daemonized | EL NYSA IC INBOX.

[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.

[His hands fold in his lap, attentive as she speaks, not even shifting his weight in his seat. He's trying to read both her tone and expression, though it doesn't take someone as obervant as Ardyn to know that this may be treading a subject that makes her uncomfortable. An individual with similar powers, with whom she may be attempting to draw parallels with him and this mysterious terrorist.

He can only assume this much, at least. In the interim, the ex-chancellor chooses his questions carefully.]

I certainly can't turn into mist. And while I can't control the healing process, there are a few other aspects that I am able to manipulate.

What theories do you have?

( she expects that he's watching her just as she's been doing him, so she chooses her words very carefully too. sitting back down, she settles her hands in her lap so that they don't roam or fidget. )

There's something going on with you on a cellular level. Do you know what DNA is?

( tilting her head just so after a pause, she adds ) It's all right if you don't.

[He doesn't laugh at the question, though it's obvious one is being held back by the way his lips twitch.]

I do know what it is, yes.

[The time he spent with Niflheim scientists, with Verstael himself -- by the Six, he sure did know about DNA and the many ways to make it interact with the Starscourge itself, to achieve certain results.]

Let me help you with your theory, doctor. Do you remember when I mentioned to you the Starscourge, in our previous conversation?

( well, that certainly doesn't bode well, she thinks, resisting the urge to wring her hands. Mercy is fairly certain she knows what's coming next based on that single restrained twitch alone, so she pauses a moment before proceeding. the idea of an ailment which can actually alter someone's DNA is always a sickening one. even genetic orders still unsettle her ever so slightly, though she herself has led the way in actual cures for them in her world.

when she speaks it is calmly, and her urge to wish to help him is an earnest one. no-one should have to suffer such things. ) Yes, of course. This is something which has altered you in some way?

[He can already see her connecting the dots from where he sits. He supposes it's easy enough, given what he's said and shown up until this point.]

Yes, in ways you've already seen.

[The blood which runs black, the dark essence, the healing that he's shown her.]

And even more so in others who are afflicted with the Starscourge. Their change is more prominent than mine. In many ways, I am more fortunate than them.

[An edge of sardonicism. As if he truly believes that.]

( why the almost bitter bite in his voice? she thinks on it, figures it might have something to do with how thoroughly his life has been destroyed and reformed by this ailment, and ultimately she won't know unless she asks. all she can assume is that it is a familiar defence of one fed up with his lot, but who is unable to do anything else.

she shifts in her seat, and lowers head somewhat, trying to catch his eye. to hold it, if she can. what she wants to impart she intends to be understood. no bullshit or false hope. )

In cases where things are not as advanced, outcomes tend to be better.

And, theoretically speaking, I think this Starcourge may be treatable, and curable. Practically, however--what is available here is far from what I'm used to, and I was used to facilities far from state-of-the-art.

Theoretically speaking.

[It's going to be difficult to disappoint Ardyn with the reality of the situation. Given that he's a hundreds and hundreds of years deep into accepting his fate, he merely shrugs his shoulders at her wording.

He does meet her gaze, with very little difficulty. Making eye-contact with those he speaks with is so ingrained a habit that it comes completely naturally to him.]

You needn't worry yourself. I was only asking out of curiosity, and little else. This is not something that can be cured via normal means. That, I believe, is the reality of the situation.

( seemingly magical ailment or not, it's not going to deter her from at least attempting to figure out how to fix it. what would stop her, is the chance that her doing so could harm him.

but he knows that, doesn't he? that hope is what inspired him to come here in the first place, so that he could come here to quell it. she does not relent yet. )

How do you know that for sure? You may not know every solution that technology can offer.

[Hope is forever a fleeting thing where Ardyn is concerned. Easier to let it die on the vine than allow it to flourish. Even as he holds the promise from the Orbiters somewhere deep in the pit of his chest, he barely allows it to breathe or surface long enough to let anyone else know.]

And did you not just say that the technology here is limited?

[A gesture of his hand, dismissive.]

