tongueamok | XOqNI

[For once, Ravine is not inclined to beat about the bush. There's someone who's asking others about dipping into powers she doesn't understand, all for this person. And for what?

[She reads the situation for herself. It doesn't take much more than a glance to see the wound. The darkness pouring out of him. It's hard not to notice when those fragments are usually part of the very things you're supposed to rid the living of. But this looks different, more complicated.

[Without another word, Ravine snatches the phone from the top and holds it away from Carlisle.]

It is locked. She is not going about it so openly with you, this I saw.

I also see that you are not quite dead or alive, either, so that answers some matters.

[Here, have your phone back, Carlisle. Ravine has taken it upon herself to turn it off for you.]

[Given his general ineptitude with technology, Carlisle wasn't even aware you could prevent a specific individual from seeing an entire post. Then again, it took him ages to figure out that one could make the line 'private,' with correspondence shared between only two people, and even then, he tends to struggle with actually making the device do it. It bothers him to look too long at the screen, his head hurting from the very notion of what technology can do. Magic would be easier -- magic is something he understands, that he finds comfort in.

What he doesn't find comfort in is the fact that this tall stranger knows an uncomfortable amount about him. It reminds him too much of Bear Den and the surrounding region, where people knew just who he was supposed to be, and who he wasn't. He wasn't a proper Longinmouth. They knew that before they even learned his name. Apprehension wears into Carlisle; he takes a step backward, his legs hitting one of the long planters behind him. He clutches his phone tightly as she hands it back, more defensive of the device than he's ever been, and only because it's more familiar than this giantess before him.]

Wh- what has she told you? You don't- you don't know who I am! Or anything about me, so- so don't presume that you do!

Edited 2018-05-07 04:10 (UTC)

[His discomfort is obvious even to her. Ravine doesn't have to be an empath like her brother to take notice of that.

[She doesn't move as Carlisle retreats a few steps away, only straightens her back so that she appears even taller than she already does.]

On the contrary, she has told very little. It appears that in her efforts to invade your privacy, she has also attempted to respect it, nonetheless to a fault. [She dips her head, sliding her sunglasses off her face with a gloved hand. When she looks to Carlisle again, her eyes flash from an almost luminous gold to their more natural shade of light brown.] I, however, don't always need to suffer such methods as twenty questions to find out what I want.

...

I believe your parts of the universe would still call my kind "seers" than "psychics". Perhaps something else. It is difficult to keep track of them all, even for me!

[Again, she's cutting the bullshit a little more now than usual.]

A s-s-seer? Truly?

[Now that is a familiar term for Carlisle, though he's never really met one himself. They're spoken of in the city, their businesses kept to the darkened alleys and hidden nooks behind buildings. The flashy, proud ones tend to be liars, mere pretenders looking for a gullible audience; those with the true gift of foresight are said to be mad, so often driven beyond the brink of sanity by their own abilities. As a twice-cursed, a people whose very grip on reality suffers the longer they continue to exist in a world where they shouldn't, Carlisle understands that feeling completely.

He still trembles, his eyes wide upon this supposed seer as he straightens just a little. That would explain how she knows such things about him, especially if Kate indeed didn't say anything regarding his condition or his identity.]

I- I suppose she was- was asking in a misguided attempt to— [He swallows the knot in his throat, his slate eyes still aglow.] To- to help.

[Foolish, misguided, and ultimately with good intentions: that's the Kate Galloway way.]

Edited 2018-05-07 04:57 (UTC)

[While he tries to ease his obvious disquiet, Ravine can see that this man is troubled by other means underneath. Half-dead and half-alive, huh? Surely she couldn't simply reap the living side as she could the corrupted, and even then she cannot determine whether that would be a prudent course of action. Just because she can see the future doesn't mean that everything she wishes to. That would be too easy!]

I assume this is what she is seeking to help you with? [Ravine points to the wound over his abdomen, visible to her while unseen to most others.]

Edited 2018-05-07 06:02 (UTC)

[Carlisle's hand goes to his abdomen immediately, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His eyes affix themselves somewhere on the ground as he bites his tongue; he looks as though he doesn't want to answer, but she already knows, surely. If she knows of his wound -- where it is, the nature of it, why he thinks a phylactery might help him -- then what use it is to lie to her?

He attempts to fight his discomfort with familiarity. The open space, even though it is within his garden, suddenly feels too open, too unguarded.]

