[What is this.. The third time? The fourth? At first it was the sense of deja vu, the feeling he's seen this movie, but couldn't quite remember when or where. Now he knows that he's heard these screams and felt this pain before, tasted the smoke and ash and blood in his mouth. It's all the same, until this time, the man speaks to him. Utters his name. But the voice is... different. The burning pain ebbs away, along with almost every other sensation. He's the ghost again, barely extant, a silhouette amongst the flames mirroring the man before him.
He nods slowly, stepping forward. He is not afraid. There's no need to be. This is not his nightmare.]
[Vicious is able to easily step forward, away, out of the point of view. Kronid is left where he had been standing, motionless, unresponsive, glassy-eyed and filthy.
The man in the doorway, however, gasps softly as he is answered. He hovers in place for a moment, body language uncertain...before, experimentally, he walks forward, out onto the doorstep. It's easier to pick out some of the details, now. The robes look traditional, singed as they are, and a large, ceremonial crucifix hangs around his neck.
His face is hard to focus on, lit strangely by the fire, as though viewing it through a thick haze. His features are somewhat indistinct, but....
Those eyes.
Those eyes cut through, wide and afraid and sad and so very blue.]
...It worked. It finally worked. It's been so long, I-
[But he knows the time is short. He grimaces, then continues.]
You can remember this time, yes? That you've seen this before?
He knows those eyes. But-- how is he seeing them, if he was supposed to be Kronid in this dream...?
He looks down at himself-- or what of himself he can see... It's his semi-corporeal form, the dreadful almost-man he's been for so long now. He's not Kronid at all. He glances over his shoulder and sees the vampire, frozen still.
What...is happening now?
He turns his attention back to the man in the fire. If Kronid is there. Then--]
[How long has it been? How long, since he has stepped out from the background, since he has been perceived as himself?
The man's bright blue eyes look teary, wide with wonder. He reaches out a shaking hand, taking another step, then another -
He stumbles, nearly falls into the bloody snow at the bottom of the steps as he's made to stop short. A chain glistens in the fire-light, thick, tumbling links ending in a shackle bolted around his right ankle. The bindings aren't iron, but water, pure and clean, holding form on its own. Tethering him to the shack behind him.
He straightens back up, holding his hands over his own heart. It's alive, racing.
His chance.
His hope.]
I - I'm Mi-
[The name is swallowed by a sound, discordant, distorted, clawed fingers gouging across the surface of an old record. The figure whimpers, clutching at his head, his ears. The dominant mind trying to hide him, stifle him.
He has to cut through this, has to be heard. He NEEDS to be heard.
He tries again, as the world burns around him, the images curling at the edges like film over a candle.]
I'm...someone who needs your help. I've been watching you. You can - you get through to him. I don't know how, but you get through.
He's let you in enough that you're here, that you can hear me, that you're seeing this.
He floats forward again, wincing as the firelight flickers across him, distorting his form. Fighting the fires in their reality has given him a newfound anxiousness when it comes to flames, but he reminds himself that this is not real... This light cannot destroy him if he doesn't let it.
He glances behind as the shackled man speaks, mulling over his words. Kronid had mentioned before that this was just his fog-given dream powers, just an odd mix of memories, out of order, figurative. Vicious believed him, then, but now... He's not so sure.
The anguish in the vampire's expression is foreign and heart-wrenching to behold. It twists his heart in a way he cannot comprehend at the moment, but it's a feeling he knows he doesn't want to have again. ]
Get through... How..?
[That last utterance takes longer to process than he'd like. The realization pierces him like an arrow to the chest and he's struck silent for a moment, eyes wide, shimmering with suddenly brimming tears.
He means something--
No. The emotions will have to wait. He-- can't focus on that right now. He's being given a purpose.
He turns his attention back to the other, squaring his shoulders, dutiful and resolute.]
Please, I want to help. Tell me what I can do.
[It's a call to action, and he would be a fool not to answer.]
[It's jarring, perhaps, how different Kronid looks where he stands frozen. With the smirking, slinking, seductive facade stripped away by the firelight, he looks...almost frail. Tired.
Broken.
The robed man lets out a trembling sigh of relief when Vicious turns towards him. He's fighting a war with his own emotions, too - one that he loses just enough for there to be an obvious shake to his voice.
Help. Real help. The darker part of him calls this man a Knight...right now, he feels as though he's filling that role in earnest. Resolute, willing... beautiful. So ready to rush to the rescue, and without even realizing that he's saving more than the crooked King he knows. That he's standing at the foot of a tower, and that there's someone waiting locked inside.
