hypnagothic | [The City] IC Contact

[ 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.

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. ]

[ 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.

[ 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?

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?

[ 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.

Edited 2023-09-05 19:00 (UTC)

Belief is a choice. As is hope.

[ he says it softly, reminiscent of that time they stood together in the dark. a gentle reminder. ]

The very essence of reincarnation is to be made anew. New life, different from that which came before. While a choice was made in a previous life and that choice had impacted the child, granting its very existence, that child then has the opportunity to make its own choices.

[ There's a twitch of her chin and flare of her nostrils at the reminder, with both indignation and gratitude fighting to consume the other. Dejection near overcomes them both.

She's unhooked her feet from the stool, keeping them hovered with a toe to the ground, and her hand now grips the counter's edge near the knife. Ready to flee, ready to defend, ready to act if she must. It is suspicions burrowed from lessons long taught.

Yet, no matter how much she is wrestling to keep away a quiet panic, her memory of his rescue is far too present for her to dare lose her temper. Something, whatever he is, is kind...but he knows not what he says, who he says it to. He can't. No one can. ]

So it should be. But what if it wasn't? What if those choices did more than lead to a child being born, but changed what was birthed into the world? Cursed it?

[ What, not who. A beast, a thing, a night creature named Vanessa. ]

What if the one who believed in reincarnation also believed in demons that would not die? Demons that would follow this soul into its new life, keeping it trapped by the old life? ...Forever?

Edited 2023-09-05 19:52 (UTC)

All that live will also die. Even demons. Steps could be taken, in this life that the child now holds and possibly into the next, should the wheel continue to turn if it is not stopped with this iteration. If that is their choice.

[ his head rights from its earlier tilted angle, still meeting her gaze if she is still meeting his. ]

Would it be presumptuous to think that you have some specific circumstance in mind with these questions, lady Vanessa?

[ An eternity drifts behind the pale blue in her eyes. It rushes through the boundless torment of existence as though there's anything to find at the end; as if there could be any end at all. But it is endless — it recognize another to a fashion that disquiets Vanessa in a way she isn't conscious of. ]

Presumptuous—

[ She catches herself with a jolt, quickly looking down to her lap and sucking in a hushed breath.

It wouldn't matter, then, if the afterlife is as she believes or as he does. In any reality, she is a damned thing. Vanessa chose her curse, yes. She invited the demons in—continues to. He shouldn't have to tell her.

Oh but how she had wished, for a only a moment, to be convinced otherwise. ]

Morpheus.

[ Musing not to him but to herself, sounding the name out with a low murmur. Her thumb taps against the counter's edge, and she stares at it. Through it, more like. ]

I have read of the name Morpheus.

Have you.

[ a light and even tone, no annoyance or even fluster at the change of subject. ]

And what did you learn of it?

[ She learned that despite supposed acts of cruelty, the Morpheus of myth does not serve Evil, despite the appearance of his acts. Had the woman not known peace in the end? ]

He took the form of a man and broke a woman's heart. [ A beat. ] Not for the sake of malice, but for duty.

[ A glance back up, now, a bit softer with her curiosity. ]

Some people might have called him impartial, even cruel.

Ah. Ovid's tale. I am indeed the Shaper of Form as the story suggests.

[ he finally raises his hand to look at the apple piece, as if to examine it. ]

I, too, am bound by my duties and responsibilities, though the telling of that story has changed much since its first telling.

[ he stills again, pausing, then looks to her while the apple slice remains raised. ]

You spoke of clementines in your invitation, did you not?

[ It's felt like something she's already known for quite some time, as diligently as she has been questioning and listening and watching, but— ...to hear him say it still leaves her stricken. Had she hoped he would say he was a devil? Of course not, but perhaps she had expected only the worst sort of revelation so soon after experiencing hope. That's always how it goes.

It's difficult to swallow against the thickness in her throat, and she glances to the apple slice he holds as though in a trance. What separates a demon from a god? Vanessa had felt certain of the answer only months ago.

Shaking free of the hum in her ears, she blinks herself back into the silence that hangs between Vanessa and his inquiry. ]

It was—

[ Shoulders slumping somewhat, she leans to rest her cheek against her palm with her elbow propped on the counter. Weary eyes stare at him now in soft bemusement. ]

...Something to look forward to. [ An excuse keep him coming back. ] You want them now?

As you are the host of this meeting, I will defer to your judgement.

[ and he finally takes a bite of the apple slice, just a polite size of a nibble off the end of it, chewing thoughtfully. ]

[ It's such an outlandish scene, for here she is, little Vanessa Ives, watching the king of dreams mull over an apple slice just moments after debating the truth of her religion. Had the child she once was dreamt of such a happening? It feels like something she would have, it was like so many of her other childish fantasies, but that girl has been so long buried that Vanessa can scarcely remember such dreams.

Perhaps he may not think all humans are flawed, but she always has been and always will be. It should be unwise to bring out the clementines. So trade wisdom for spite, hadn't she once said? And what should she trade spite for?

The sigh she releases is one of relief, as though the breath she seems to have been holding for minutes now is finally free, releasing her bewilderment and settling for a simple appreciation. Simple but favored. It is what it is. ]

...Here.

[ With a lean over the collection of treats, Vanessa takes some 'fresh' bread and a soft goat cheese, then tears off a tiny piece of the bread to spread the mild cheese onto. After breaking off a piece of apple slice to top it with, she'll turn back toward him to offer.

Vanessa isn't handing it to him this time, half-expecting he'll simply hold onto it for the next five minutes. Instead, she'll stretch a bit to hold it high so he can simply take the small bite from her own hand. It's been made so that he can taste it in one go. The combination of flavors aren't overwhelming; she always found a satisfaction to the union of senses. ]

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