C- could we talk about this inside? [He cocks his head in the direction of the small cottage at the center of the garden.] Not- not out here, Miss. Um.

[She likely knows his name, but he has no clue of hers. How embarrassing it is to deal with a seer.]

[Lucky for Carlisle, Ravine is feeling particularly blunt today. It helps when there's someone who's talking about practicing crafts that could do more harm than good, in this case.

[She nods in agreement.]

I am called Ravine.

[It's her go-to, implying that she has more than the one. But hey, who's counting? Only two seem to know her true name, and she's not about to up the number now.

[With that, she gestures towards the cottage, hinting that she will "follow" where he is going. And perhaps she'll even use a door this time.]

[He seems reluctant to move from his spot, but Carlisle eventually does take the first step, wondering if he should ask if Ravine is her name name, or just a name she prefers. From the way she put it, it sounds like the latter. Should he ask? No, he shouldn't, he decides. It's probably rude, and she likely knows he's thinking about that question anyway. And perhaps knows that he's thinking about thinking about that question.

He swallows another knot that has formed in his throat. He's never put much thought into seers, but now that he does, he can see why they tend to lose their minds to their own prescience. He can hardly even handle the notion of such an ability, as it riles his nerves and caters to his paranoia.

Carlisle pushes the door open when he reaches it, letting his guest step inside first, his eyes still lodged on the ground. It looks like half a garden shed and half a living space, complete with a table, chairs, and a bed lined with furs. The lock clicks behind him as he closes the entrance -- he's not expecting any more company, but he hadn't been expecting company to begin with.]

Kate meant no harm, I assure you. And I don't- I don't believe she even has the c- capacity to make a phylactery, even if she wanted.

[If she told him that she could not bring him harm, not only would he probably not believe her, Ravine isn't certain that is the truth. Nothing is ever certain when the rules of nature are altered, warped. A half-dead should not exist, let alone bleed out their soul the way Carlisle is. But then, she is not so natural herself.

[Rather than shifting from the garden to the cottage, she makes use of her legs for once, stepping inside and minding her steps when doing so. She can't feel pain, though she would rather not disturb her surroundings if she can help it.

[She does not immediately sit down, but stands there, turning her eyes back down to Carlisle as she pockets the sunglasses into her coat.]

Oh, I've no doubt that her efforts will fail. I simply would hate to see the energy wasted, and secrets are hardly becoming of any friendship. If she truly means to help, she won't accomplish it by being evasive.

[Chances are there are already people who are casting judgment on Kate for all her attempts to help are worth, and she has no one but herself to blame for that.]

Edited 2018-05-07 08:06 (UTC)

[Despite the fact that he just cast doubt on Kate's abilities, there's a hint of defensiveness that crosses Carlisle's face, his nose wrinkling, lip twitching.]

I assume she meant to keep me from fretting over her. Or avoiding an argument. [An argument about his fretting over Kate and her plethora of questionable decisions, particularly those made on his behalf.] It would not be the first time.

[He crosses his arms, still politely waiting for Ravine to sit. Manners, after all.]

She probably feels she has no choice, or that she must find an- an answer to an unsolvable problem.

An "unsolvable problem"? You think so?

[After a second, she takes the hint. Even dead people have some courtesy. Though given her stature and lengthy limbs, sitting feels awkward. Mostly in that she doesn't feel at all.]

Perhaps it would seem that way when you are not looking in the right places.

I doubt she knows the 'right places' to look. Cisth, I don't know the right places.

[Of course, he doesn't really want to talk about this problem to begin with. He just wants it fixed, and he has to find some way to do it. It was much easier just accepting his inevitable end, but now that he has his partner to consider and knows the true nature of his affliction, it's difficult to stand by and simply wither away. The guilt of damning .glacius to watch him die is just terrible... perhaps even worse than that of investigating necromantic methods.

He sits in the other chair, picking at the bandage on his arm.]

I have never met with a seer before, though I admit the temptation has been there. Might I ask you a question?

[That is what one does when seeing a seer, after all, though she technically is seeing him.]

Edited 2018-05-07 09:01 (UTC)

[Naturally one wouldn't want to talk about their terminal affliction any more than one is happy to talk about a cancer diagnosis. Ravine didn't go into this anticipating a happy, hopeful discussion, though. She knew what she was signing up for, getting involved in this, even if she would be better off having not bothered at all.

