truly nothing at all.

( of course, she had been tense, so it's an easy matter to spring up to her feet, hand reached out to him with a look of helpless surprise as she's a second too late. quickly this expression turns into an indignant scowl, and then a small breathless gasp of surprise. her brow becomes heavy, her eyes narrow, and she stares at the darkness seeping out of his self-inflicted wound.

that is indeed not natural.

and yet, it's not something she hasn't seen before. or at least, think she's seen. he might even see the flare of tentative recognition in her eyes. carefully, she steps forward and waves her hand through the apparent gas he's bleeding. after that, she reaches for his hand, if he'll let her. )

Can you control this in any way?

[As always, he's unmoving. If there's pain searing across his palm (there is, but it's so far away that it hardly means anything to him), he doesn't let it show. He may as well be talking about the weather, over the mug of tea that she had presented him with. There's only the slightest twitch of something across his features as she takes his hand.

Physical touch from others is not something in which Ardyn indulges himself in these days. So long has it been since he's ever made any real attempt at it that it's foreign, alien. The shock of cold water. He won't shy or shirk away, but he will set his jaw, looking at the point of contact with some scrutiny.

His tone remains even.]

If you mean how fast it heals, then no. That happens on its own.

[It's practically nearly gone now, his little show of black and wisps of something dark beginning to disappear altogether.]

( given his utterly preternatural removal from his own pain, she doesn't suspect that he may have actually felt anything more than a pinch. he does show no signs of it, and, after all, her concerns were obliterated by the spectacle of what she saw oozing out into he air through his split skin. a darkness, yes, on which could have crept and very much entered her very lungs. and yet it wasn't just an unfathomable sight.

there is something there, and that is what steals her breath by making her forget to breath for a few seconds.

very carefully, very mindfully, she runs her thumb around the lip of his cut. or what remains of it, in any case. her fingers rest curled around his wrist, with an easy mixture of gentleness and firmness. it is the touch of a professional: concerned, but not to be cloying with the personal.

once the smoke has dissipated and there's no longer anything to see, she brushes her fingers against his palm and its evidently flawlessly healed skin; her own fingertips are somewhat rough, her skin dry from frequent, and slightly obsessive cleansing. )

And if you don't want it to heal, you can't stop it.

( not really a question. she can see how that would be the cause of his unwilful immortality. how it could be a problem, )

[He lets her examine his hand. Lets her fingertips brush along where the wound had been just moments before. He counts the seconds -- one, two, three, four -- and then Ardyn will be removing his hand from her grip. He looks up at her with a considering raise of his brow, flexing his fingers out of habit.]

That's correct. And so-

[He gestures with his arms, as if to say ta-da.]

There you have it. A glimpse of my immortality.

[But he had been watching her face the entire time, and the flicker of recognition had not escaped his notice by a long shot.]

Have you ever seen anything like it, Doctor?

( ever the insouciant showman, he's once again not amused her. not that he's actually meaning to, she knows.

when her hands are free, she rests one the crook of her neck, while the other goes to wrap around her chest. an obviously defensive gesture, as the thought that occurs to her now is not an easy one, nor a pleasant one. she is speaking of old enemies. )

I have, yes. Though not personally, and I can't quite say what the cause is... There's a known terrorist in my world, who apparently cannot be harmed or stopped. But there's a difference. He seems to be able to turn himself into the mist. ( she swallows through her dry throat. ) Or control it, to some extent, at least.

I do have some theories, for what it's worth.

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