Through the haze, it seems as though the man smiles a little.]
Mulțumesc. Thank you. So much.
He...he thinks he's beyond all this. But he isn't. He's had to learn to be cavalier, and that isn't the same thing as being all right. He hides, and the wounds fester.
But...you have come the closest to seeing the truth. He's LET you the closest. I think...that he wants you to know.
[The landscape shudders. The chain yanks the man a step back, and he falls onto the step. A song can be heard on the wind through the trees, a tune Vicious would remember better accompanied by the percussion of snapping bone and wrenching flesh.
The robed man sits up, anxious. Kronid is fighting him, but he has a grip. He still has a grip.]
You've already cracked the dam. Now you need to break it. For his sake.
When you wake...look under the bed. Tucked up into the frame, under the upper right foot. Look there, and you will know that I'm - that this isn't just a dream.
Please. I need you. He needs you.
[The man reaches to his chest, to the beaded length of the crucifix around his neck. His fingers pluck at it, clacking the beads together in an idle rhythm.
[He knows he's dreaming, and yet these butterflies and the heat behind his eyes feel so real it almost hurts. When the robed figure is jerked back, he begins to lunge forward to help him, stopping short when his fingers begin to dissipate in the light.
He winces and pulls back listening carefully to the request and nodding assent.]
Y-yes. I will do it. I swear.
[He still isn't really sure what he did to deserve such... honesty from a man like Kronid, what makes him different from any other mortal that's stood in his place in the past... But he accepts it and cherishes the opportunity more than he can express at the moment.
His throat tightens as he regards the desperation in the other man's expression. Even if he isn't entirely sure who this being is, knowing that Kronid needs him is enough to urge him to follow the stranger's orders.]
But please...
[He watches the stranger's hands, recognizing the motion, the sound a touch more dull than the coin... But that rhythm.]
[The stranger seems pleased with this - but not surprised. He's been watching, after all. He knows that this man would do just about anything for the ancient vampire.
It's time that playing field was leveled, even if only by degrees.]
I...my name is -
[Once again, the name is swallowed by a discordant screech - the man tries to shout over it, once, twice, three times. It's futile, and his features are too faded by the haze to read his lips. Frustrated, he cries out, pounding a fist down on the railing by the stairs. He's running out of time.
But...he sees that recognition. He sees it, and he trusts it.
Straining against the chains, he forces himself a pace or two from the bottom step, eyes welling with pain, but...determined.]
I can't. I can't yet. But you...you already know, don't you?
[The chains tighten again - he's being dragged backward, stumbling as he tries to stay upright. He smiles, sadly.]
[The shade winces, curling in on himself to shield his ears from that horrid sound. Alright, fine, Kronid's dream world, have it your way--
He would feel much more hopeless about this situation if he didn't know he was going to be able to help him in the waking world. Still, it hurts to watch this poor, helpless man being dragged away like this.
Draga, you already know.
Does he? Is-- is he correct? Is it as familiar as he thinks it is, or has he just had this dream enough times to think so?
He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed, the corners of his mouth pulled tight in a pained grimace. He can't watch anymore. He has to wake up, he has to help him-- help them.]
Hah--
[Vicious awakens in that familiar dark room, the glow of the setting sun seeping through the edges of his companion's blackout curtains. Kronid is still snuggled up against him, so small and deceptively fragile in his arms. It almost makes him not want to move.
Unfortunately, he's awoken with a task he must complete, post haste.
He's able to phase his arm through his snoozing bedmate and carefully roll over onto his stomach to reach underneath the edge of the bed without disturbing the goblin. It's times like this he's grateful to be a shade. After a moment of feeling around, something is jostled out of place and he's able to remove it from it's hiding place.
He can already tell by the gentle clacking of wooden beads in his hand what it is before he even lays eyes on it. He moves to sit up and confirm his suspicions, a pit forming in his stomach.
The man inside Kronid's dreams is real. A metaphor couldn't produce proof. He slides the beads through his fingers, shaking his head slowly.]
Well. I'll be damned. [He murmurs quietly, laughing to himself, careful not to wake his companion.]
[When Vicious wakes, sure enough, Kronid does not immediately follow. He's still snared in the narrative of his nightmare, in that warped world of burning trees and bloody snow.
A perfect opportunity, surely - and the very, very old crucifix now held in the Shade's claws is the reward for taking the chance and following the directions. It's tarnished, some of the detail eroded by time, but still it's unmistakable. It's the same cross. The same one the robed figure had been wearing.
