originallutece | ic contact;

[Good grief, is he really? That's a little worse than she'd thought, and for a moment she wonders at that. She still can't imagine living so long.]

Whatever you feel like telling. Your home, or something you were doing before you arrived here, or some person of interest you knew . . . what it's like to witness at least two thousand years of culture and society change . . .

[She shrugs.]

I'm hardly picky. But I am interested.

[All of these things she listed, they are not something he just talks about on a whim. And yet this is an experiment that they need to kill time on, and despite anything that he speaks about probably talking the route of bitterness sooner rather than later, he's inclined to humor her.]

Very well. Let's see... [Should he be sitting for this? Instead, Ardyn just places a hand on his hip as he speaks.] Shall I tell you about "home", then? Eos itself is rather large, and I will be here for years if I am to tell you about all of it.

Let me tell you about the Citadel instead. Home of the royal family of Lucis. Would that be preferable to you?

I notice you've shifted the subject from you to your world, Mr. Izunia. I'm decidedly more interested in the former than the latter.

[She won't refuse if he insists on the topic, but really, it's not as if she cares much about royalty. Still, that statement might almost be called playful; she's certainly not sulking as she says it. Ardyn is intriguing, and no matter how frustrating he might get, at least he keeps her attention.]

[Ah, but Rosalind, what makes you think that one is not related to the other? He has memories of the Citadel from thousands of years ago, and he has memories from a mere ten years ago. He is connected to that place, so very thoroughly. To the point where he's a part of its history, in his own way. A legacy of the Lucis Caelum line, for good or for ill. And he left it so crumbling, so desecrated, that he's sure that she would find at least some passing interest in it if he told the story.]

But I'm trying to share with you its tragic fate, connected with that of the royal family. You don't wish to hear it?

No, no: go on.

[She's never going to stop being nosy, after all. She'll get to ask more after his personal life later on. For now, Rosalind leans back, resting her hips lightly against the counter, watching him in interest (both for the story and to see if there's any affect from the cookie).]

[Then he begins his narrative.]

A long time ago, there was nation called Solheim. It was ruled by a god, one that was deposed of rather swiftly by mankind. He was, as to be expected, not very keen on this idea, and spread an illness throughout the land. A malady that would grow and consume the world over time, if not kept in check.

[He wonders what inferences she can draw from what he's saying now, and what he's already told her.]

The other gods, the ones that fought against the Infernian, delegated two family lines to protect Eos from such a terrible fate. The line of Oracles, and the line of Kings. The royal family was given a Crystal, a powerful artifact said to possess the soul of the world. They were granted its magic, and tasked to protect it.

This family was the Lucis Caelum line. Any questions so far?

[She wonders what family he belongs to. Belonged? Surely it must have been one or the other, if he had once been a healer who treated that illness. A king or an oracle? He'd been living in the same country as that girl, hadn't he? The oracle? Yes, she's almost sure he had. But then again, a man who has lived for two thousand years can hardly be expected to stay in one place . . .

But perhaps he'll tell her by the end of the tale.]

Yes. But finish the story first.

[fine geez no more pauses for questions for you then, Ros]

Well, the Lucis Caelum family lived in the Citadel, in the capital of new nation of Lucis. I’ve been there before; more than once. It is a grand place, making any who enter it feel small. The proverbial jewel of the country itself. And yet, when I left it, it was in tatters. Ruined.

[Abandoned and quite thoroughly desecrated.]

Destiny caught up with them; I don’t know if you prescribe to such a notion, but that is the only real explanation. There was one from their line who fell from grace, and instead sided with the darkness that would envelop Eos, adhering to an old Prophecy. And so my world is — was currently enveloped in an eternal night, and the Citadel remains abandoned and dark. What once glittered proudly now wanes in shadow.

[He almost laughs. It’s easy for him to recite this, and his emotions remain on an even keel. But he’s left a lot for Rosalind to prod at, and if he’s to dredge up any simmering feelings, they’ll have to be at the behest of her questioning.

And so, questions, Rosalind?]

Was that your family?

[She won't do him the insult of suggesting he was the one to fall from grace, but she wonders. It doesn't take much to ostracize a person, and a man who could heal and was affected in such a strange way by the disease . . .

Comstock would have called him unnatural. He would have coveted him his immortality and desperately turned Columbia against him. And it would have been so, so easy, because people don't like what isn't familiar. And when you've been spurned too many times, when you're insulted and cast out and ridiculed and despised because you're different, you start to despise people. God knows Rosalind knows that.