[Still, there have been exceptions -- from before and also here. Sometimes you just have to know when to bite the bullet and let things play out, fate be damned.

[And so, when Carlisle asks, Ravine just gestures with a gloved hand.]

Go on. Speak.

[He doesn't need to, but most people would rather have a conversation.]

Edited 2018-05-07 09:14 (UTC)

[Carlisle rubs at his arm again, nervously picking at the bandage as he tries to choose his words carefully, only to remember how futile an effort that likely is.]

When you look at me, what do you see? Or foresee, rather.

[That's dangerous knowledge, but something worth knowing to a man with a time limit on his existence.]

[Ah yes, that's the question that everyone wants to know when they find out what you can see.]

Do you truly wish to know because you seek proof of your miserable existence, or are you hoping for a different result?

[There's the rub. Acceptance can be a nasty stage in the process of dying. It sounds harsher than she actually intends to be, but the truth always is a harsh mistress.]

Edited 2018-05-07 10:43 (UTC)

[Carlisle shakes his head, not really knowing the answer. He could ask for his future, but he already knows enough about that to make some educated guesses. Whether he has a couple of months or a couple of years, if he does nothing, he will be lost. That much is certain.

Carlisle's fingernails dig into that bandage at his arm as he considers another inquiry: if he'd died sooner, would his family still be alive? Did he curse his lineage from birth, or when he became afflicted? What would they think of him now? He could ask a dozen things if she'd let him, but he knows he shouldn't. It'd be rude to waste a seer's time, especially since she has seemed terrifyingly genuine so far. It's also dangerous to pry where he ought not.

He takes a moment, but finally chooses his words.]

I just... wish to know if everything I've done in my life has been for nothing. I have spent most of my life serving my goddess, wondering if there was a way to appeal to her, to make my soul seem worth returning to the cycle. I had hoped she would take pity upon me and look past my poisoned essence, see what use I have been to her despite everything. I did not want to be the failure of my family line, and the end of it.

[His eyes flick to Ravine as he pushes his fingers under his glasses, rubbing at one of them to soothe an irritation.]

I have realized far too late the true nature of this condition. No matter what I did, what I have done, I have been damned all along. There are no amends that will act as my salvation.

[He presses his fingers against his eye, his head aching. Why is he bothering her with this? She knows it all already, he's sure. Is it because filling the void left by silence makes him feel a little better? Is it so he feels that much less alone, or that he needs to convince himself of what he's saying?

He doesn't know that, either. He pulls in a breath, pushing it out of him, feeling hollow.]

Kate has seen it. I assume you have, as well. I never had a chance against this. Did I ever have a purpose at all?

[Yet another pressing question for many who are faced with the presence of someone like her. Carlisle may not yet see her for what she is; in a way this is more akin to her days among the living.

[Perhaps telling a dying man that you're a reaper yourself isn't the best way to make an introduction, so Ravine tries another approach.]

There are people who would have you believe otherwise, wouldn't there? That is why this haunts you.

[She leans forward, slender shoulders tucked inward. Her gloved fingers fold together over her lap.]

Allow me tell you something: Time is not a river. It is a series of interconnected and branching possibilities. Every decision you make, every "what if" you mull over... Somewhere else, that is the reality of another you. These possibilities extend into vast and infinite directions, like the roots of a tree. Some grow. Some rot away. Some just stop. People think about them all the time, "What if I had done things this way?" and from that, a new path is born. But if one lingers and obsesses and agonizes over it, they would be driven mad.

[Much like Ravine had been once, as Yehudit. Too many possibilities. How could she, with her human mind, possibly comprehend that infinite knowledge?]

So, the problem here isn't whether or not you've been forgiven, if you've done enough to make amends. It's how much you've allowed yourself to do, and if you can forgive yourself. Without that, no matter what you do, it will never be enough -- you will always be unfulfilled, bleeding out like that wound in your body right now. Wounds can mend, but first you have to stop the bloodflow.

I cannot tell you what I see. That is your choice. Do you wish to stop that flow, or bleed out into nothing? Do you believe that is enough to atone?

Edited 2018-05-08 07:18 (UTC)

[Carlisle's eyes land on the floor once more as he continues to pick at the ink-stained bandage on his arm, his tattered glove still worn with it rather than being repaired. As a part of his original vestment, of the outfit he was stolen from his world in, he would prefer to cling to it until the very end, no matter how ruined it may be.