And, no less, roughly the size and shape of the scar on the former vampire's chest.
V has been careful not to wake Kronid, it's true - but all the same, his murmuration is met by a soft, dark, low voice from behind, nearly right over his left shoulder.]
You would be with company, if you are.
[He was already awake.
Even without looking backward, there's an edge to his tone, a razor-sharp growl in his punctuation that makes one thing abundantly clear:
[Under the usual circumstances, that sultry, rich tone was a source of warmth and comfort for the shade. This time it sends a chill, bitter as that bloody snow through him, freezing him in place.
Vicious stares forward for several long moments, clutching the rosary in his lap and bunching it up among the sheets. He knows he's been caught already, but the motion was instant, like a little boy hiding the cookie he'd just stolen from the cookie jar.]
Ah... Ha-ha... G-good morning, dearest.
[Trying desperately to remain calm and casual, he straightens up and finally turns his head to face the goblin, attempting an amiable smile.]
[The look that meets Vicious when he turns is one that he has never seen the Goblin wear before - his eyes are piercing despite the tears still drying on his cheeks, lips absent even the cruelest of his smiles. A stark reminder that, beneath all the purring, mincing, and seduction?
He's very old, he's bitter, and he doesn't have to try to carry the bearing of Power.
His head tilts a little to one side. It's a motion that's cute in other contexts, but right now? It's the cat sizing up the canary, remaining unsettlingly still.]
Buna dimineata.
No. You did not.
[He doesn't grab for the cross, doesn't lean to peek at it, doesn't move at all.
He just keeps his gaze pointed, unwavering, on Vicious.]
For what feels like much too long, Vicious simply sits there, lips trembling as he sputters and stumbles, apparently having lost his grip on the English language.
He's never been on the receiving end of Kronid's ire, before... And gauging by the goblin's expression alone, he's certain he never wants to be again. The intensity of his glare, even small as he is, is enough to make him want to turn tail and run.
Most unfortunately for him, he's always been more of a freezer than a fighter or flight-er. Fawning works sometimes too, but he has a feeling that might not work out too well for him right now.
Finally he lifts the rosary, curled in a pile in his trembling hand, out towards Kronid.]
I—I'm sorry. I— I didn't mean to. I– I mean I meant to, b-but I was asked to. P-please ..
[Kronid is furious - the blaze of his eyes burning bright with ice cold rage. Still, as Vicious starts to shake, to cower, to plead...the edge starts to blunt a little.
He knows that Vicious was only doing as he was asked. In the name of helping him, no less.
He knows where the blame ACTUALLY lies. And that's why his eyes shut, why he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a soft growl of frustration and resignation both.
It isn't his fault. Don't punish him for wanting to help you.
Shut up.]
...I know. I know you were asked.
I saw everything.
[He drops his hand, and when he looks back up, the rage has been replaced by...exhaustion.]
It's...fair, for you to have been curious. And now you have your proof.
[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.
[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-
[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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
transilience
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He nods slowly, stepping forward. He is not afraid. There's no need to be. This is not his nightmare.]
I-- I can.
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The man in the doorway, however, gasps softly as he is answered. He hovers in place for a moment, body language uncertain...before, experimentally, he walks forward, out onto the doorstep. It's easier to pick out some of the details, now. The robes look traditional, singed as they are, and a large, ceremonial crucifix hangs around his neck.
His face is hard to focus on, lit strangely by the fire, as though viewing it through a thick haze. His features are somewhat indistinct, but....
Those eyes.
Those eyes cut through, wide and afraid and sad and so very blue.]
...It worked. It finally worked. It's been so long, I-
[But he knows the time is short. He grimaces, then continues.]
You can remember this time, yes? That you've seen this before?
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[His eyes.
He knows those eyes. But-- how is he seeing them, if he was supposed to be Kronid in this dream...?
He looks down at himself-- or what of himself he can see... It's his semi-corporeal form, the dreadful almost-man he's been for so long now. He's not Kronid at all. He glances over his shoulder and sees the vampire, frozen still.
What...is happening now?
He turns his attention back to the man in the fire. If Kronid is there. Then--]
...Who. Who are you?
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The man's bright blue eyes look teary, wide with wonder. He reaches out a shaking hand, taking another step, then another -
He stumbles, nearly falls into the bloody snow at the bottom of the steps as he's made to stop short. A chain glistens in the fire-light, thick, tumbling links ending in a shackle bolted around his right ankle. The bindings aren't iron, but water, pure and clean, holding form on its own. Tethering him to the shack behind him.
