[ dextera wants several things that convalesce into one broad goal, and as honest as he can be with the people who know more about him than he knows of himself, his privacy is something he has the ability to protect here. makoto can’t learn anything about dextera anymore that he doesn’t want to tell—the empathic bond has had a wall built between them, thanks to their opposing forces.
he has the ability to choose what information he reveals about himself. it might make him shut up entirely if he didn’t still understand the value of quid pro quo, proven already to be effective in the physical exchange they shared earlier. ]
Absolution.
[ it’s not a lie. the motivating force behind this answer seems to blanket the words in a very honest guilt. it just isn’t the whole truth either; there are ways he’s sought that forgiveness that serve him further. ]
My sins were not left behind when I came here, but the way to resolve them was. Nothing can change that now.
( he could reveal nothing at all. makoto would be disappointed, and he would suffer the prolonged sting of denied curiosity, but he wouldn't hold it against dextera. though there was much about the demon that he gave away freely, he also jealously protected the parts of himself and his identity that he felt had more intrinsic value. really, this is just the perfectly rare occasion in which makoto is seeking out information about dextera not because he wants to use it against him later, but because he finds himself genuinely curious. in all their encounters with one another, he'd managed to surprise him, and that was worth enough in and of itself.
the answer he provides is not an alien one to makoto, but he'd spent enough time in hell that it does ring strange. demons do not concern themselves with the concept of mortal sin and the supposed indelible mark it leaves on a soul. it is, after all, a mortal concept (which might or might not even matter at all, in the grand scheme of things). )
Even after all we've seen, heard, and felt... You still believe this is the way of things? That a soul is little more than a parchment for its evils to be inscribed onto, and that somehow penance or redemption might somehow alleviate their weight?
( makoto has felt the weight of human souls in the palms of his hands. their "sins" had never factored into it.
the only thing that made a soul worth more to a demon was how much that person had suffered. guilt is such a convenient way of manufacturing that. )
[ as each word reveals itself to dextera, some unexpected emotion bubbles up in his chest. he’s learning things about himself every day—one thing that is becoming clearer at a pace much faster than the others is that he hates for others to act like they know something about him that he doesn’t. makoto’s dismissal of his feelings falls into place like puzzle pieces; worse yet, they contradict conclusions he’s already tried to come to.
it’s not a frustration with makoto so much as it is not knowing. now that his world is dead and gone with as much certainty as any of them have, he’ll never have the chance to ease the insistent pain in his chest anyway. ]
Then what do I do?! [ rather than text, the outburst of emotion forms as a pained inner voice. any calmness that may have been suggested by the easy exchange of messages is shattered by the sudden, desperate cry afforded only through the power of the shard. ] I can’t live like this. But I don’t want to die. I don’t want to usher in another end.
[ the silence that follows is an intentional one. though it isn’t communicated through the shard, there’s a pause where one might imagine labored breathing. dextera calming himself, abashed by the belated realization that his anger is just a little askew of the conversation they were having. ]
( even if he were to read it as frustration against himself, it wouldn't have surprised or aggravated him. he had been pushing him — it's somewhat in a demon's nature to be provoking, to find where the tender spots were on a mortal so they could later twist a blade into them. it's not necessarily his intention with dextera, but the instinct still remains.
perhaps as time goes on, he more and more resembles his own demon master, whether he wants to or not. when he had been new to hell, as green and quaking as a newborn faun, he had thrown him to the wolves. for days, makoto had wondered what he'd done to displease J, but that had been arriving to the incorrect conclusion. to the demon's mind, it had been in makoto's best interest to learn and to learn fast; what better teacher is there than necessity? when thrown into the deep end, does one sink or swim?
and, well, if one drowns... it simply wasn't meant to be.
the only initial response to dextera from makoto's end is also silence, or at least at first. he is once again — surprised at how much of his struggle feels familiar. he hears him speak, and he remembers the despair with which his feelings had twisted and contorted around the blade his own father had plunged deep into his heart. "no matter how much you want to die, you can't. not easily. all that's left is the pain."
he understands the concept of a torment to one's soul that they can't seem to escape from.
he responds to the brazenness of dextera's projected words in kind; truly, it is nice to hear his "voice." )
You find the answer for yourself, regardless of how difficult or painful it may be. If that means we will find ourselves at odds with one another in this place, so be it. Find the solution which will act as the salve for your pain. Then spare no mercy in trying to attain it.
