hypnagothic | [The City] IC Contact

[ he stands still as she makes herself known, only his head turning towards her. he makes his way over to the back kitchen at her invitation though, pushing the curtain aside with one hand to step under it. ]

I see that you have had your way with this place.

I can only be credited with stealing away its bounty.

[ Quite the different creature from the one who haunted the network to warn the City against over-indulging. But this isn't the land of the fairies, as a friend had since pointed out. She had fasted for days on arrival and it had served her nothing but frustration; they are cursed no matter how they go about their stay.

So she will enjoy the moments she can, so few are they to find, and she does so with the fervor of a woman who understands that she may not live to see the following day. ]

I believe that something here should find your favor. For simple tastes, they can bring a unique contentment.

[ She'll breeze past him to pull a stool over to the little island where another metal stool had been getting neglected just earlier. ]

As they typically do.

[ but he gives a small nod of thanks for the stool, taking the one she brings over only after she takes hers. he doesn't look over the spread just yet though. ]

Though this engagement was surely not for my sole benefit.

[ She'll sit with a smoothing of her dark plum skirt. Vanessa has been attempting some of the more modern dresses on occasion, but it still covers her from neck to toe and heavily favors black lace.

Already she's having a hard time keeping a grin at bay. She fails miserably, in fact. ]

Quite astute of you. Am I criminal for enjoying the pleasure of your company?

[ he himself does not smile, but there's an ease to his expression at the moment. ]

Hardly that, though some might consider it ... peculiar of you.

[ There's a tight-lipped 'Hm' of amusement while she reaches for an apple. ]

It would hardly be the first time. I have been called far worse.

[ But that is simply the standard for Vanessa Ives. When she stops being peculiar, or even criminal, is when one should worry. ]

You said that not many would call you kind. [ With a small knife she'll begin peeling the apple. ] What would they call you?

You wear such names as a badge of honor.

[ said lightly, without judgement. he watches her work with the apple for a moment before bringing his gaze back up to her face. ]

Many have called me cruel. Others, impartial.

[ She's comfortable with a knife in her hand, to be sure. She doesn't rush it, but she isn't slow for lack of skill. How it's done is important to her. ]

And do you wear those with a badge of honor?

[ he doesn't move save for the slight inclination of his head, but it still somehow gives the impression of a shrug. ]

How others think of me is their own affair. I have many names and titles.

Impressive.

[ Said in a gentle smirk of a tone to suggest that titles are in fact not impressive. And what is it to have many names? Such an idea has only ever caused her to be split apart from her very own soul. ]

No, I do not bear their slander with pride. I do it to spite them.

[ With it peeled, she'll begin to cut out some thin slices, laying them along in an uneven layer upon the counter. ]

But I would only ever call myself Vanessa Ives.

A badge of animus, then?

[ again, said lightly, as if he is puzzling her out. ]

[ There's a breathy chuckle while she leans back and hooks a boot behind one of the bars under her seat. ]

Better a mask of animus, don't you think?

[ another slight motion of his head as he watches her move, another hint of a shrug. ]

I confess that I would not know.

It's a very human trait, perhaps. Protection.

[ Not a lie, though. She doesn't like to lie about who she is. Only, she knows how she must carry on to survive, and so often that will look like a lie.

So often they will call her cruel or impartial. Let them. For them the mask works well, and she remains hidden. ]

A flawed attempt at shaping the world as we would rather others see it.

[ Deciding that there are enough slices between them, if there's to be room for any other indulgences, she'll set the rest of the apple aside and hold out a slice for him to take. ]

Here.

Not only human. Nor is it necessarily flawed.

[ he takes the offered slice, holding it delicately with his fingertips. he does not immediately move to eat it though, lowering his hand to rest gently on the counter. ]

[ In no desire to rush him, she hooks her other foot beneath the bar and rests an arm against the counter while taking a bite of her own slice. Small enough that it doesn't hinder her speech. ]

Everything about us is flawed.

No.

[ said simply, softly. ]

[ It gives her pause, not knowing what to make of that. Holding half a slice still, she lowers her hand with a curious lift to her brow. ]

How could it be otherwise? Are we not all of us sinners?

That depends on your own belief.

Mm.

[ Belief is everything, isn't it? She has friends with many different beliefs, but hers can never be anything else. ]

We have all sinned.

[ Offered matter-of-factly rather than with any sort of sorrow. And for those more than human? Most certainly have they sinned, as far as the ones she's met. She too is more than human, though she is loathe to it admit aloud. ]

Where in such a fallible being can you find any perfection?

Perfection of what, precisely?

Matters of the soul, I suppose? Or what is left of us beyond it.

[ Her wrist drapes across her arm, now, apple slice momentarily forgotten. ]

If there is something in us not so flawed, as you say, then what could it be?

You speak of what you call sin as if it were an inherent trait, inevitable and unavoidable. I then presume you believe in that realm many know as Hell?

[ He need only see her dreams to know the answer to that question. Even awake, she could hear the pull of Hell call her over a sandy beach and to the middle of the icy sea. Down, down.

The shadows in the City are so much quieter when she passes them. Hell's seduction only comes from within, now. She has no more excuses. ]

I am familiar with the concept.

[ To that, she'll take a moment to finish her apple slice, her expression sobered but not too upset. It's only natural for such a thing to be brought up, under the circumstances. ]

And you?

I am familiar with it, as well as with its monarch.

[ he says it as neutrally as anything else he's said thus far, and he continues with the same tone. his expression even grows gently thoughtful. ]

It is not governed in the manner that the priests of your world preach in order to control the lives of their believers. There are none in Hell who do not believe they deserve to be there. There are no children too young to understand. The souls there have lessons they must learn in the nightmares of that realm that—once truly understood—will set them free. Those who remain have not learned what they must yet, or they have chosen not to.

Yet Hell is but one ending where souls find themselves after they pass on. There are infinitely more, as many as there are souls to dream of them, or so I am given to understand.

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