He straightens back up, holding his hands over his own heart. It's alive, racing.
His chance.
His hope.]
I - I'm Mi-
[The name is swallowed by a sound, discordant, distorted, clawed fingers gouging across the surface of an old record. The figure whimpers, clutching at his head, his ears. The dominant mind trying to hide him, stifle him.
He has to cut through this, has to be heard. He NEEDS to be heard.
He tries again, as the world burns around him, the images curling at the edges like film over a candle.]
I'm...someone who needs your help. I've been watching you. You can - you get through to him. I don't know how, but you get through.
He's let you in enough that you're here, that you can hear me, that you're seeing this.
You MEAN SOMETHING to him-
[His voice breaks.]
...And to me.
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He floats forward again, wincing as the firelight flickers across him, distorting his form. Fighting the fires in their reality has given him a newfound anxiousness when it comes to flames, but he reminds himself that this is not real... This light cannot destroy him if he doesn't let it.
He glances behind as the shackled man speaks, mulling over his words. Kronid had mentioned before that this was just his fog-given dream powers, just an odd mix of memories, out of order, figurative. Vicious believed him, then, but now... He's not so sure.
The anguish in the vampire's expression is foreign and heart-wrenching to behold. It twists his heart in a way he cannot comprehend at the moment, but it's a feeling he knows he doesn't want to have again. ]
Get through... How..?
[That last utterance takes longer to process than he'd like. The realization pierces him like an arrow to the chest and he's struck silent for a moment, eyes wide, shimmering with suddenly brimming tears.
He means something--
No. The emotions will have to wait. He-- can't focus on that right now. He's being given a purpose.
He turns his attention back to the other, squaring his shoulders, dutiful and resolute.]
Please, I want to help. Tell me what I can do.
[It's a call to action, and he would be a fool not to answer.]
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Broken.
The robed man lets out a trembling sigh of relief when Vicious turns towards him. He's fighting a war with his own emotions, too - one that he loses just enough for there to be an obvious shake to his voice.
Help. Real help. The darker part of him calls this man a Knight...right now, he feels as though he's filling that role in earnest. Resolute, willing... beautiful. So ready to rush to the rescue, and without even realizing that he's saving more than the crooked King he knows. That he's standing at the foot of a tower, and that there's someone waiting locked inside.
Through the haze, it seems as though the man smiles a little.]
Mulțumesc. Thank you. So much.
He...he thinks he's beyond all this. But he isn't. He's had to learn to be cavalier, and that isn't the same thing as being all right. He hides, and the wounds fester.
But...you have come the closest to seeing the truth. He's LET you the closest. I think...that he wants you to know.
[The landscape shudders. The chain yanks the man a step back, and he falls onto the step. A song can be heard on the wind through the trees, a tune Vicious would remember better accompanied by the percussion of snapping bone and wrenching flesh.
The robed man sits up, anxious. Kronid is fighting him, but he has a grip. He still has a grip.]
You've already cracked the dam. Now you need to break it. For his sake.
When you wake...look under the bed. Tucked up into the frame, under the upper right foot. Look there, and you will know that I'm - that this isn't just a dream.
Please. I need you. He needs you.
[The man reaches to his chest, to the beaded length of the crucifix around his neck. His fingers pluck at it, clacking the beads together in an idle rhythm.
A familiar mannerism.]
Promise me.
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He winces and pulls back listening carefully to the request and nodding assent.]
Y-yes. I will do it. I swear.
[He still isn't really sure what he did to deserve such... honesty from a man like Kronid, what makes him different from any other mortal that's stood in his place in the past... But he accepts it and cherishes the opportunity more than he can express at the moment.
His throat tightens as he regards the desperation in the other man's expression. Even if he isn't entirely sure who this being is, knowing that Kronid needs him is enough to urge him to follow the stranger's orders.]
But please...
[He watches the stranger's hands, recognizing the motion, the sound a touch more dull than the coin... But that rhythm.]
Please. Tell me-- who are you?
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It's time that playing field was leveled, even if only by degrees.]
I...my name is -
[Once again, the name is swallowed by a discordant screech - the man tries to shout over it, once, twice, three times. It's futile, and his features are too faded by the haze to read his lips. Frustrated, he cries out, pounding a fist down on the railing by the stairs. He's running out of time.