[ dextera can’t imagine that their goals, whatever they may be down to their little details, will really bring them in opposition in the end. what he wants is, as he’s already made clear, truthfully impossible. unless the regent can take his body and give it to someone who deserves it more, he’ll be forced—by himself, by his own lack of memories and unattainable relief—to amble through until either he dies or the world does. ]
…
[ dextera takes a deep breath and sighs it miserably out from his lungs. the sound of it whispers through the shard, like white noise through a telephone line. ]
I’ve been trying. But it seems like every solution I find just makes things worse. [ with his voice, dextera’s frustration more than his vulnerability is on display. his body language could easily convey his weakness—it’s only with his words that he can express anything else. ] …I’ve done the worst things a person can do. And somehow it’s still not enough. Maybe you know what that feels like.
( out of everyone makoto has ever met and spoken with, out of all of the other fledgling Aions that he shared confinement and torture with, dextera presents something completely terrifying in its novelty: sympathy.
understanding. comprehension. kinship.
they crawl beneath his skin like unidentified parasites, maddening and disturbing. but all the same, there's something to the sensation beneath the clear discomfort that hooks him all the same; the faint scent of familiarity that could so easily be the bait hiding a wicked hook. ah, but makoto has been trained to expect all good things to potentially hide such.
human misery and desperation are usually contemptible to him, but the thin sibilance of dextera's sigh puts him on the knife's edge of something all-too-closely resembling compassion.
frankly, he doesn't know what to do with something like that.
it is harder to guard his emotions when communicating through spoken word instead of what is written; keeping them all from seeping through was like trying to keep water cupped in your hands from leaking between fingers for an extended period of time. makoto can understand frustration, consternation, the irritation of being put in an impossible position with the intention of finding out whether he would bend or break.
there is an uncharacteristic long silence, followed by an uncharacteristic admission: ) Perhaps I do.
( all of the hardship that comprised dozens — if not hundreds — of human lives had filled his palms until they had spilled out of them, covering the floor of a fountain with a constellation of gold dust. it hadn't meant anything to him. he had thrown himself into that work to ignore the voice of doubt worming its way into his mind: once this was all over, when he finally obtained his vengeance on J, would it turn to ash at the height of its zenith just like his father had when he'd plunged a knife directly into his heart? maybe so. but that doubt isn't enough to stop him — not when his hunger for revenge is the only force that will reliably animate him. )
I could try to help you.
( also uncharacteristic: not in that he's offering, but in that he's offering genuinely. not as a demon, no, not as M. as himself. )
[ dextera can’t pretend to know makoto well enough to truly pry him open and see the hidden intricacies of his personality. he doesn’t know what comprises ‘makoto’ over ‘m,’ doesn’t know that there’s a ‘makoto’ at all. yet, even without peeling away the layers of defenses and plucking out his core, dextera can tell there’s more than a demon’s bargain in what’s being offered. it’s help, whether or not it’s actually helpful.
but dextera is so desperate. he doesn’t want to put his faith in something that’s going to let him down again, but maybe this is the best place to throw his last-ditch effort. he’s in a new world under the thumb of an entity that wants to bring about an end. the outcomes for dextera are quite slim: either he’ll learn to live in this world, or he won’t ever have to. if makoto can ease the path forward even a little bit, with his knowledge of terrible things that they’re inclined only to share with one another, then… ]
I want help.
[ he’s placing his heart, however ill-advised, in makoto’s hands. the archangel would hate it. the archangel would hate knowing that dextera is trying to seek the alleviation of his pain through something other than the guidance of the order.
dextera eases his mind with the thought that the archangel isn’t here. if he isn’t here to tell dextera what to do, then dextera must make his own choices. ]
( no, he can't promise to find a solution. sometimes you bite and claw and fight your way toward finding one, only to have it vanish into smoke the moment you reach for it. often times a perfect answer doesn't exist, but one can at the very least discover what brings them peace. the conflicts that dextera struggles with, the ones that he still carries with him from a home that has fallen away into oblivion, might very well be outside of his ken to grapple with and provide worthwhile aid for, but... when it comes to finding methods of compartmentalizing the pain and targeting any path towards catharsis...
well, they won't be healthy or well-intentioned, but he has plenty of experience in that.
there's a pause. )
Whatever I can give, you will have it. Dextera, my name is Makoto, and this I swear upon it.