He's not used to being on the receiving end of talks like this, despite the times he's spoken with Dr. Sweets for advice. It was his job as clergy to assure people to seek forgiveness, to make amends and accept they would be enough. Unfortunately, he's never been good at following his own advice -- to him, nothing he did was enough to cleanse the taint of his very soul, to erase the blight upon the Longinmouth name. He can be terribly judgmental, yes, but he judges himself harshest of all, never believing to be good enough for his lineage or his goddess. He is the failure of his line, and the last of it. He has so much for which to make amends, and not nearly enough time.

But all the time in the world could not make Carlisle forgive himself for merely existing when he should have died. The twice-cursed are harbingers of misfortune; all his loss has been a testament to that.

He pulls in a breath, chewing on his lip. Rivers, too, are an uncomfortable subject for him. He used to look out in the night at the Cottonmouth as it wound through the valley, fixating on the twists and turns as he pondered over which spot would be best for him to throw himself in. It was a terrible absolution, one he was sure would be a reprieve for those left behind. He'd be doing his bloodline a greater disservice by continuing to live, he'd convinced himself more than once. He never could bring himself to do it, though. As afraid as he was of his curse, his heritage, and the weight of expectation upon him, he was far more afraid of what came after his death... or what wouldn't come. There was no rest for the damned.

It's good he never threw himself in. He wouldn't have met Glacius, wouldn't have found that he was capable of more than he ever expected. He wouldn't have realized what it was he was missing all the time as he sequestered himself away in his family estate, so sure he was safe only there and within his church. The walls protected him from outside threats, but the greatest danger was the guilt he held, the shame and anger and bitterness that welled within his gut.

The river was, in that regard, an end for him. What Ravine presents is a picture of something else, something more akin to the theories he's had playing in his head since shortly after his arrival in Hadriel. Multiple worlds, multiple choices. He's crossed paths with certain people in some times, but not in others. He has met Rey from another world, Glacius from an existence so far removed that he might as well be another person entirely. There are certainly other Carlisles out there, hims who have possibly made better decisions. Perhaps some of them weren't cursed, having passed their Hunt with flying colors; perhaps others gave themselves to the river after all, deciding the world was better without them. Knowing which of those hims in the worlds and times beyond was right in their methods is impossible.

Carlisle rubs idly as his middle, scratching an itch he cannot reach as those scars bother him once more, his brow wrinkling with private distress... and a hint of determination. He closes his eyes and does his best to calm his nerves, knowing that every moment they're agitated eats away at him just a bit more.

And he cannot have that. If there is one thing he knows now, it is that. His voice is resolute once he finally finds it.]

I want to live. I have done remarkably little of that, and now that I have found a reason to do so, I wonder if it is too late.

Edited 2018-05-09 08:34 (UTC)

[There are more revealing facets to Carlisle in his silence than in his words, though that is one of many things he does not need to know about her right now. Without dropping all the disturbing details about who and what she exactly is, what matters right now is that he is in a place where he can say these things aloud. In Ravine's experience, that has always been more important than drawing that information straight from the person's head.

[Besides, it's not like he's the first to ever think such things. Ravine herself could be drowning in her own despair and guilt, but only chooses not to out of necessity. She could just as easily become the very thing that this man is turning into -- something of mindless wandering and eternal torture.

[She sits there, quietly. Listening to what ails Carlisle's thoughts as well as what he shares willingly. It's a short, succinct answer, but sometimes that is all you really need.]

Given the severity of your wound, I would say that you have at most a year. There is still time, but between the ever-changing nature of this place and the corruption to your spirit.

[Ravine has seen how these things go before, but never like this. There are the shades, corrupted souls driven mad in the spectral plane of Point Blank from the pain, anger, despair as they cling to the living realm. But Carlisle is not a shade. Not fully, anyway. What would even happen if she were to try and cut it out as though she were to reap a soul?

[No, the damage could be too severe, could harm what untainted remains he still has left. Ravine sits, her expression unchanging as she sorts through the possibilities.

[There is only one other option that she knows.]

I suggest that you consider your options sooner than later. Although I may be able to offer... something.

[Carlisle's frown widens as she gives him an estimate on just how long he has left. A year., give or take. Probably take, if her abilities are as strong as they seem. His face wrinkles with fear, with regret; he does his best not to let himself fall into immediate despair, as he might have a year ago. As tempting as it is to languish in his melancholy, he hasn't the time. He can lament his condition later, while considering his options.

