( 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}
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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. )