She inhales, ready to fire another question, but then bites her tongue. One at a time.]

[He looks at her, gesturing with one hand.]

You’re quick to make an assumption.

[A consideration. There’s little need to hide it here, though openness about this subject feels foreign, even leaving his own lips.]

But yes. It was. [Was. The tense is very important in this case.]

A family chosen by the gods to protect the world from an illness, and a man who could heal the disease unlike anyone else . . . it's not such a wild assumption.

[Was.]

. . . did it bring you satisfaction, that darkness?

[And at that, he does laugh.]

Now, that is a wild assumption. For what reason would I betray the entirety of my entire world?

Why wouldn't you?

[She rises, straightening up. She's a foot shorter than him, but she can be a commanding presence when she wants to be. Rosalind walks forward, once again coming into his space.]

You're immortal. You're different. You healed the illness and it changed you, and I'll wager that made you very unpopular. People don't like what they can't understand, what isn't normal, and a man who exposed himself to illness and never grew sick . . . oh, who wouldn't be jealous? What man, having lost his own wife and child, would look at you and not feel bitter resentment?

People will accept that kind of thing when it benefits them, but the moment the strangeness stops becoming so useful, they turn on someone. So you refer to your family in the past tense and say that destiny caught up with them, which is a very light way to say they either died or fell to the illness themselves.

You're no hero.

[That's not an insult.]

So yes. I imagine you would betray your world, because spite is a strong emotion. Because--

[Because Elizabeth had set the world aflame, and Rosalind had been ready to let it burn. Because she'd been hurt and angry and she'd gotten hers, so who cared about the rest of the world? Because she'd been spitefully, pettily glad that it all ended horribly.]

. . . because you'd want to hurt them all, if they hurt you.

[Ardyn stands his ground, even as she moves up into his personal space. The things she says to him, it's almost disconcerting how close they land to the mark. How painfully accurate she is with her assumptions (because yes that's what they are -- she cannot pretend to know him no matter how confident she sounds) even if Ardyn looks at her with something of a challenge growing in his gaze.

He'll let her finish. But when she's done, his own tone has gone a little sharper, a little more edged with the bitterness of someone presuming to know all that's he's been through. No one could. No one does.]

Look at you, Madam Lutece. Taking all the little pieces from my story and hoping to smash them all together so that they fit into one perfect whole.

[But he cannot deny much of what she said. But he can clarify what is so very wrong.]

I should have you know that I was very much adored by my people. The healer that I was, warding off an illness that stole their humanity out from under them. I gave them everything so that they might live, so that they might be happy.

[He had wanted to help. The emotion feels so... distant now, but he remembers it in a very empirical kind of way.]

In the end, it was jealousy that ended this pursuit of mine. But it did not come from the people, it came from my own blood.

[And that is truly the sticking point of his anger, what began the downward spiral. He can feel that frustration rising again, and in the end it does rather confirm her deductions.]

[There's something a little dangerous here, something she ought to be wary about, but Rosalind ignores it. She refuses to take a step back or demure in some other way; she's never done it and she's not about to start now. So she meets his gaze, rising to that challenge, her blue eyes sharp.]

What did they do to you?

[It's a question, and it's most certainly edged with something, but it's not a provocation. There's no sympathy in her expression, but perhaps there's a twinge of some in the back of her mind.]

[Then they'll be two immovable objects facing against each other, because Ardyn certainly doesn't intend to budge. He can be a malleable man when necessary, but he hardly sees any reason to (or feels any sort of inclination to be) when dealing with a subject like this. His past, the twisted, tragic thing that it can be. His memories, swathed in anger and spite, all fuel for his motivations on Eos.]

They made me out to be [a monster] unworthy of my title. Made the public believe that I was something I wasn't. And the gods, they deemed me as equally undeserving, tainted by the very thing that I tried to save others from.

[And what at all had been fair about that? Asked to have performed a task and then to have everything taken away simply because he had done what was asked of him. How he had hated them so, for delegating to him an impossible goal, only to punish him for it. As if he weren't already weighed enough by the Starscourge itself.

It angers him often just thinking about it. Outwardly, Ardyn doesn't show it, though the muscles in his jaw flex, his brows furrow slightly. This bitterness of his can be stirred with a bit of prying, but he will almost always manage to keep a lid on all the acid that threatens to overspill.

In the end, it's still enough.