( it may not hold the same concrete power as it did in hell, but a name still has great value to a demon — it's why makoto guards his so jealously, both as one last precious possession he can keep to himself but also as a measure of distance. but dextera... he doesn't want to make this promise to him as the demon, M. no, there might not be very much left of the former human makoto still left in him by this point, but he still wants to try to make this promise by him instead: as a person rather than a monster. )
in the world dextera comes from, no one is lucky enough to have a name anymore. they’re all designated by the roles they play, or worse, their distorted delusions. even dextera’s own appellation is just a cruel nickname, but it’s closer to the person he thinks he is than what the archangel and the others call him.
thus, although dextera is unaware of the rules of hell and the full meaning of makoto giving him his name, he knows what it means to him, and context alone tells him that this is a guarded secret. ]
…thank you, Makoto.
[ his answer, truly grateful in how succinct it is. ]
( that's just the power of a name, isn't it? in hell, hierarchy isn't hereditary. it's also not something won by brute strength — when violence can't permanently kill a demon, what would that cause but an endless cycle of wasted time? no, where makoto comes from, the strongest demons are that way because others believe that they are. a demon lives as long as their name is held in the hearts of others and spoken aloud; the more feared the name (or title) is, the more unassailable that demon's position becomes.
even if it's not the same, even if it's not respect or envy or fear, the wordless exchange that passes between them now tells him that there is still some importance being attributed to his show of trust. it's... bizarre, but not unpleasant. the concept of simple gratitude.
ah, but when had anyone ever been grateful to him for anything? )
Once things settle down, we will.
( though it unfortunately won't be for another few weeks, given that the newcomers will soon be coming to the shrines... and then they will have plenty to talk about. )
I will reach out to you. Until then, do your best to stay in one piece, Dextera.
( the line of Communion remains open for just a moment longer before severing. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
he has the ability to choose what information he reveals about himself. it might make him shut up entirely if he didn’t still understand the value of quid pro quo, proven already to be effective in the physical exchange they shared earlier. ]
Absolution.
[ it’s not a lie. the motivating force behind this answer seems to blanket the words in a very honest guilt. it just isn’t the whole truth either; there are ways he’s sought that forgiveness that serve him further. ]
My sins were not left behind when I came here, but the way to resolve them was. Nothing can change that now.
no subject
the answer he provides is not an alien one to makoto, but he'd spent enough time in hell that it does ring strange. demons do not concern themselves with the concept of mortal sin and the supposed indelible mark it leaves on a soul. it is, after all, a mortal concept (which might or might not even matter at all, in the grand scheme of things). )
Even after all we've seen, heard, and felt... You still believe this is the way of things?
That a soul is little more than a parchment for its evils to be inscribed onto, and that somehow penance or redemption might somehow alleviate their weight?
( makoto has felt the weight of human souls in the palms of his hands. their "sins" had never factored into it.
the only thing that made a soul worth more to a demon was how much that person had suffered. guilt is such a convenient way of manufacturing that. )
no subject
it’s not a frustration with makoto so much as it is not knowing. now that his world is dead and gone with as much certainty as any of them have, he’ll never have the chance to ease the insistent pain in his chest anyway. ]
Then what do I do?! [ rather than text, the outburst of emotion forms as a pained inner voice. any calmness that may have been suggested by the easy exchange of messages is shattered by the sudden, desperate cry afforded only through the power of the shard. ] I can’t live like this. But I don’t want to die. I don’t want to usher in another end.
[ the silence that follows is an intentional one. though it isn’t communicated through the shard, there’s a pause where one might imagine labored breathing. dextera calming himself, abashed by the belated realization that his anger is just a little askew of the conversation they were having. ]
no subject
perhaps as time goes on, he more and more resembles his own demon master, whether he wants to or not. when he had been new to hell, as green and quaking as a newborn faun, he had thrown him to the wolves. for days, makoto had wondered what he'd done to displease J, but that had been arriving to the incorrect conclusion. to the demon's mind, it had been in makoto's best interest to learn and to learn fast; what better teacher is there than necessity? when thrown into the deep end, does one sink or swim?
and, well, if one drowns... it simply wasn't meant to be.
the only initial response to dextera from makoto's end is also silence, or at least at first. he is once again — surprised at how much of his struggle feels familiar. he hears him speak, and he remembers the despair with which his feelings had twisted and contorted around the blade his own father had plunged deep into his heart. "no matter how much you want to die, you can't. not easily. all that's left is the pain."
he understands the concept of a torment to one's soul that they can't seem to escape from.
he responds to the brazenness of dextera's projected words in kind; truly, it is nice to hear his "voice." )
You find the answer for yourself, regardless of how difficult or painful it may be. If that means we will find ourselves at odds with one another in this place, so be it.