A professional is often only as useful as the tools available to them. Eos was far more technologically advanced than anything present here, as well. If anything else, doctor, we've moved several steps backwards where a cure for impossibly stubborn afflictions are concerned.

( because it hurts to watch it wither each time? she's a practical woman, one who would rather salvage a situation before bothering to debate the ethics that might justify it, but she is also prone to believing in things. even if she doesn't need a cause to want to help people.

so, no relenting yet, even if he dismisses her outright.

when she speaks, it's calmly. )

I did. And did you not say you wanted release? Here one the planet it's like living in the past. But--up there? There is plenty of reason to think that the Orbiters have something that could help you and everyone else afflicted. They are preoccupied with protecting this planet at the moment, but that doesn't mean they will always be unable to help you.

Want is a strong word.

[The response is immediate, not quite defensive, but certainly deflecting. Never does he say something as direct as he wants release or death — that would be a verbal confirmation of everything that he holds within him, a string to be tugged at and pulled until it unravels completely. No one else is privy to this, and even Noctis saw only a glimpse before he was taken by the Crystal.

Two and two may be easily put together, of course. Of why his interest had been sparked to begin with, why he would bother showing her a sliver of his immortality. But there’s something resigned within him too, as dictated by a prophecy that he will bitterly adhere to, if only because it allows for him to unleash his spite in all the ways that he would find almost satisfying.

Not that they need to get into that.]

In any case, we shall see. It’s been a very long time, and I can wait a bit longer.

Perhaps, but wanting is also a very basic thing.

( besides emotions, what more fundamental thing is there that people do? whatever it is they may want, most people do a whole lot of it their whole lives. this seems like a very basic concept her, and, if he's old as he says he is, then surely he knows this too: people spend their entire lives grasping at something. even if his centuries of living have instilled in him patience and tempered his will, he still seems very much a person to her.

and someone whom she is conversing with. she goes on: ) Are there any complications? Does it cause you any problems in your daily life? If you could give me a bit more information, I can figure out if there's something I might be able to do for you in the meantime.

( while not relenting just yet, she also wants to be sure where her technology is used, it is actually doing good. what little she has of it available to her here is precious beyond measure. and, really, like something out of a fairy tale compared to what is native here. )

[Wanting is indeed a very basic need. A prerequisite of humanity itself; but how long has he lived? Enough for his own to be stretched thin across the millennia, to the point where want became both equally laughable and what he clung to. Spite and revenge, to keep him moving throughout the centuries. A hatred that he keeps simmering under the surface, always boiling but never spilling over the edges until he wishes for it to.

So yes, he is a person that is more daemon than man, who has wants all the same. But over the years, what twisted wishes they've become.]

I can function as well as a "normal" person. Nothing that keeps me from going about my daily activities as usual.

[There's a wall that she will hit, eventually. He's told her quite a bit so far, not every tidbit of information will be so easily garnered from Ardyn.]

( there is a certain amount of resistance she had expected from him. amused as he preperutally seems to be, she thought he would challenge her more of this own entertainment before giving her what he's given already--it seems like a lot for practically nothing. so that wall, it's a bit like the other shoe finally dropping, and she's waiting for it, in the back of her mind preparing to fall onto her back heel when the footing ahead finally reveals itself to be as flimsy as she suspected it to be.

until then, she pushes forward, dauntless to her own fears and caution. knowing nothing of this daemon business, and having no reasons to suspect it, she's just assumed he's a mortal who has lived thoroughly too long. his mental health she cannot help him with, she doubts there's much even a competent expert could do.

but this? asking if she can help? that she can do.

she leans forward, and offers him a gesture with a flat open palm. )

All right, so you are functional. But are there any complications which bother you? As I said before, I think I might be able to help you on my own. I have a way of treating the symptoms of genetic anomalies.

[This is less of an impasse, and more of a wide chasm that she cannot cross. He will not meet her halfway -- maybe someday, but not here, not now. Between them is what churns within, his daemons, his spite, his resignation and acceptance of what he has become. His resistance is seen in the way his expression does not change, in the way he amps up his casualness in a way that seems inappropriate for the conversation at hand.]