And speaking of those, Ravine seems to have one in mind. Carlisle should jump upon it in desperation; however, he cannot swallow his paranoia entirely, not even for a seer. Just because she has come to reveal this information to him doesn't mean she is entirely charitable. She could be mad herself, or working on behalf of the false gods.]

Why? [He stiffens in his chair, his eyes on her.] Why would you offer to help me at all, given what I am? Why would you try to manipulate the circumstances of my end, rather than someone else's? What give me more worth than them?

[Is there a purpose he has not yet met? Or is it something else?]

Edited 2018-05-10 06:19 (UTC)

[It's a fair enough question, one that anyone would ask, not knowing who and what she is. In Ravine's experience, she does not have the luxury of weighing the worth of one's life over another. Most of the time, she does not get to judge where they go or how they end up. Even the most vile soul must be reaped the same as any saint, sent to where they need to go in order to find peace devoid of prejudice.

[Carlisle is somewhere in between. Not quite dead, not quite living. It's a curious state, one that Ravine can't say she's ever dealt with before. At least, not to this degree. She doesn't balk or react to the question or suspicion. From where he's standing, as a stranger, she has no reason to be here at all.

[Except that she does.]

It is because of what you are that I am technically obligated to help you, Carlisle. [The corners of her mouth pull into a wry smile.] I am not simply, as you would have me be, a "seer". But since coming here, I have been robbed of the purpose that defined who and what I am as well. My usefulness here is very restricted, my abilities hindered by my limitations.

However, it is my responsibility to ensure that you do not become what you will upon your death -- something that spends forever and more to be barely a shadow of their living self. A "shade", as some of us call them.

[Although their worlds are much different, Ravine can see some connection. Perhaps there is enough there for it to matter.]

Edited 2018-05-10 08:00 (UTC)

[Carlisle's brow furrows in quiet confusion. It's not just that she's more than a seer -- as he should have expected of seers from other worlds, really, given the magicians and enchanters and talking animals he's met -- but her terminology that leaves him uncertain.]

A shade? Is- is that what you would call the remnants of one damned to the Land Beyond Living? One whose very aura is so worn that they cannot return to the cycle, if there is anything left of their essence for the Domu to return at all?

[If it was only as simple as holding but one curse to be born with, things would have been so much easier before she became Ravine. Sadly, things didn't quite work out that way.]

Close. It is very similar, at any rate. Shades don't always merely wander, but sometimes become things that can cause harm to the living. That is why they have to be taken care of.

[Given the subject of the conversation, she does not mean "take care of" in the nurturing sense at all.]

[There is a moment where Carlisle shakes his head, still not understanding; perhaps, gauging from the horror that slowly overcomes his features, it's that he didn't want to understand. As Bear Den and the surrounding country has always been a hotspot for necromancers, his family dedicated their lives to "taking care" of such abominations, of monsters both living and dead.

His voice hides in the back of his throat, crawling down into his stomach as it plummets.]

Y- you cannot be serious. The tw- twice-cursed are said to be both dead and alive, but—

[But what does happen to their bodies upon death? The sad shreds of their souls are said to be lost in the Land Beyond Living, but the mortal frames they leave behind, ones suffocated in the black bile that pours from them...

Carlisle wracks his brain, trying to recall a case where the body of a twice-cursed rose from the dead, and he finds he cannot -- though that's because their bodies are often burned anyway. Many are hanged, then tossed into a fire to purge the world of their corruption; those who are murdered are usually met with the same treatment upon discovery. What does become of them?

They are as cursed in death as they are in life. They truly are twice-cursed.]

But, your fears of failure and harm would not end upon your death, should you continue in your current state.

You will die, and then the husk that remains becomes something far worse.

[Ravine wonders if this is something even Hope could even fix. She assumes that when he restores the body, their spirits are intact. But what if the spirit decays and all that's left is the body? Surely Hope does not have the power to restore corrupted souls at no cost of his own, as bringing back his own kind have frequently taken heavy tolls on his strength. Would he bother for a visitor, a "host" that has ended their purpose? Would he just forsake their resurrection altogether?

[It's because of the uncertainties that Ravine does not bring up the subject of these "false gods" to Carlisle. Best to stick with the facts and future that she does know -- and may be able to sway.]

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cw: suicidal ideation

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