originallutece | (no subject)

[A small "ha!" at that admission.]

That rather sounds like you'd turn into a mad scientist if such a thing happened. Going to poke and prod at me all day with needles and the like?

I might. Though I think for starters, I'd simply poke and prod at myself.

[She wiggles the fingers of her left hand, as if in demonstration.]

A small cut would do it. You could demonstrate, we'd see what would happen to your body, and no one would be seriously hurt.

[He seems skeptical at the idea of others harming themselves just so he can test his theoretical powers on them. Even if it's just a small cut.

But, since they're talking about something that hasn't happened, nor likely will (...ha), he'll humor her.]

My body would be something special, don't you think, to house such a power? I wonder what kind of world I lived in, for these abilities to have existed. Assuming we buy into this business of past lives.

Mm.

[She settles back in her chair, reaching for a pen to being toying with it.]

Well . . . yes, frankly. The ability to, to absorb illnesses and injuries, I can't imagine . . .

[A beat, and now she's frowning. There's nothing she likes better than a really difficult problem to solve, and resolving fantasy bullshit biology is absolutely the perfect one.]

I don't suppose you remember how long you housed those injuries? If there was a faster rate of recovery, or did you simply take them on and endure them as they lasted?

[It's a good question, and one that he had thought on before. It was difficult not to, given what he had felt at the time. Something heavy, something churning within him. It was impossible to ignore.]

I was enduring them, I think. This will sound very strange, but there was a weight to me -- metaphysically, I suppose you could say. With each healed individual, it became larger. More...

[He pauses. If it's hesitation, it's a rare thing from Ardyn.]

...prominent.

Did it . . . were you . . . an emotional weight, do you mean? Some kind of depression?

[Her bright gleam has faded, replaced by that self-same concern she'd just gotten finished denying exists.]

[He shakes his head, and exhales.]

No. I wasn't depressed; if anything, I was eager to help the sick, despite whatever was happening to me. I was glad to.

[He splays a hand against his chest, as if it'd help illustrate his next point.]

I know it isn't possible for a sickness to have an actual weight, but that's what it felt like. As if it were a living thing, moving and growing within me. That my body itself was a bulwark against it spilling out and contaminating everything around it again.

[It sounds dramatic, he knows. But it's the only way he knows how to describe it.]

Would that we knew what disease it was.

[She means it, but it's quietly said, and the majority of her attention is focused on his expression. Rosalind's fingers wrap and rewrap tightly around the pen.]

. . . you're certain you're all right now?

[He extends his arms outwards, as if to indicate the whole of himself this time.]

I look quite all right, don't I? I won't have you worrying about me. It's nothing more than a memory.

[A beat.] I refuse to let it affect me in any sort of substantial way.

It's a bit too late for you to fuss about me worrying over you.

[She does worry about him. Oh, she won't be tossing and turning tonight, but with this kind of talk she can't help but be a touch concerned.]

. . . but I would say it certainly hasn't affected you, so you've succeeded there.

And it's a success that I intend on continuing into the foreseeable future.

[Said with confidence. Not exactly faux confidence, but perhaps he's overplaying it just a bit. After all, he's allowed to worry for others, but he'll not let people do the same for him. There's no reason to; he's been fine thus far.]

Care to hear about the others? Or have you had your fill of the day? [Of his memories, he means.]

Certainly not. Tell me them.

Then we'll start from the beginning this time.

I've remembered a variety of monsters existing. Well, four, I suppose, if we're to be specific. [A pause, before he begins listing them off on his fingers.]

An giant, with skin of iron, wielding a sword as big as its body. A large, electric hovering ball -- purple, brimming with electricity, with a Jack-o-lantern face. A little green creature with a knife and a lamp. And something called a "Behemoth", a massive, ferocious beast. Akin to a lion, with two massive horns on its head.

All nonsense, of course. But I know that somewhere, they either do or did exist.

Do you-- that is, did you-- encounter them in person? Or did you simply know of them, and remembered their existence here?

I remembered their existence. Though who knows? I may have encountered them. Another memory locked behind whatever wall it is keeping them from us.

[She hums her agreement. Her inclination is to pursue Ardyn for details, to pick apart each animal until she understands them precisely, but they'll be here all right if they do that. So . . . all right, and Rosalind nods.]

The second?

Edited (dw don't eat my tags) 2017-05-12 18:46 (UTC)

[Ah, the second one.

Only a flicker of hesitation, but he pushes through it.]

You'll like the second one. There's a conundrum in it.

I was on a train, but there was blizzard rushing through it. Through the train, Rosalind. And yet I stood there, as if it were nothing unusual, waiting in the aisle for someone stumbling towards me. A man wearing all black, though I cannot hope to remember what his face looked like. I know that he was angry, that he hated me. And yet I relished in his pain. I had never felt such a bitterness within me before.

Hard to reconcile with the memory of a world-traveling healer, hm?

. . . a bit.

[But not entirely. Everyone has enemies, and though she's very fond of him, Ardyn's personality is one that tends to purposely irritate. But . . . irritate is one thing. Bitterness, pain, hatred, those things aren't simply the result of a few flippant jokes and teasing remarks.]

Do you remember anything else about him? Did he say anything?

[She's correct in that assessment of him. Ardyn is a frustrating man, and he can annoy others who do not have the patience to deal with his sometimes patronizing manner, but there's a difference between this and cruelty. He would never wish suffering upon anyone, nor would he ever hope to harbor that kind of bitterness within him. It felt searing yet empty, as if hatred itself had left a great chasm in his chest.

Needless to say, that's not the type of person he is.]

He was yelling at me, through the blizzard. But as hard I try to remember, I can't. But he was so angry, Rosalind. He must have been wronged in most impressive way.

. . . perhaps.

[She glances down at the floor a few seconds, thinking, before meeting his eyes again.]

Or perhaps not. Perhaps you stopped him from doing something loathsome, or horrifying. Perhaps there was a justification for why he hated you in his mind, yes, but that doesn't mean you were inherently wrong, Ardyn.

[He gives her a look that flickers with the faintest appreciation at her attempts to twist it around with a positive spin.]

...Yes, I know. It's foolish to jump to conclusions when we don't have the full narrative available to us. Any number of things could have led up to that point.

But everyday it bothers me that I don't know what. You'd feel the same way, I'm sure.

Yes.

[To say the least. Bothers isn't the right verb; vex might better suit. He'll certainly hear all about it; she can't imagine she won't spend hours scowling down over the inconsistency of all the jumbled memories.]

. . . that's three. The train, the healing, and the animals. The fourth?

[Ah, the fourth. The one everyone finds so dreadfully amusing. He supposes he does, too, in a way.]

The attire I used to wear! [He grins.] What a glorious thing it was. I had a wing, you know.

[what.]

A wing. Just the one?

One wing, worn on the shoulder, extending past my arm. Black... feathery, like wings often are.