Trust me in this one thing, Doctor. Any complications that have been granted to me via my "sickness", there is nothing to be done about it. Genetic anomalies is too kind of a phrase for it, and what some might consider complications are actually advantages if seen in a different light altogether.

( of course, the loudening of his insouciances is faintly irritating and mildly bewildering, but it is not quite enough to cause her to lose her steady course. just as random ringing in the ears doesn't stop one from going about daily business, she continue onwards. but there is this one change: leaning forward, closer, she pushes just a bit harder.

it does occur to her that he thinks very little of her, if anything at all, and yet. )

I am not asking about what some might think, I am asking about what you think. And if you want my help or not. I will not force it upon you, not when it's not urgent, but I also want you to think about it as an option.

Really. Consider it.

( regarding him, her gaze does harden ever so slightly. )

[He's silent for a moment, and there is some mode of consideration happening; just perhaps not the kind she's wishing for.]

Very well. [-he says, regardless. Despite the fact that this is a situation that he's already mentally written off, though perhaps it does cling to his mind in an annoyingly permanently way, something that even Ardyn cannot full dismiss if he wanted to.]

You wish for what I think? I think that in many ways, what plague me does grant me advantages unseen in others in my world. And though pain is far away and my existence is unbearably long, there is simply little to be done about those particular side-effects. What ails me is a disease that might as well be alive in its own right, therefore making it particularly stubborn against all forms of medicine; for as long as I've lived, there has only been one true way to heal the Starscourge, and even then, those were cases far less serious than mine. I can say with certainty that this is very much unavailable us now.

[A beat.]

My meaning being this: I would love help from you. [He sounds facetious with his word choice, and yet perhaps the sentiment is not misplaced.] If I knew you would be able to give it.

( that's a lot that he's just said to her. fair enough, because she asked for it, so she actively listens, even as the skin around her eyes and mouth tighten, threaten wrinkles in her artificially elastic skin. he's not toying with her, obviously, not playing with her like a bored immortal child might play with his food, but it is evident to her that he doesn't think there's anything she can do for him long before he actually says as much.

so. when he gets around to the bit about her being able, she stands up, begs his pardon for just a moment, and disappears into her room. she's back quickly enough, with an ampoule of a viscous glowing golden something. as if she's brightened and quickened amber, it almost seems to be flowing within itself even after she has placed it down on the table next to his mug of floral tea.

she returns to her seat, and folds her hands into her lap. )

Yes, I do. And yet, though you think it's pointless, in my professional opinion, I think you should still try what I can offer.

Not a cure, not yet, but if you don't have to suffer as much, isn't that worth something? Where's the harm in it?

[He watches her leave with only a mild interest, eyes following her as she returns. The ampoule is of course what really snags his attentions, and he looks at it with equal parts skepticism and curiosity, both blooming in his mind, and reflected in his words.]

The harm? The harm is- [Granting him a facsimile of hope when he knows it's useless. The idea of being free from whatever keeps clawing at his insides is an idea that one does not merely flirt with, because why would someone be so cruel to themselves?] -nothing, I suppose.

What is that?

[A question that she should expect, no doubt.]

( what it is, is a modern medical miracle, verging on magic.

what she actually tells him it is, is something a lot more modest, but no less true. )

My work. ( her life's work, as it were. she gestures towards it with an open palm, leaning forward ever so slightly, inviting him to pick it up if he wishes to. it is precious, priceless now with how limited her supplies have become, but she trusts that he won't do anything that would waste it. he doesn't seem the type to suddenly fling around delicate objects for the release granted by their shattering. such things seem too fickle an expression for a man so long-lived, by her estimation. )

It is biotic technology. It is a type of nanobiology, if you had that in your world. It is engineered to allow cells to regenerate themselves according to templates of healthy DNA.

[The invitation is enough, his admitted curiosity is enough, and so Ardyn does lean forward to take the vial. He treats it with the delicacy that it deserves, because she's right; he doesn't go about flinging things around carelessly, unless purposefully meaning to.]

Nanobiology. [She'll note how the phrasing does not escape his comprehension, how there is no flicker of a question in his eyes.]

And how do you think this might help myself, specifically?

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