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[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.]

[Oh, buddy, they're not done with this conversation. Rosalind doesn't follow just yet, but she turns, watching his back.]

You'll be all right.

[It might be carelessly said, but she's not quite able to pull off a blithe tone.]

A-- Mr. Izunia. What was that you conjured? That darkness?

[Sure they are! Just look at how he turns to view her with his usual lopsided smile, only slightly stained, and makes to move as if he wishes to exit this room. But, oh, Rosalind is a bit in the way, and she's asking him more questions now.]

Just another little something I can do.

[Is that helpful? Probably not.]

Another gift granted to me, alongside my immortality. That you stood in it was very reckless of you, I hope you realize.

I'll keep that in mind the next time you hallucinate, shall I?

[He's gonna either have to teleport or physically move her aside, because she's not moving.]

Is it a manifestation of that disease? Or something else?

[She's stubborn, isn't she? Ardyn clearly only wants to talk about this so much, because while he is calmer now, he does have to allow his brain to reboot a little after having met with a god that he hasn't spoken with in millennia. A vision that dug up far too much than he's ever willing to consider, except only on his darkest of days.

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.]

Yes.

[To which part? Well, the former, but guess what, he's not going to clarify right now.]

Would you be so kind as to move?

[She doesn't for a long moment, standing there as her mind flickers through the pros and cons. It would be nice to get answers now, and god only knows she's good at demanding them, but Ardyn is stubborn in the most infuriating of ways. Likely he won't answer just because she'd asked-- and besides, he's just seen something that had to have shaken him (even if he looks nothing but good-humored and patronizing right now). Perhaps striking while he's emotionally vulnerable is wisest, but . . .

No, she ultimately decides, and takes a step back, allowing him to pass. No, she doesn't want to ruin this relationship, and she'll have a better chance of getting answers if she plays the long-con game. But she's still got that camera, and boy, she's gonna go over that footage a hundred times.]

[It's a wise decision, because he would hate to have to force her to get out of his way.]

Most appreciated.

[-he says with a lilt as he edges past, that lingering feeling of something pressurized and dark still hovering ever so faintly around his person.

And so it appears like he's about to leave, until he suddenly whirls on his heel to face her again.]

Oh, and by the way, the camera. [AS IF HE'LL FORGET ABOUT THAT LITTLE DETAIL, fight him for it.] May I see it?

[Ah, and perhaps she's not so unaffected as all that, because she jumps as he turns so suddenly. It's a minor thing, but it's a tell, and she hates that it happened.

She kind of hates that he remembered about the camera, too, but perhaps it had been foolish to hope to keep it. Still, she tries to think of a way to keep it before concluding she's neither the resources nor the skill to pull off some elaborate trick.]

The whole point of this venture was to study those things. I can hardly do that if you're intent on taking my observations away.

[At least he’s kind enough to not remark on the slight startle. (No, he feels self-satisfied instead.)]

You have your memory, don’t you? Rely upon that.

[He steps closer again.]

Or, perhaps, you’d like to find someone else to study instead. After all, experimentation does thrive upon trial and error. [He lifts the box of cookies gently with one hand, as if to accentuate them.]

The camera, in exchange for two of these. To do with them as you like.

[She still wants her camera, but this is the best deal she's going to get and she knows it. Rosalind nods and holds out her hand, palm up.]

And shall I inform you of my results?

Of course. I would be glad to hear of them.

[That leaves two for him, and two and a half for her. The remnants of the first cookie still exists in this room, discarded for now. He hasn't forgotten about it, but he doesn't care enough for it either.

And so, he opens up the box and hands her two. At least he can take pleasure in knowing that they'll be put to good, and hopefully amusing, use.]

ic contact;

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

ty ty also 1/2

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