Because something flickers in his vision, a form coming into view behind Rosalind. Something immeasurably large, something that belongs in the nothingness and everything of space and time -- he recognizes it immediately, and craning his neck up, it's an impossibility that it should fit in this room. An astral. A god of war.

Bahamut.]

[Ardyn lets out a hiss, stepping back, a frown immediately playing across his expression. This was impossible. Here? The whole of the station seems to warp into the black space of stars, allowing for the god to manifest completely, hovering, looming. He's stoic, donned in draconic armor, the Bladekeeper looking as if he were still perpetually holding vigil. He speaks, and every word shakes Ardyn at his core. Everyone syllable makes his mood flare in something beyond anger, as if stoking a white hot flame that lay hidden within.

Usurper, he says, floating and unmoving. A sentinel to judge all that he is. Tainted by the dark and unworthy of ascension. Misguided and lost, monstrous thing that you've become. Even as Eos is swept away by the storm, still you cling to notions of hate and sorrow.

A truly sorry sight.]

You... [There is always that flicker of primordial fear, the sense of meeting something that your mind should not be able to comprehend, when communing with an astral. But this felt startling and wrong, and Ardyn fears gods no longer. So easily it's pushed aside, and with what fury does rage boil over, no longer being kept at bay.]

You dare say that to me, after all you've done?

[Rosalind, of course, will see nothing of this very vivid hallucination of his. But she will be quite privy to a truly dangerous edge to his words. Something she'd not had the pleasure of hearing from Ardyn until now.]

Mr. Izunia?

[She'd turned when he'd taken a step back, but there'd been nothing there (and truly, Rosalind doesn't know if that's more frightening than some ghastly beast; it's only when she sees the empty air that a shiver works its way down her spine). Rosalind glances back towards him, but though the urge is there, she doesn't close the distance between them again. There's something about the expression in his face--

And then he speaks. Rosalind has to work not to take a step back at that, frankly; it's only the fact the tone isn't directed towards her that keeps her from racing away. That's a tone with a dark promise woven into it, one that leaves her breath catching. But it isn't aimed her way, and she won't simply turn tail and run at the first sign of intrigue and danger.]

Mr. Izunia, would you kindly stop paying whatever it is you're looking at any mind and look at me?

[It must be the cookies at work, but knowing that doesn't help her if he believes whatever delusion his drugged-up brain has cooked.]

[Mr. Izunia? echoes Rosalind's query, sounding very far away. Background noise to what he sees looming over him, that blasted god who judges him now as if he has the right to. Brazenly appearing like this, the logical part of his mind says that this can't be right, that there must be more than Bahamut appearing before him for no real reason. Even on Eos, he'd not do such a thing. Nothing would've changed, destiny's path would remain unwavering. But logic fights with that awful, writhing anger. And one is always louder than the other.

Mr. Izunia, would you kindly stop paying whatever it is you're looking at any mind and look at me? That's right, Madam Lutece still stood nearby, or at least, he thinks so. He can't be sure, he think he sees her flickering in the edges of his vision, but for now, his focus still remains on Bahamut, whose giant blade begins to rise over his head. And so she's ignored for now, because he hears the astral's voice reverberate in his mind again.

An eternal suffering for the Accursed, with the Light now forever lost with our world. If you stubbornly cling to this mode of existence, then so be it. Judgment cast upon you.]

Ha! Attack me, then, and see what good it does you. [Ludicrous, insufferable thing. As the blade shines in the starlight, lifted above his head so that it might soon careen down upon it, Ardyn will not just stand and take it. Something dark wisps at his feet, a suffocating aura that changes the pressure of the air around him — this is no hallucination. He reacts to what he sees in reality, and daemonic magic (black and dark purple and like something alive) begins pooling at his feet.

Rosalind can either attempt to snap him out of it, or step the hell away before this magic turns into the ~~AoE blast~~ concentrated explosion of Nothing Good, meant to ward off the sword of a god that doesn’t actually exist in this room.]

Mr. Izunia--

[No. That clearly isn't working, and so:]

Ardyn!

[But he either can't hear her or doesn't think she's worth paying attention to right now. He thinks he's fighting some old enemy of his (something large, judging by the way his head is tipped back). She'd be tempted to leave him to it until the drug wore off naturally, but in the next second something changes. Her ears buzz, her skin prickles, and to her horror there's something growing beneath them.

