goodolfashionedvillain | † RYSLIG- IC INBOX †

[He seems to deflate, shoulders falling, chest heaving with a soft sigh of relief. It feels like he just correctly defused a bomb at the very last second.

Still, he's cautious, brows knit nervously as he drops his hand to his lap once more.]

A-ah, hah. Y-yes, it... It seems so.

[Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries for another smile but he's quick to shift his gaze away when Kronid looks to him again. He knows it's probably pushing it to ask, but he doesn't want to seem like he's grilling the man either.]

...So, then... Can you tell me who he is? You said before that it was all... symbolic.

[And a real person can't just be symbolism....right?]

[Now this is a predicament that he's never been in before. His own expression doesn't seem to know where to settle, flitting between agitation, anxiety, weariness, and...something else.

The question is met with a split-second glance, a twitch of his lips, the faintest glimpse of....

Hm.

He sighs again, casting about in his head for a lie.

Just tell him. Tell him the truth.]

...I did. And the way it's all presented...it is.

He's...a distant memory. A ghost. That's-

[Tell him. He's too smart for this. He'll figure it out, if I have to keep trying, keep pushing, every time he falls asleep in your presence-]

Shut UP.

[The snarl is out of his mouth before he can gather himself - and immediately he realizes just what he has done, his expression shifting once again to something...almost sheepish.]

...I'm sorry, my Knight. That was - that was not...aimed at you.

[Fuck.

Serves you right, asshole.]

[He winces from the shout at first, leaning away ever so slightly. But once Kronid has clarified, the final piece of this odd puzzle finally falls into place.

He straightens, cocking his head a bit. He wants to be absolutely sure before he allows the hopeful feeling to settle in his chest... If he's wrong, it will open a huge can of worms for himself, but if he's right... ]

You're... Talking to him, aren't you. He speaks to you. He's... In your head.

[For a rare moment, Kronid is visibly at a loss for words. He stares back at Vicious, brows knitting together, he glances down to the rosary, he looks back up....

And then finally, he nods.

He could lie. But he would be swiftly undermined anyhow.]

...Yes. He's - well...I was not lying to you when I called him a ghost. The cross is...mine. He's me. He's who I was...before.

[He still doesn't name him. He can't bring himself to. For a man used to the spotlight, this one...burns.

His hand moves to his coins. Fidgeting. He's anxious.

Good. This is good.

Speak for yourself. What have you done?

Slowly, he sucks in a steadying breath, letting it out in a hiss over his pointed teeth.]

The...the talking is new. It started while I was a Shade. It's like it...woke him up. For the first time since-

...

In a long time.

[He purses his lips as he listens, watching his nervous hands toy with the coins.

Old habits die hard, don't they?]

...Who you were...before you became a vampire.

[There's the slightest tug at the corners of his mouth, and he fights the urge to laugh at the mental image of this man of all people being a priest.]

Fascinating. What about being a shade do you think brought him about again?

[He leans back against the headboard, beginning to twist and thread the wooden beads carefully in his hands.]

I imagine it has been an awfully long time.

Da.

[Perhaps luckily for Vicious, the Goblin doesn't catch that twitch, too busy struggling with...well, the conversation at large, really.

Not that he himself doesn't usually see the humor in the situation.

Restless, he grabs for a cigarette from his side table, lighting it against his fingertip and taking a long drag before continuing.]

I don't know. Maybe it just...dragged up old feelings. It was all very...fire and brimstone, what he was saying then. Being a Shade must have affected him more than it did me. Emotionally. Fuck, I don't know.

[Kronid leans back beside Vicious, his stormy gaze sliding over to regard the way he's holding the beads. The way the crucifix hangs in his hands.

Perhaps a bit subconsciously, he rubs at the matching burn on his chest. Something in his expression shifts by a degree or two, looking at that old cross. The cigarette burns between his slender, clawed fingers.]

Whatever it was, he figured out when I turned back into a Goblin that he could use my dream manipulation against me. To haunt me.

That dream is nearly the exact same one I've had every night since. I'd gotten good at ignoring it.

[Liar.]

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