But...he sees that recognition. He sees it, and he trusts it.
Straining against the chains, he forces himself a pace or two from the bottom step, eyes welling with pain, but...determined.]
I can't. I can't yet. But you...you already know, don't you?
[The chains tighten again - he's being dragged backward, stumbling as he tries to stay upright. He smiles, sadly.]
Draga, you already know.
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He would feel much more hopeless about this situation if he didn't know he was going to be able to help him in the waking world. Still, it hurts to watch this poor, helpless man being dragged away like this.
Draga, you already know.
Does he? Is-- is he correct? Is it as familiar as he thinks it is, or has he just had this dream enough times to think so?
He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed, the corners of his mouth pulled tight in a pained grimace. He can't watch anymore. He has to wake up, he has to help him-- help them.]
Hah--
[Vicious awakens in that familiar dark room, the glow of the setting sun seeping through the edges of his companion's blackout curtains. Kronid is still snuggled up against him, so small and deceptively fragile in his arms. It almost makes him not want to move.
Unfortunately, he's awoken with a task he must complete, post haste.
He's able to phase his arm through his snoozing bedmate and carefully roll over onto his stomach to reach underneath the edge of the bed without disturbing the goblin. It's times like this he's grateful to be a shade. After a moment of feeling around, something is jostled out of place and he's able to remove it from it's hiding place.
He can already tell by the gentle clacking of wooden beads in his hand what it is before he even lays eyes on it. He moves to sit up and confirm his suspicions, a pit forming in his stomach.
The man inside Kronid's dreams is real. A metaphor couldn't produce proof. He slides the beads through his fingers, shaking his head slowly.]
Well. I'll be damned. [He murmurs quietly, laughing to himself, careful not to wake his companion.]
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A perfect opportunity, surely - and the very, very old crucifix now held in the Shade's claws is the reward for taking the chance and following the directions. It's tarnished, some of the detail eroded by time, but still it's unmistakable. It's the same cross. The same one the robed figure had been wearing.
And, no less, roughly the size and shape of the scar on the former vampire's chest.
V has been careful not to wake Kronid, it's true - but all the same, his murmuration is met by a soft, dark, low voice from behind, nearly right over his left shoulder.]
You would be with company, if you are.
[He was already awake.
Even without looking backward, there's an edge to his tone, a razor-sharp growl in his punctuation that makes one thing abundantly clear:
He is not smiling.]
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Vicious stares forward for several long moments, clutching the rosary in his lap and bunching it up among the sheets. He knows he's been caught already, but the motion was instant, like a little boy hiding the cookie he'd just stolen from the cookie jar.]
Ah... Ha-ha... G-good morning, dearest.
[Trying desperately to remain calm and casual, he straightens up and finally turns his head to face the goblin, attempting an amiable smile.]
Did I wake you?
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He's very old, he's bitter, and he doesn't have to try to carry the bearing of Power.
His head tilts a little to one side. It's a motion that's cute in other contexts, but right now? It's the cat sizing up the canary, remaining unsettlingly still.]
Buna dimineata.
No. You did not.
[He doesn't grab for the cross, doesn't lean to peek at it, doesn't move at all.
He just keeps his gaze pointed, unwavering, on Vicious.]
Find something interesting?
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no subject
For what feels like much too long, Vicious simply sits there, lips trembling as he sputters and stumbles, apparently having lost his grip on the English language.
He's never been on the receiving end of Kronid's ire, before... And gauging by the goblin's expression alone, he's certain he never wants to be again. The intensity of his glare, even small as he is, is enough to make him want to turn tail and run.
Most unfortunately for him, he's always been more of a freezer than a fighter or flight-er. Fawning works sometimes too, but he has a feeling that might not work out too well for him right now.
Finally he lifts the rosary, curled in a pile in his trembling hand, out towards Kronid.]
I—I'm sorry. I— I didn't mean to. I– I mean I meant to, b-but I was asked to. P-please ..
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He knows that Vicious was only doing as he was asked. In the name of helping him, no less.
He knows where the blame ACTUALLY lies. And that's why his eyes shut, why he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a soft growl of frustration and resignation both.
It isn't his fault. Don't punish him for wanting to help you.
Shut up.]
...I know. I know you were asked.
I saw everything.
[He drops his hand, and when he looks back up, the rage has been replaced by...exhaustion.]
It's...fair, for you to have been curious. And now you have your proof.
Just like he said, right?
From:
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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?]
From:
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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.]
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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.
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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.
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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.
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[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.]