It looks alive. It looks hideous, and she's not inclined to find out what it does, not when there's a risk to her. Theoretically, she's nothing to fear, but her teleportation has been compromised. Who's to say her immortality hasn't been as well?

She could run. She could likely get to the transporter, and she considers it. But what if he goes berserk? What if he ends up destroying the station? Good god, what if he endangers those in stasis? No, she can't let him come near hurting Robert.

Right. Fleeing isn't an option, and he's standing relatively still, so--!

It's a good slap. She knows how to carry her weight, how to draw back and load it all in her right hand and strike him so it carries. She's going to remember that slap for a long time; it's only a pity he might not. Her hand is still stinging as she draws back, glaring up at him.]

For god's sake, Ardyn, you're hallucinating!

[It won’t sting at his cheek the same way it will her own hand, but it’s a jolt nonetheless. A force against his face that doesn’t belong in this hallucination, because it should be a sword coming down upon him from above, so that he can meet it with his darkness—

It shakes his vision. It makes his head turn, it makes him close his eyes from the unexpectedness of it all. Perhaps that’s all it takes, or perhaps the Starscourge in him needs just this amount of time to fend off whatever runs through his system to make his mind see what doesn’t exist. A hallucination very brief, but quite potent.

The darkness along the ground hitches, wanes. He opens his eyes, glancing back up to where the Bahamut once existed, only to be met with a sterile ceiling. The walls are no longer stars and space, just the station. And beside him stands Rosalind, an expression on her face all too telling.

The daemonic essence at their feet dissipates slowly, slowly, melting into the floor until there’s nothing left.]

You… [Eyes flicker back to where the astral had hovered, but still nothing exists now. His mind has to shift back into something reminiscent of his default demeanor. Stuffing that anger back down — because it’s so obvious now that it was an illusion, of course it was, it made no sense — is not an easy task. The process is seen in the way his jaw twitches, the way his eyes are deadly sharp when they look at her again.]

…You’re not keeping that recording.

[It's instinct that has her initially wanting to protest, but practicality rises a moment later. She doesn't know what she might learn from reviewing that tape, but that's just the point: she doesn't know. Perhaps she can learn more about what that darkness through repeated observation, perhaps not, but for him to just tell her that she won't keep the recording--

On the other hand, she's not an idiot. There's a sharpness in his gaze that frightens her, and she won't be so stupid as to insist when god only knows what he might do to her. They're alone on this station, and while she has her own gifts, she doesn't precisely want to put them to the test like that.]

At least we know what your gift does.

[Best to avoid the subject for now.]

Who did you see?

[He's still folding all that anger up. One second at a time, it's draining away, like scalding water pooling back in his chest.]

I suppose we do. A straightforward enough process, if mildly... unpleasant.

[She doesn't argue with him regarding the recording, which makes it a hundred times easier for tension to roll off of him. Ardyn suddenly feels as if a part of himself has been opened up, raw and visceral, which is not quite what he had expected; he replays it in his mind, going over just what he had spoken. Not much, nothing too revealing, though he knows Rosalind will make her own conclusions about what just happened regardless.

He shifts his weight to the other foot, which is a good sign. Better than him being eerily still, stubbornly unmoving.]

A god of my world. He possesses a less than amiable personality, you see.

[Or. OR. Ardyn is just very biased.]

[Her mind is already skipping ahead. Does it only make you hallucinate your enemies, then, or does it depend on the situation? They'd been talking about a tense topic, and he'd hallucinated something from his past. What would happen if he'd been overjoyed? Full of grief? Neither of those seem like emotions that come easily to him, though. There's baser ones, but she's not about to suggest that to him.]

To say the least.

[She exhales slowly, some of the tension draining out of her as he keeps calming down.]

Were the things he said to you provocations, or things he'd said to you before?

[He scoffs.]

Oh, they were very provoking.

[He has no doubt she didn't neglect to notice what he had planned to use as a counter -- that darkness that even the god of war himself couldn't dispel.]

But it was not a memory, if that is your meaning. He referenced the Storm. He spoke to me as if Eos was gone.

[He's turning away to go pick up his box of terrible, terrible cookies.]

Something my own mind conjured up, then. I should thank you for snapping me out of it, but the state of my cheek says otherwise.

[A sting that's already fading, so it's obvious he's just trying to twist the conversation around.]

ic contact;

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Omg pretend there is one less "entire" in that last tag...smh

tbh i didn't even notice but for you, i will pretend

ty ty also 1/2

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