Find the solution which will act as the salve for your pain. Then spare no mercy in trying to attain it.
no subject
…
[ dextera takes a deep breath and sighs it miserably out from his lungs. the sound of it whispers through the shard, like white noise through a telephone line. ]
I’ve been trying. But it seems like every solution I find just makes things worse. [ with his voice, dextera’s frustration more than his vulnerability is on display. his body language could easily convey his weakness—it’s only with his words that he can express anything else. ] …I’ve done the worst things a person can do. And somehow it’s still not enough. Maybe you know what that feels like.
no subject
understanding. comprehension. kinship.
they crawl beneath his skin like unidentified parasites, maddening and disturbing. but all the same, there's something to the sensation beneath the clear discomfort that hooks him all the same; the faint scent of familiarity that could so easily be the bait hiding a wicked hook. ah, but makoto has been trained to expect all good things to potentially hide such.
human misery and desperation are usually contemptible to him, but the thin sibilance of dextera's sigh puts him on the knife's edge of something all-too-closely resembling compassion.
frankly, he doesn't know what to do with something like that.
it is harder to guard his emotions when communicating through spoken word instead of what is written; keeping them all from seeping through was like trying to keep water cupped in your hands from leaking between fingers for an extended period of time. makoto can understand frustration, consternation, the irritation of being put in an impossible position with the intention of finding out whether he would bend or break.
there is an uncharacteristic long silence, followed by an uncharacteristic admission: ) Perhaps I do.
( all of the hardship that comprised dozens — if not hundreds — of human lives had filled his palms until they had spilled out of them, covering the floor of a fountain with a constellation of gold dust. it hadn't meant anything to him. he had thrown himself into that work to ignore the voice of doubt worming its way into his mind: once this was all over, when he finally obtained his vengeance on J, would it turn to ash at the height of its zenith just like his father had when he'd plunged a knife directly into his heart? maybe so. but that doubt isn't enough to stop him — not when his hunger for revenge is the only force that will reliably animate him. )
I could try to help you.
( also uncharacteristic: not in that he's offering, but in that he's offering genuinely. not as a demon, no, not as M. as himself. )
no subject
but dextera is so desperate. he doesn’t want to put his faith in something that’s going to let him down again, but maybe this is the best place to throw his last-ditch effort. he’s in a new world under the thumb of an entity that wants to bring about an end. the outcomes for dextera are quite slim: either he’ll learn to live in this world, or he won’t ever have to. if makoto can ease the path forward even a little bit, with his knowledge of terrible things that they’re inclined only to share with one another, then… ]
I want help.
[ he’s placing his heart, however ill-advised, in makoto’s hands. the archangel would hate it. the archangel would hate knowing that dextera is trying to seek the alleviation of his pain through something other than the guidance of the order.
dextera eases his mind with the thought that the archangel isn’t here. if he isn’t here to tell dextera what to do, then dextera must make his own choices. ]
no subject
well, they won't be healthy or well-intentioned, but he has plenty of experience in that.
there's a pause. )
Whatever I can give, you will have it.
Dextera, my name is Makoto, and this I swear upon it.
( it may not hold the same concrete power as it did in hell, but a name still has great value to a demon — it's why makoto guards his so jealously, both as one last precious possession he can keep to himself but also as a measure of distance. but dextera... he doesn't want to make this promise to him as the demon, M. no, there might not be very much left of the former human makoto still left in him by this point, but he still wants to try to make this promise by him instead: as a person rather than a monster. )
no subject
in the world dextera comes from, no one is lucky enough to have a name anymore. they’re all designated by the roles they play, or worse, their distorted delusions. even dextera’s own appellation is just a cruel nickname, but it’s closer to the person he thinks he is than what the archangel and the others call him.
thus, although dextera is unaware of the rules of hell and the full meaning of makoto giving him his name, he knows what it means to him, and context alone tells him that this is a guarded secret. ]
…thank you, Makoto.
[ his answer, truly grateful in how succinct it is. ]
I want to see you again soon.
no subject
even if it's not the same, even if it's not respect or envy or fear, the wordless exchange that passes between them now tells him that there is still some importance being attributed to his show of trust. it's... bizarre, but not unpleasant. the concept of simple gratitude.
ah, but when had anyone ever been grateful to him for anything? )
Once things settle down, we will.
( though it unfortunately won't be for another few weeks, given that the newcomers will soon be coming to the shrines... and then they will have plenty to talk about. )
I will reach out to you. Until then, do your best to stay in one piece, Dextera.
( the line of Communion remains open for just a moment longer before severing. )