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[hypnagothic]

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[matermali]

[ 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?

[hypnagothic]

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.

[matermali]

[ 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?

[hypnagothic]

[ 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.

[matermali]

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.

[hypnagothic]

A badge of animus, then?

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

[matermali]

[ 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?

[hypnagothic]

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

I confess that I would not know.

[matermali]

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.

[hypnagothic]

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. ]

[matermali]

[ 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.

[hypnagothic]

No.

[ said simply, softly. ]

[matermali]

[ 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?

[hypnagothic]

That depends on your own belief.

[matermali]

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?

[hypnagothic]

Perfection of what, precisely?

[matermali]

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?

[hypnagothic]

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?

[matermali]

[ 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?

[hypnagothic]

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.

[matermali]

Infinitely more?

[ 'As well as with its monarch' could mean that Morpheus simply knows of Lucifer, and that is a concept more easily grasped. But something in her she can already barely remember the name of has stiffened her figure, shifted with such a tension that she has become as stock still as he is known to be.

Anyone could think he's speaking in a scholarly context lifted by hubris, but no she doesn't think it's such a thing. She can look into his eyes and know that much, but for any knowledge of Hell beyond that of simple belief and scholarly study has her wary. If he is more than human, than what manner of creature is he?

She would hate to think he's a creature of Hell. Would her senses be so poor? He is far too kind, and he had many times over to take advantage of her if he were a demon. ]

You do not only mean Purgatory or Heaven, then. You speak of other beliefs in the afterlife, such as Hades?

[ She may be misunderstanding, but then she has been so confused as he is the last person she thought would speak of Hell with such familiarity. ]

[hypnagothic]

[ he nods to her first question, still holding to that same stillness and upright poise, though he looks as relaxed as he ever might be. the topic is not one he seems particularly invested in, if that puts her at all at ease. ]

Not only those, no. And the infernal region you call Hell has many names; Hades, Avernus, Tartarus, and thousands more. Just as Heaven can be Paradise, Nirvana, the Promised Land, or the Silver City. And there are some that hold belief of no afterlife at all, and so there is none for them when Death takes them.

[matermali]

[ This sort of dialogue would be fascinating to her, and is, if only she wasn't still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It seems easy to accept what he says, as if she could take this as fact and move on with her day, but nothing is that simple for her. The concept of belief carrying so much power is something she has always understood, for how could she have even survived this far without it?

But he doesn't talk of his beliefs, he talks of the beliefs of others. He talks of it as though he had visited these incarnations, as though one could simply go back and forth. Of course, she has grown somewhat fond of Mr. Crowley, but he is absolutely the exception and not the rule. What else is she meant to expect, now?

She lets his words hang there for a moment, glancing across his face, to the apple slice in his hand, then out to the large window framing the kitchen's sink. The sun isn't setting yet, but it will be soon. She had picked the time for a reason. ]

And...reincarnation?

[hypnagothic]

Those who believe in the practice of it can indeed be reincarnated. Yet another form of life after death, should they choose it.

[ his gaze is steady as it ever has been with her, meeting her eyes until she herself glances away. when she doesn't look back, his head tilts the slightest angle. ]

Does this knowledge upset you, lady Vanessa?

[matermali]

[ It isn't even something that ought to be debated, as if she could take his word to have that much weight. But still she continues, ignoring his question. ]

Choose? How could reincarnation be a choice?

[ Her glance back to him is sharp. ...No, of course this isn't personal. But it is. She could think the idea of reincarnation to be fascinating, even poetic, but once again that would be if it was something she could look at from a distance. Something that could be beautiful.

In this, she can only ever have the possibilities breathing down her neck. It is only ugliness. ]

What of the one born by another's belief then? That child had no belief in reincarnation. Its soul was its own, not some lingering wish made by someone who came before.